The promise radiating from her sweet little face made Saber’s throat constrict. I probably won’t even wrinkle the sheets all that much. Jillian had been here many times and when she left, it most likely took the servants a month to clean things up.
Goldie’s promise filled him with something tender. “This is not Imogene Tully’s tea parlor, Goldie. And the owner of this estate does have a hundred...uh, dollars to buy a sofa. To buy anything. Wrinkled sheets are the last things in the world that would upset him. He’d want you to feel comfortable and happy here. I’m sure of it.”
“All the same, I’ll be careful.” She swept past him and back into the bedroom, stopping in front of a beautiful full-length mirror. With her fingers she began brushing her hair.
Saber strode to the door. His hand on the knob, he wished he could make himself invisible and watch her pretend to be a princess, for he still suspected that was exactly what she was going to do when he left. “Good night, Goldie.”
Her fingers entangled in her tight curls, Goldie returned the sentiment and smiled.
As Saber left, he felt an odd desire to buy her a brush. A gold one. Upon further deliberation, he discovered he wanted to buy her a tiara too. A princess just wasn’t a princess without one.
Chapter Five
Dane Hutchins pressed a scented handkerchief to his nose, but could still smell the fetid odor of the cold, dark London alleyway. Sidestepping a pile of rotting offal someone had dumped from the cracked window above, he noticed an old woman picking up bones littering the muddy ground. Then he read the name he’d written on a scrap of paper and stared at the man before him. “It wasn’t easy finding you, Ferris, and I would appreciate your undivided attention. I am terribly offended by the stench of this place and wish to conclude this unpleasant business as soon as possible.”
Diggory Ferris looked up from the knife he was sharpening. “If ya got ’alf the brains ya pretends ter got, ya’d call me Mister Ferris. You bleedin’ toffs is all the same. All wind an’ piss, ya is. Ya needs a job done an’ think ya can waltz out ’ere where all the filth lives an’ order us around like ya does the blinkin’ servants y’got in yer fancy ‘ouses. Go git buggered, is wot I say. I ain’t no grotty cod’s ’ead, I ain’t, an’ I don’t follows no friggin’ orders from nobody, ’ear? I own the part o’ London-town where ya is, see? Yer on me grounds, and ya follows me lead. I earned me nickname, ‘The Butcher,’ an’ I’d be more’n obliged ter show ya why, guv.” With one swift motion, he threw his knife, impaling a large rat.
“I’m afraid I really must insist that you address me as ‘milord.’” Dane pulled a wad of bills from his pocket.
Diggory’s eyes widened at the sight of the huge sum of money. “Milord!”
Dane smiled. “I’ll give you three times this much when the job is done. Now repeat what I’ve told you about her.”
“She’s little,” Diggory recounted. “Curly yellow ’air wot touches ’er shoulders. American, an’ talks like one. She’s got a bleedin’ blastie with ’er. I’ll finds ’er an’ the midget, milord. If she’s anywhere in this stinkin’ ’ell-’ole, I’ll finds ’er. London-town’s big, it is, but I got me army ter ’elp me cover it. Best band o’ cutthroats wot live, they are, an’ I trained ’em meself. Nobody comes or goes without us ’earin’ about it. Every street in the friggin’ city ’as eyes an’ ears.” He snatched the money.
Dane nodded, taking a step away from the ruffian. Being in the midst of such repugnant surroundings was highly distasteful to him, but after some inquiring, he’d learned that Diggory Ferris was the most feared assassin in the East End. Dane had spent several days and a veritable fortune tracking the criminal down. For future reference, he pocketed the scrap of paper that had Diggory’s name written on it. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m able. But you must understand that I have to be careful about leaving my home. I don’t want to be connected to this.” He slid a gloved finger across the rim of his hat, then looked to see if any grime had come off on it.
“O’ course ya don’t,” Diggory agreed, caressing the bulge of money in his pocket.
“When I do get back, I want to see her body with my own eyes. Hers and the dwarf’s.”
“Ye’ll see ’em. I’ll saves the bodies even if they rots on me.”
Dane smiled again. Thinking back, he recalled how furious he’d been when he’d learned Goldie and Big were gone. He’d set out for London immediately, determined to find the American girl before she made contact with Marion Tremayne. He needn’t have worried, he mused now, his smile broadening. Lord Tremayne wasn’t even in London. The man was on holiday. It hadn’t taken Dane long to learn that satisfactory bit of information.
“I’ll be going now, Ferris. Back to my home.” He reached up, his hand closing around his jeweled stickpin. He shut his eyes. “My home. I am master there, you know,” he whispered. “And it is right and good that all is mine because I have deserved it for many years. He was once the illustrious prince there. While I was the one who labored, he ran, danced, and played. He wallowed in luxury while I had to be content with a measly salary and a home fit only for a peasant. It wasn’t fair. I knew that from the very beginning.”
He opened his eyes, staring blankly into the dark. “He left it long ago. It was his own choice. He cannot have it back. It is my dominion now, and I will do whatever is necessary to keep it.” With that, Dane turned and hurried out of the alley.
“Wotever ya say, milord!” Diggory called after him. “Wot a bleedin’ looby,” he murmured. Shrugging, he went to retrieve his knife. After wiping the rat’s blood on his shirt, he continued to sharpen the dagger.
* * *
Saber couldn’t believe it was only last night when he’d felt that odd desire to buy Goldie a gold brush and a tiara. What he wanted to buy her right now was a seat on the next coach departing for Hallensham. Or better yet, passage back to America!
He left her standing in the middle of the library and stormed to the bookcases. There, he snatched out a dusty volume, thumbing through it as if it were the most interesting book he’d ever had the luck to come across. “I’m not going to walk like that, Goldie! Dukes do not wiggle while strolling along.”
Goldie fumed and blew a ringlet away from her eye. It flew upward and settled on her eye again, curling cozily upon her lashes. “Since when do you know so much about duke stuff? You’re just makin’ that up so you won’t have to move your bottom a little bit when you walk. Saber, I’m tellin’ you, dukes sway their—”
“They do not.”
“Yes, they do.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Yes, they do.”
“No, they don’t.”
Goldie’s brow rose. “No, they don’t,” she repeated mischievously.
“Yes, they do,” Saber answered automatically.
She tapped her toes on the floor, waiting for him to realize what he’d said. It only took a second. She smiled at the anger in his eyes.
“You duped me!” he yelled at her.
“And tricked you too.”
Saber slammed his book closed. The dust that rose from it made him sneeze several times. “Listen, Goldie—” He sniffled, his nose still itching, “—dukes do not move their—”
“You did it!” she squealed. “The sneeze made you wheeze! Oh, Saber, do it again!”
He closed his eyes; his shoulders slumped. “I did not wheeze, dukes do not move their bottoms while walking, and that is the end of this lesson.”
“The end of what lesson?” Addison asked as he, Winston, Kenneth, and David ambled into the library.
“Saber isn’t refusing to learn something, is he, Goldie?” Winston asked.
“She says dukes wiggle when they walk!” Saber exploded. “Tell her what a ridiculous notion that is!”
Addison took careful note of Saber’s exasperation and liked what he saw. The starch was definitely flaking off. Calmly, he sat on the blue velvet sofa, Winston, Kenneth, and David each taking a chai
r around it. “I’m sorry to say that I must agree with Goldie, Saber,” he said, examining his nails. “I’ve seen dukes walk, and they do...uh...wiggle.”
If Saber had a gun, he knew he’d use it to shoot Addison. “No, they—”
“French dukes do it too,” Addison broke in. “You know—the kind who live in Paris?”
Saber remembered he had a gun in the next room. “I do not find this amusing. It’s—”
“Y’see, y’all,” Goldie began to explain, “some people inherit flat feet, bony knees, or crooked teeth. Lunk Milligan back in Spittin’ Falls, North Carolina, inherited his mama’s hairy ears. Everyone gets somethin’ from their folks. Dukish people get a wiggly walk bred into ’em. Mildred Fickle said that even if you dressed a duke in tattered clothes, you’d still know he was a duke by watchin’ him stroll. It’s all in that blue blood of theirs.”
Saber rolled his eyes. He decided that he’d shoot Addison first, then go to America and shoot Mildred Fickle. “Goldie—”
“Saber,” Addison cut in, drumming his fingers upon his knee, “it would seem to me that instead of balking, you should be thanking heaven that dukes inherit a wiggle walk instead of furry ears. If it were the other way around, I have no doubt Goldie would be trying to come up with a way to glue hair to your ears.”
“That’s right,” Goldie agreed, nodding vigorously. “There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do to turn you into a duke, Saber.”
“Saber?” Addison pressed. “Kindly let us see that dukish wiggle.”
“Right now,” David added, smirking.
Saber stormed across the room, his back straight, his shoulders thrown back, his bottom as still as he could keep it.
Addison began whistling a popular French tune. But he was smiling so broadly, he had reach up to his mouth and squeeze his lips into a pucker in order to perform a proper whistle.
Saber decided a bullet was too merciful. Being drawn and quartered would hurt more.
Winston, Kenneth, and David, seeing Saber’s adamant reluctance, joined Addison in whistling the French melody. They even managed to harmonize the tune, whistling louder with each passing moment.
Enraged, Saber spun and faced them, his jaw clenching rhythmically. There was simply no escaping. He took a deep breath, lifting his chin. He wiggled his way across the room, knowing he looked as foolish as he felt. His knowledge was verified by his friends’ wild, though silent laughter.
Goldie clapped. “Oh, Saber, that was just wonderful!” She skipped to him and gave him a congratulatory hug.
He felt her small breasts caress his middle. The heat of his anger cooled as warmth of a different kind invaded his body. It caught him so fast, he was unprepared for it. He inhaled raggedly. Suddenly oblivious to his friends’ presence, he stared down at the bright grin Goldie was giving him, his hands sliding up her arms to rest upon her slight shoulders.
Goldie’s smile faded when she saw the smoldering look in his eyes. Those green orbs were afire with something she’d never seen before. Whatever it was, it was catching. She, too, began to feel warm.
Her senses were aroused. He smelled of sandalwood. Sandalwood and silk sheets and another scent akin to something heating slowly, something simmering. She remembered his voice. Deep, rich, full of promise. Sort of like the soft, distant rumble of thunder. Her arms were around the expanse of muscles in his back. She spread her fingers to feel them better. Pressing those muscles, she discovered that they were none too pliable, and his obvious strength pleased her. Her pulse quickened.
Saber could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his belly. “What are you thinking about, Goldie?” he whispered, besieged with the desire to know.
“I—” She couldn’t tell him how handsome she thought he was. How good he smelled or how nice it was to hold him this way. He’d think she wanted him to be her sweetheart, then he’d laugh just like Fred Wattle had.
Oh, if only she were taller. She sighed. Tall enough so that the top of her head reached his chin. That was the best height to be. And if only she had bigger breasts and could make her freckles go away. Men were drawn to clear flawless complexions, not ones that were splattered with little brown dots. And if only she could make her hair behave. It looked like a yellow bush sitting on top of her head. It was always so wild, as if it led its own separate life and had nothing at all to do with the girl who grew it.
And most of all, she thought wistfully, if only she could think of wonderful and witty things to say! Artful and flirtatious things that other women could think up right on the spot. She said only what was on her mind, and what was so wonderful and witty about that?
Yes, if Saber knew how she felt about him, he’d laugh. A man as handsome as he was looked for a woman who had everything she lacked. Sadness pushed up inside her. Her feelings of inadequacy were nothing new to her, but she wondered why she felt them so much more strongly with Saber.
“Goldie?” Saber urged, still wondering what was going on behind those huge golden eyes of hers. She looked a bit dismayed, and he couldn’t think of a reason why.
She wet her lips and blinked. “Saber...do you know what frugivorous means?”
Her question was so unrelated to the feelings floating between them, Saber had to think for a moment before he could answer her. “New word for the day?”
She nodded and forced herself to smile.
“Well, let’s see,” Saber stalled, pretending he had to do some hard contemplating. “Frugivorous. It sounds very much like carnivorous, which means to eat meat. Frugivorous. Frugivorous. Could it be, little scholar, that frugivorous means to eat fruit?”
She was amazed. “How did you—”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Big demanded as he rushed into the room. “Goldie—You—I—Get your hands off her!” he commanded Saber. “I turn my back for one damn minute, and you—”
“Big, stop that,” Goldie admonished, stepping out of the warm circle of Saber’s arms. “I was only congratulatin’ him for walkin’ like a real duke. You had no call to—”
“A simple ‘Good job, Saber’ would have been enough!” Big yelled. “You don’t have to hug—”
“Her behavior has been nothing short of proper all morning,” Saber intervened. “Like she said, she was only congrat—”
“And you were just eating it up, too, weren’t you, you...you overgrown octopus!” With that, Big showed Saber his fists and began swinging.
Saber reached out and laid his hand on Big’s head. Thus, he kept the ferocious little man at bay. Big continued jabbing, though at thin air. Goldie tried catching hold of his pudgy hands, but his rage made him too fast for her. Saber used his free hand to help her.
Though Addison was irritated that Big had interrupted Saber and Goldie’s embrace, the sight of the three of them grappling and grabbing at each other made him laugh so hard that he nearly fell off the sofa. His three cohorts were equally amused, each of them bent over their knees.
Many moments passed before Addison was able to get control of himself. “What Saber and Goldie say is true, Big,” he chortled. “My companions and I have been here the whole time, and nothing indecent whatsoever went on between them. Their embrace was quite innocent.”
“And why the hell should I believe you?” Big huffed, jerking himself away from Saber’s restraining hand. “You’re on the octopus’ side! Why, it could be that all four of you are just waiting for a chance to—”
“Big!” Goldie hollered. “You—”
“Goldie, they—”
“Cease!” Saber bellowed, satisfied when his order was instantly obeyed. He looked down at Big. “Sir, I have warned you before about your conduct. You—”
“And just who are you to warn me?” Big demanded. “I’ve had just about enough of your royal attitude! You—”
“Why don’t we all sit down and have a pleasurable conversation?” Addison suggested merrily. “Saber, pour the tea.”
Big watched Goldie take a place beside Addiso
n. “I don’t have time for sitting around drinking tea. I’m going fishing, and while I’m gone,” he told Saber, “you better—”
“Big loves to fish,” Goldie broke in. “He’s gonna catch us supper. He uses cheese, same as I do. You gonna fry the fish, Big?”
Big took hold of his chin and thought for a moment. “You know, I think I’ll stuff it, then bake it.”
Saber sighed. If Big’s stuffed fish turned out anything like the ham and biscuit breakfast he’d made, it would be inedible. Big had volunteered to do all the cooking, and Saber was positive they would all starve to death soon. God, how he missed the servants. “What do you plan to stuff it with, Big?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well now, I don’t know. What do you think would be good—” He broke off, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be angry with the haughty giant. “You’re trying to be nice to me to get on my good side, aren’t you, you scheming devil! Look, I’ve decided I won’t fight you right now, Saber West, but I’ll be keeping my eye on you and Goldie, and if I see or hear one inappropriate gesture or word, I’ll—”
“I’ll keep that in mind and remember myself at all times,” Saber swore.
“See that you do!” Big puffed out his chest and swaggered from the room, confident he’d set matters straight for the time being.
“Saber?” Addison said. “The tea, if you please.”
Saber glanced at the huge silver tea set Big had brought into the library earlier. His aggravation rose. Storming to the tea cart, he sloshed tea into five cups, then passed them around.
Addison stared at his brew. “What about sugar?”
Saber stalked back to the tea cart, retrieving the sugar bowl. Frowning, he handed it to Addison.
“Two sugars, please,” Addison instructed.
Saber realized he didn’t have a spoon. Too irritated to care, he simply turned the sugar bowl over, dumping sugar into Addison’s tea. “That was about two spoonfuls, don’t you agree, Goldie?”
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