“Hey, little girlie, do you want—?”
She jerked away from the leering man’s outstretched arm, closing her mind to his obscene suggestion. She suddenly spotted a hansom cab standing at a curb a block ahead and waved her hand wildly toward the driver. She was panting from exertion when she had at last pushed her way beyond the thick of the crowd, nearly free. It was then she saw a man, dressed as roughly as the workers, running toward her.
“Get her,” she heard someone say. “Bring her here.” She looked toward the voice, but she could not see him in the crowd.
Giana felt her blood run cold. She cursed her clumsiness when she tried to run, and screamed when she nearly tripped, grasping frantically at a lamppost to regain her balance.
She heard a man shout her name, but she didn’t turn. The cab was just a few yards away. “Wait,” she yelled at the driver. “Please, wait.”
Suddenly a group of workers erupted from an alleyway to her right and surged onto the street, blocking the man who was closing behind her. She heard furious curses, but did not look back. She reached the cab, and shouted up at the driver as she jerked on the door handle, “Quickly, take me to Twenty-fifth Street and Fifth Avenue.”
The driver nodded, as if bored, and slowly raised his hands to click his mare forward.
She leaned out the window and saw the man racing toward the cab again. There was another man behind him, but she couldn’t make out his face.
“Hurry,” she said. “Ten dollars if you will hurry.”
There was an astounding change in the phlegmatic driver. He whipped his mare forward, and her pursuer was hurled backward, cursing at the driver as he fell to the street. Giana was thrown back against the worn leather squabs as the cab careened up the street.
She was only vaguely aware that he was driving like a maniac up Broadway, ignoring the angry shouts of pedestrians. When they reached the southern edge of Union Square, the cab lurched eastward, barely escaping a careening beer wagon. She held on until the cab drew up in front of the Saxton mansion, her only thought to get to Alex. She stuffed twenty dollars into the astonished driver’s outstretched hand, turned her back to him as he shouted, “Thank you, lady,” and ran awkwardly to the front door.
“Mrs. Saxton.” Herbert was aghast. Mrs. Saxton was pale, her clothing askew, and her bonnet tilted over her left ear.
“Alex—Mr. Saxton. Where is he?”
“In the library, ma’am. He is still meeting with—”
Giana rushed past him down the long hallway to the library, and without a thought, threw open the doors.
Alex was standing beside the fireplace, his shoulders resting against the mantel, examining a sheet of paper. Four men in dark business suits were seated around him. Their heads turned in unison at the unexpected disturbance. She saw surprise in their faces, and then raised eyebrows over narrowed eyes. She stood like a statue, unable to move. She had violated their precious male domain, she had interrupted their meeting. A silly female, interrupting them.
She met Alex’s eyes, saw him frown and take a step toward her.
“Mrs. Saxton,” she heard one of the men say in a voice of impatient surprise.
Words tumbled from her mouth. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me, please.” She ran from the room, slamming the library doors behind her.
Alex handed the paper to Anesley. “You will excuse me, gentlemen, but I fear our meeting is over.” Even as he spoke, he was picturing Giana’s white face. What had happened?
He took the stairs two at a time, waving away Herbert’s words from behind him. He burst into their bedroom. Giana was on her hands and knees in front of the fireplace, her cloak spread around her, staring at the orange embers.
“Giana,” he said, his voice louder and harsher than he intended. She turned her head to look at him, and he felt himself start. He saw fear in her eyes. “Dear God, what happened?”
She stared at him, rigid and mute. He dropped to his knees beside her and drew her against him.
“It’s all right, love,” he whispered, stroking his hands over her back. “You’re safe now, Giana. I promise.” He continued speaking to her, words that had little meaning, really, and finally felt her body ease. With a great sob, she clutched at his arms and pressed herself against him.
He pulled off her bonnet and stroked her hair, still crooning senseless words to her, his voice soft and even over her sobs.
“Come, Giana, tell me what happened. It’s all right, love.”
It was some minutes before she raised her tear-drenched face from his chest. She clutched at him as if she were afraid to let go.
“Two men,” she said, her voice graveley in her fear. “I was walking up Broadway, alone. There was some kind of strike, and a mob of men. I tried to get through them to a hansom cab. There was a man running after me. Another man was behind him, pointing at me. I could only think of getting to you.”
Damnation, he thought, holding her tightly against him. She had been alone, and caught in a mob. Strikers, no doubt. Where had Delaney and Derry been? He sat down in front of the fireplace, leaning against his favorite chair, and drew her onto his lap. She curled herself into a small ball and buried her face against his throat. His self-reliant Giana, so fiercely independent, so self-sufficient, was burrowing against him for protection.
Giana knew she was being foolish, knew quite well that she was perfectly safe, but her words still spoke themselves, unbidden words. “Please don’t leave me, Alex. Don’t leave.”