Dr. Preston accepted his payment, snorted yet again, and took his leave, with the admonition that if Mrs. Saxton worsened, he would return.
Alex closed the front door and leaned against it for a moment. He returned to Giana, gently drew back the covers, and bathed away the blood. He found himself grinning reluctantly at the very virginal flannel nightgown as he smoothed it down over her. He buried her again under a pile of blankets, and gently wiped the beach sand from her face.
“I’m sorry, Giana,” he said.
Chapter 14
She sought him out during the night, drawn to his warm body like a moth to a flame. Alex molded her tightly against the length of him, though he himself was sweating from all the blankets. Gradually her trembling stilled and she sighed deeply, easing into a deep sleep. Alex resigned himself to a miserable night.
He slept only fitfully. His thoughts would not slow as the events of the past week jostled about helter-skelter in his mind, leaving him angry one minute and smiling grimly at his own stupidity the next. She had been in Rome, dammit, and she had sought him out at the Flower Auction. She had behaved oddly, even insultingly, but she had been at Madame Lucienne’s brothel, as well. He shook his head wearily. Only Giana would be able to provide him answers. She had told the truth, but certainly not all of it? Why? Was she protecting someone? Hadn’t she wanted to protect her own innocence? He remembered her surprise, and her response to his lovemaking, despite her illness. Until he had hurt her. Damned rutting fool. A bloody virgin, and obviously a young lady, despite what he had believed, what he had seen. He found himself smiling grimly again. After what she had seen that summer, she was hardly an innocent young lady. Still, he had compromised her, and the thought made him want to kick himself.
He saw himself now as the unwilling bridegroom, the inevitable payment for his revenge and his desire. He, Alexander Saxton, who had vowed never to tie himself in marriage again. He felt a fleeting moment of pain at the thought of Laura, and quelled it resolutely.
Giana moaned softly into his shoulder, squirming against him as though he were her safe harbor from a bad dream. He shifted slightly to accommodate her. Dammit, he wasn’t at all certain that he even liked her. She was headstrong, sharp-tongued, as independent as a damned man, and appallingly intelligent. She was also lovely, in face and figure. At that lapsing admission, he felt an unwanted surge of desire, for she was pressed closely against him, her belly but a flannel nightgown away from him.
He finally fell back into a light sleep, knowing, even accepting now, that he would marry this Englishwoman. A man simply did not poach as he had on the upper-class preserve without accepting the consequences. His last thought was that his mother-in-law would be a damned duchess.
Giana did not become fully awake until the following evening. She remembered waking during the day and sipping a quite delicious soup that Mrs. Preston must have brought them. She was no longer feeling feverish, and her headache had lessened. She heard Alex coming down the hall and quickly closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to have to face him, knowing full well that he would have a dozen questions for her. She could feel him staring down at her. Unable to help herself, she sneezed.
“I thought you were awake,” she heard him say. She opened one eye and glared up at him.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“I would like to, Giana, but I’m not such a villain. What’s done is done, and the both of us will make the best of a bad situation. Don’t get yourself into a lather, you’ll only bring on your fever again.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, opening her other eye.
“Well, there are, of course, quite a few questions I have for you, but not now. I will wait until you are well again. But regardless of your answers, we shall marry. You were a virgin, and I can think of no other reasonable course but to toe the line to the altar.”
“The altar,” she repeated. When she finally grasped his meaning, she gaped at him. “Marry you? Mr. Saxton, I would allow the human race to become extinct before I would accept you as a husband.”
“You are feeling more yourself, I see,” Alex said. Oddly, her outraged refusal made him angry, and he felt his control slipping. Had she no sense at all? “We will discuss it tomorrow, when I don’t have to fear you relapsing on me.”
“We have nothing to discuss.” The pounding in her head suddenly sharpened, and she closed her eyes, turning her head away from him on her pillow. “I told you the truth from the beginning, but you chose, arrogantly, not to believe me.”
“You told me only enough of the truth to sound completely unbelievable. Your stupid denials in the face of what I saw with my own eyes. You sounded like a silly, bleating sheep. Rather, ewe. That I find mightily interesting. Drink this lemonade and go back to sleep. Perhaps you’ll be more reasonable on the morrow, though I doubt it.”
Giana drank the lemonade, though sleep was the last thing she wanted. She closed her eyes until he left the bedroom. Marry him—was he out of his ridiculous American mind? She had wanted him, but it was dreadful. And her illness had nothing to do with that.
Odd how she had never considered that he would take this particular tack. Americans weren’t gentlemen—she had always believed that—but faced with his angry decision, she had to revise her opinion of them. No, she would not. A gentleman would never have forced her to bed with him in the first place.
When she felt the bed give as he climbed in beside her, she forced herself not to move. Could he not at least leave her be and sleep on the sofa?
She knew he was stubborn, knew that once he had set his mind to something, he would be immovable. But she had paid her debt to him. And she was already feeling stronger. All she needed now was opportunity.
Her eyelashes fluttered when the bright sunlight spilled into the bedroom, giving her away.
“Open your eyes, Giana. I know you’re awake. I’ve brought you some bread and more lemonade. While you eat, I’ll go fetch us some food.”
She felt her blood race in her veins. She nodded docilely, even smiling slightly as he helped her sit up in bed.
“Since I have no idea where to forage, I might be a while,” he continued. “Stay
in bed, and use the chamber pot if you need to. No trips to the outhouse in the back garden, and for God’s sake, stay off the beach.”
“Very well,” she said, not looking up at him.
Had he known her better, a red light would have flashed. He said over his shoulder when he reached the open doorway, “When I return, we will talk.”