Diamonds and Dreams (35 page)

Goldie’s laughter cut him short. Instantly,
her anger at him disappeared. “Saber, that’s the stupidest thing
I’ve ever—”

“Nevertheless, it’s my right to
arrogance.”

She reached for his hand, holding it in her
lap. “Saber, I’m sorry for yellin’ at you a while ago. I didn’t
mean—”

“I liked it.”

“You liked me gettin’ mad at you?” she
asked, amazed.

He nodded. “I’ve seen you do many things
since I first met you, but today is the first time I’ve seen you
defy me.”

“And that’s...that’s not bad?”

“I admit to being taken aback at first, but
I rather enjoyed seeing you stand up for yourself. It proves that
with all the sugar there is inside you, there is also a bit of
spice.” He drew her closer.

She watched his face come nearer, knowing in
her heart it was the most handsome face God ever gave to a man.
“Saber, are you gonna—”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, I am.”

Her eyes fluttered closed when his mouth
touched hers. She parted her lips for him, as he’d taught her to,
experiencing that sweet, hot ache when he accepted her invitation.
Trembling, she reached up and slid her fingers through his ebony
hair, its softness bringing to life every nerve in her palm.

“Goldie,” he whispered thickly, his kisses
trailing over her chin and down to her neck. He pulled the coat
from her shoulders, tossing it to the floor before pressing more
feathery kisses to the creamy expanse of her upper chest.

Mindless with the desire she was only just
beginning to understand, Goldie dropped her hands from his hair and
ran them down to his shoulders. Tentatively, she pulled him closer
to her, moaning with pure pleasure when he responded the way she
wanted him to.

With swift motions, he closed the satin
curtains and gently laid Goldie down on the velvet seat. His lips
still grazing her neck and chest, he settled himself upon her and,
adjusting himself as well as he could within the cramped space, he
covered her body with his own.

She felt his need for her. It was hard. Hot.
It seemed to sear through her dress, branding her belly. It
frightened her, but held her spellbound. Her breath caught in her
throat as she concentrated on the heady sensation the feel of his
masculinity brought to her.

And then he pushed himself lower, his hands
tugging at her bodice. She moaned when he took her breast into his
mouth. Need swirled through her, and she knew now what it was her
body craved. “Yes,” she told him. “Saber, yes.”

He needed no further encouragement. Slowly,
he inched his hand up her silken calf, across her thigh, his
breathing becoming labored when she opened her legs and offered
freely the treasure he sought. Desire throbbed forcefully through
him when he realized again that she wore no undergarments. He
decided then that he would never buy her any.

Goldie’s delight began the second she felt
his sensual invasion. She arched into his hand, bliss rolling
through her as his fingers drove more deeply into her. The pleasure
seemed never to end, but went on and on, the ecstasy so intense,
she could barely breathe as it shimmered inside her.

“Again,” he urged her, his voice rich as
velvet, his hands still working their magic on her. “Again,
Goldie.”

Her mind couldn’t grasp his meaning, but her
body responded to his sensual command instantly. Once more the
pleasure began, building steadily, taking her by surprise, filling
her with a rapture too powerful to control. She rocked beneath him,
clutched at his arms, wrapped her legs around him, and felt an
eternity pass before the rising sensations began their slow winding
spiral downward.

Before she opened her eyes, Saber moved
above her again, allowing her to become accustomed to his weight
gradually. He was halfway upon her, and halfway beside her, but no
matter what position he attempted, he couldn’t manage to get his
long frame exactly where he wanted it.

Silently, he cursed the small compartment of
the carriage and made a firm vow to have a huge one
custom-made.

“Saber,” Goldie whispered, opening her eyes
to peer up at him.

At her whisper, he felt the arrogance she’d
accused him of earlier. He’d brought her to climax twice, the
ecstasy he’d given her almost more than she could bear. It had been
so profound that it had stolen her voice, he mused smugly. Still
smiling, he waited to hear her tell him what the glorious
experience had meant to her. “Tell me, poppet.”

“You’re smashin’ me.”

* * *

Goldie pushed back the damask draperies and
stared out the window of the bedroom she’d chosen as her own. The
gray day suited her mood. “It’s not fair, Itchie Bon,” she fumed
aloud. “He said he’d take me to all those places where dukes get
together, and what does he do instead? He stays gone! It’s bad
enough that he’s makin’ me do all my duke research from a damn
carriage, but what’s worse is that he hasn’t even let me do
that!
”

Whirling away from the window, she stormed
to her bed and flopped onto it. “Where the hell do you suppose he’s
been goin’ for the past two days? I haven’t seen him long enough to
do anything but kiss him good-bye and hello before he’s up and gone
again!”

She punched her pillow. “And where the hell
does he get off tellin’ me I better not go through that front door
while he’s gone? Oh, what I’m gonna tell him when he gets home! He
said himself he liked it when I got mad at him, so I’ll be more’n
happy to oblige him! I’ll knock him right off that high horse he’s
gallopin’ around on! Dammit, by the way he orders everybody around,
you’d think
he
was a duke himself!”

Antsy, she jumped off the bed, paced in a
circle for a few moments, then returned to the window. A
disturbance was happening in the street below. She saw a disabled
carriage, one of its wheels lying broken on the pavement. A
well-dressed man stood away from the coach, waiting patiently for
two men to repair the vehicle.

She squinted to see the elegant man better,
her eyes widening suddenly. “That’s a dukish man, Itchie Bon! Great
day Miss Agnes, I can see his flarin’ nostrils from all the way up
here!” Excitement rushing through her, she ran to the door, having
every intention of flying downstairs to meet the man in the street.
But as her hand turned the knob, she stopped. “I promised Saber,”
she mumbled to her dog, “that I wouldn’t go through that front
door.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she kicked a
potted plant as she ambled back to the window. “Damn you, Saber!
Damn this prison I’m in, and damn that stupid promise I made to
you!”

Leaning against the sill, she placed her
chin in her cupped hands and studied the fancy man below. “You
could probably tell me everything I want to know,” she told him,
her breath fogging the pane. “But there you are, down in the
street, and here I am, up here lookin’ at you from the damn
window.

“The window,” she repeated, lifting her head
from her hands. “The window.” Swiftly, she opened it. A brisk
breeze rushed through it, blowing her curls into wild disarray.
“Oh, Itchie Bon, guess what I’m gonna do!”

Tearing back to the bed, she ripped the
sheets off it, and quickly tied them together before attaching them
to the leg of the heavy dresser near the window. She pulled on her
homemade rope, satisfied it was strong enough to hold her weight,
then dropped it down the side of the house.

As she prepared to descend, she threw a
sheepish look at her dog. “Well, he said I couldn’t go through the
front door, Itchie Bon. He didn’t say a damn word about the window.
It’s his own fault. He should have given his royal orders in a
clearer way.”

It took but a minute to scale down the side
of the house. When her feet hit the ground, she turned and saw the
elegant man staring at her. Smiling and waving to him, she skipped
across the street and stopped before him.

“I saw you from my window up there,” she
informed him, reaching for his hand and pumping it vigorously.

The man frowned at her window, at her, and
the hand she was shaking. Pulling it away from her, he gave her his
back.

Calmly, Goldie pulled a scrap of paper and a
pencil from her pocket. “Dukish folks are rude,” she said, reading
each word as she wrote it. She walked around him, facing him again.
“Do somethin’ else. I’m takin’ notes, y’know.”

He lifted his chin. “Are you being punished,
little girl? Is that why you escaped your house by way of the
window?”

Goldie stiffened. “I’m almost nineteen,” she
enlightened him, standing as tall and straight as she was able.
“And I left the house from the window because...because the door’s
locked, and I can’t find the key.”

He regarded her intently. “I see,” he said,
rubbing his chin. “You are an American.”

She lifted her paper and pencil again.
“Dukish folks don’t
ask
people about their heritage, they
tell
’em,” she read while scribbling. Looking back up at
him, she gave him a wide smile. “Y’say I’m American, huh? Well, I
reckon I am, but there’s other ways of lookin’ at it, y’know. On my
daddy’s side I’m English and Scottish. On Mama’s side I’m Polish
and Switzerlandian.”

“Switzerlandian?” He frowned again. “I
believe the word is
Swiss
.”

“All right, Swiss. And Mama said her family
always suspected that an Oriental slipped in somewhere along the
line. If that’s true, I wish I could have inherited his or her
slanted eyes. Don’t you think slanted eyes are purty? If I had
slanted eyes, I wouldn’t be so upset with my gold ones. I’m kinda
gettin’ used to ’em though. Saber says they’re like dancin’ coins.
Anyway, I’m part English, like I already told you. So in a way you
and I are countrymen.”

The man stared down at her for a long moment
before clearing his throat. “Yes, well, how may I help you? You
climbed out of a second-story window to be with me. Considering
your effort, I assume there is a reason why you wanted to see
me?”

“Are you a dukish man?” she blurted, holding
her breath while waiting for his answer.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A dukish man. You know—somebody like a
duke. Maybe an earl? A baron? A knight? Does Queen Vicky really
knight folks by puttin’ a sword on their shoulders? Mildred Fickle
said she did. I always wondered what would happen if Queen Vicky
tripped and accidentally stabbed the man instead of knightin’ him.
What would happen if she—”

“Young lady, it is highly improper to call
Her Majesty by such an indecent name. I realize you are an
American, and as such you may not know any better. But you would do
well to remember in the future.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, making a mental note
to remember not to nickname royal people. “Do you know Majesty
Victoria?”

“Her Majesty the Queen,” he corrected
her.

Goldie wrinkled her nose. “Well, do you know
her?”

“As a matter of fact, I have the Queen’s
ear.”

Goldie’s eyes widened. She took a step
backward. “Do you have it with you?” she asked incredulously. “I’ve
never seen an ear off somebody’s head before. How’d she lose it?
Did she fall on her sword while knightin’ somebody? Why do you have
it? Did she give it—”

“My word, miss! That is not what I meant at
all! And for you to suggest that Her Majesty cut off her ear—Why, I
don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything as preposterous in all my
life!”

“But you said—”

“I merely meant that Her Majesty attaches
great importance to my opinion. To have the Queen’s ear is not an
expression to be taken literally. Now, if you will excuse me, I
have had quite enough of this witter, thank you very much.”

“Witter?” Goldie lifted her pencil again.
“What’s that?”

“Wittering, miss, is what you have a great
talent for. It is pointless chatter.”

“Witter,” Goldie murmured, writing the word.
“Do all dukish folks say that, or just you?”

He began to walk away.

“Wait!” she called, running after him. “Just
answer a few more questions for me, and I’ll—”

“What exactly is it you want from me? During
the past ten minutes, you have spoken to me about lineage, slanted
eyes, Mildred Fickle, and accidental stabbings. Now I ask you,
miss, what do those things have to do with me?”

“I don’t reckon they have anything to do
with you. I just got off on those subjects. It’s fun to go off on
tangents and see where you end up. Haven’t you ever done that?”

“I believe I have done so today, have I not?
Really, miss, I must be going—”

“What did you have for breakfast this
mornin’? One of the things I don’t know too much about is what
dukish folks like to eat.”

He sighed deeply, but complied. “Kidneys in
cream sauce, a bit of mutton, bread, almond pudding, and tea.”

She grimaced. “Saber’s all the time eatin’
kidneys too. He’s always tryin’ to get me to eat ’em with him, but
me, I don’t eat guts. Can’t see ’em, can’t eat ’em. I like eggs and
grits for breakfast.”

He sniffed haughtily, his nostrils flaring.
“Young lady, I have never thought of kidneys as...
guts
. The
very idea is revolting.”

“Then why do you eat ’em?”

“I assure you I will think twice before
eating them again. You have spoiled for me what I once considered a
fine meal.”

“Grits are better anyway. Eat those instead.
If you could have anything you wanted to eat, what would it
be?”

The man glanced at his carriage, saw that it
would be a few more minutes before he could escape inside it, and
decided to make the best of his absurd situation. He looked back
down at Goldie. “Without a doubt, it would be eel pie. I confess to
having a terrible weakness for it, and often overindulge.”

Goldie shuddered visibly. “Great day Miss
Agnes.”

“Is there something wrong with eel pie?
Surely you don’t consider eels to be...
guts
, do you?”