Addison realized he was being dismissed. Ordinarily, he might have stayed to drag more information out of his friend. But Saber had revealed much already. More than he ever had before. He left quietly.
Saber heard the door close. But inside him, another opened. He stood at the window for a long while daydreaming, reliving memories he’d forgotten.
* * *
“I suppose it never occurred to you to help me, did it?” Big blasted. “I’m not a cook, dammit!”
Addison and his companions looked at Big, then at each other, and then at the charred meat on their plates.
“We provided the meat,” Winston reminded him.
“We provided the meat,” Big mimicked, achieving just the right degree of haughtiness in his tone. “So what! Anyone with a gun and a halfway steady arm can shoot ducks sitting on the water! Cooking them is an entirely different matter!”
“Big is right,” Saber announced, strolling into the dining room. “If you boys think you can cook any better, why haven’t you?”
“But he didn’t even remove all the feathers,” David said, picking up a wing and showing Saber the burned feathers still sticking out of it. “Isn’t there anything else to eat, Big?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is,” Big assured him. Turning, he waddled to the sideboard, returning with two platters.
The men looked at a pile of black lumps on one dish, and a hunk of something even blacker on the other.
“What is that?” Kenneth asked.
Big slammed the platter covers onto the table. “Bread and potatoes!”
“Oh,” Kenneth said. “How terribly stupid of me not to see that with my own eyes.”
“Look,” Big snapped, “I’ve been listening to the four of you gripe for almost two weeks, and I’ve had just about enough—”
“Big,” Goldie called as she walked into the dining room, Itchie Bon loping beside her, “what’s got you into such a huff?” She stopped when she saw Saber. Her breath escaped her on a ragged sigh. As if he might disappear in the next instant, she took her fill of him.
He wore snug buff trousers. They hugged his lower half, leaving very little to her imagination. The muscles in his thighs were evident. He had long legs. Thick. Full of strength. The thought made her feel weak.
She lowered her gaze. Shiny boots encased his calves. The black leather provided a striking contrast to the pale ivory rug. They were only boots, but they looked so elegant on him.
She looked up a bit. A bit more. When she realized where her gaze had stopped, she blushed. Great day Miss Agnes, she’d never stared at a man there before. Shed never even been tempted. But with Saber... Her gaze flew upward.
His white shirt was as well-fitting as his pants. It stretched tightly across his chest, and was opened slightly, creating a vee, giving her a glimpse of...more muscle, she mused, flustered.
His hair, dark and wavy, touched the top of his snowy white collar. Chandelier light shimmered through those midnight-black locks. It looked to Goldie as if he wore hundreds of tiny stars upon his head.
She saw he was watching her, too. Those eyes of his, she thought tenderly. So green. So beautiful. So filled with something she wished she could name. It was the same look he’d given her when she’d placed the dandelion crown on his head. It was that softness. She wished she could capture it and put it into her pocket to keep for always.
She reached up, touching her hair, hoping he would understand her silent gratitude for allowing her to borrow the brush. He didn’t answer, but his eyes told her he understood. Her knees went shaky when he inclined his head toward her.
“Goldie, did you hear what I said?” Big demanded, stomping his foot.
“What?” She looked at Big. “What are you carryin’ on about?”
“They’re complaining about the dinner I slaved away cooking for them! Goldie, haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
She stole one last glance at Saber before turning her attention to the black foodstuffs on the table. “It doesn’t look any different than what you’ve been cookin’ since we got here.”
“And they’ve been whining since we got here!”
“Well now, Big, that reminds me of somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to ask you. Do you cook these meals of yours in the kitchen or in the fires of hell?”
“Well!” he blustered. “If that’s all the thanks I get for—”
“You won’t make those pork ribs and that beef stew like you made these ducks, will you?” she hinted.
His anger faded at the sight of her gentle smile. “No. Of course not.”
“Pork ribs and beef stew?” Saber repeated. “Can you make those dishes without burning them, Big?” he asked, unable to keep his hope from his voice.
Big nodded. “Yes. I can, and I will.”
Saber’s stomach growled. “Tonight?”
“No, not tonight! I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. No, I can’t make them tonight.”
“Saber and I will make another dinner tonight,” Goldie announced. She removed Big’s apron, tying it around her own waist. “I would have been cookin’ all along, but what with Saber’s duke lessons, I just haven’t had time. Now, Big, go feed Dammit his mush. I already mixed it up, and it’s waitin’ in the barn. And take Itchie Bon with you. Y’all go keep Big company,” she told Addison, Winston, Kenneth, and David. “I know you’re all hungry, but it’ll be a while before another dinner’s ready, and you’ll just have to wait until it is.”
Saber was amused when his four friends, who also happened to be four earls, jumped from their seats and followed Big out of the room. He wasn’t surprised though. Goldie had a way about her that made people do what she wanted. She wasn’t forceful; she was sweetly persuasive.
He himself, however, was capable of remaining immune to her compelling charms. He’d never cooked a meal in his life, and had no plans whatsoever of doing so tonight. If Goldie wanted to cook, fine. But he would merely watch.
* * *
Saber stirred the soup and looked at his hands. They were covered with flour. The Duke of Ravenhurst, he mused, had made a loaf of bread. Furthermore, His Grace was anxious to know how it would turn out. It smelled right; like bread was supposed to smell. “Goldie, are you sure my bread hasn’t been in the oven too long?”
“I’ll check it if you ask me in Shakespeareez.”
“Shakespeareez?”
“The language of Shakespeare.” Looking up from the pie dough she was rolling out, she blew a curl out of her eye. “I told you we’d be practicin’ tonight.”
He smiled. “Goldie, are thee sure my bread—”
“No, I think you should say sureth. “
“Are thee sureth my bread hasn’t been—”
“No, Saber. Say, ‘Are thee sureth my bread hast not beenest in the oven too longeth?’”
“Beenest? Longeth? Goldie, that sounds ludicrous.”
“Soundeths. It soundeths ludicrous.”
He bent over the pot of soup, laughing. “You soundeth like you have a lisp! Or should I say lispeth?”
She paid him no attention whatsoever. “And I’ve found several ugly names in those Shakespeare books, too. In case one of the Hallensham villagers dares to insult you, you—”
“I know. I bangeth him overest the head with my caneth.”
“Well, yeah, but then you call him a scullion. Or a rapscallian. Or a fustilarian. I don’t know what those names mean, Saber, but I’m sure they’re real bad. Saber?”
He was so amused that it was a moment before he could answer. “What?” he finally managed to reply between chuckles.
“I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. The villagers are always talkin’ about blood. Why do English people talk like that?”
“They talk about blood?”
She filled the pie crust with apples, raisins, nuts, and sugar. “Yeah. They say things are either ‘bloody’ or ‘bleedin’. The way they talk, you’d think the whole damn country was runnin’ red with the
stuff.”
Saber let go of his stirring spoon, laughing so hard, his belly cramped. But pain or no pain, he could not control his laughter. He fairly choked with it.
When Goldie saw him doubled over, she raced toward him. “Great day Miss Agnes, Saber, what the hell’s wrong with you? You swallow somethin’ that went down the wrong pipe?” She pounded him on the back.
Saber grappled for a chair and sat down. “Goldie, don’t say anything more for a few minutes.” He looked up at her and couldn’t resist adding, “I bloody well need to catch my bleedin’ breath.” His own joke sent him into another wild fit of mirth.
She stared at him, deciding he’d lost his mind. Maybe she’d been working him too hard. “Saber, you just sit there and rest a while. I’ll finish supper.” After patting his shoulder, she returned to the pie. “Yeah, English folks talk real strange,” she continued, picking up the subject again. “For example, take the word calf. The way English people say it, it sorta sounds like cough. The day I got to Hallensham a farmer with a baby cow to sell came up to me and asked, ‘Will you be wantin’ a cough, miss?’ I’ll swannee, Saber, when he said that, I thought he was tryin’ to warn me that I was fixin’ to get sick. I kept tellin’ him that I’d take care of myself so I wouldn’t get a cough, but he only—”
Saber howled. Bent over the kitchen table, his shoulders shook as laughter rumbled through him.
Goldie stared at him. No doubt about it, Saber was on the brink of madness. He definitely needed a day off from the duke lessons. She strolled to the oven and removed the bread he’d made. “Turned out perfect, Saber.” She took it to the table, then returned to the oven to slide in the pie.
“Addison says strange things too,” she continued, taking Saber’s place at the soup pot. “The other day, he commented on all the beggar’s velvet under the chairs in the parlor? Well, I didn’t know what the hell he was talkin’ about. So he showed me. He knelt and picked up some lint. Lint. Addison calls it ‘beggar’s velvet.’ Is that what you call lint too, Saber?” When he didn’t answer, she turned and saw him slicing the bread. “Saber, it’s not even cooled off yet!”
He didn’t care. He held a piece of the steaming loaf, and stared at it.
Goldie left the stove to join him. Saber was examining the bread so intensely, she thought that maybe there was something wrong with it. But it looked all right to her. She brought her face closer to it. It still looked all right.
“I made this,” Saber said quietly. “All by myself.”
She tilted her head and looked up at him, noting awe in his eyes. Amazement so great, it bordered on reverence. Great day Miss Agnes, it looked like he was worshipping the bread.
“With my own hands,” he added.
She wrinkled her forehead. “Well, how the hell else would you have made it? With your feet?”
“I...I’ve never made bread before.”
She saw his pride. It was so great one might have thought he’d just performed some kind of miracle. The thought made her think of a Bible story. “Wonder what you could do if you had some fishes to go along with that bread of yours?”
He continued admiring his bread.
“You did a real good job, Saber,” Goldie cooed, laughter edging her voice. “That’s the purtiest bread I believe I’ve ever seen. I wonder how it tastes?”
As if he’d forgotten he could actually eat the results of his hard work, Saber’s eyes widened. Quickly, he handed her a piece, then popped some into his mouth. He closed his eyes.
Goldie chewed her bread. It tasted like bread. But Saber was relishing it as if it were some kind of rare delicacy. “It’s good,” she told him.
He opened his eyes and cut another slice. “It’s more than good,” he corrected her.
She stepped away from him, watching him make quick work of his second slice. “All right, it’s real good. Wonderful. Mouth-waterin’. It’s—”
“Savory.”
“Yeah, that too. Saber, you made such an absolutely luscious loaf of bread, that if I had a medal I’d pin it to your shirt.”
He finally realized she was teasing him. He realized also that he was fawning over a simple loaf of bread. But he couldn’t help it. He really was proud of himself. Whoever thought Marion Westbrook Saberfield Tremayne, eleventh Duke of Ravenhurst, had culinary skill?
And he realized he felt happy too. The evening with Goldie had been a cozy one. The fire in the corner was dancing merrily and crackling occasionally. The kitchen smelled of good things. He and Goldie had chopped onions and boiled a chicken together. Pared apples and made dough. They’d talked, teased, and laughed. They’d done a lot of simple things tonight. Things in which he rarely, if ever, indulged.
He felt a sudden rush of tenderness for her and did nothing to hold it back. They’d part tomorrow, so he decided to enjoy their last night together to the fullest. What harm could one embrace, one kiss cause, especially if they never happened again? In truth, he wanted both and could find no will to dismiss his desire.
His gaze drifted down her body, then back up again, his own body responding. God, she was so lovely. So irresistible to him. He could barely wait to touch her.
“Goldie,” he whispered. “Come here.”
Chapter Seven
She heard something odd in Saber’s whisper. Something promising. She wanted whatever it was he offered, but hesitated to trust it was real.
He saw the wariness in her eyes and made the decision for her. One long step was all he needed to reach her.
He was so close, she could feel the warmth of his body. Looking up at him, she saw that softness in his eyes again. How it captivated her. Oh, if only it would last and not disappear like good things usually did. “Saber,” she whispered.
“Your hair,” he told her, reaching out to push his finger into the hollow of a ringlet. “You brushed it.”
She was completely enchanted. “Yes. I—Thank you for letting me borrow the brush.”
“But it’s yours.”
“Mine?” She could find no words to express her astonishment. She’d never owned anything so beautiful in her life. “But—I can’t—”
“Does it work as well as a wooden one?”
She nodded. “It’s a lot purtier, though. But I...it must have cost a lot of money, and I don’t really—It’s too nice—Well, you—Saber, you spent your allowance on it, and I don’t think it’s right for me to accept—”
“My allowance?”
“The money Addison gives you. He said he’d been helpin’ you financially. You didn’t have to spend it on the brush, Saber. What if you need it sometime?”
He smiled. The Duke of Ravenhurst on an allowance?
The thought was highly humorous. “Would you like me to return it and try to get my money back?”
Familiar disappointment swallowed her. “I—Yes, I guess maybe you should.” She made a mental note to brush her hair at every opportunity she got before he returned it. It would be the last time she’d ever have the chance to hold and use something so lovely.
Saber reached for her shoulders, drawing her to him. He felt her tremble in his arms. Bending low, he smiled into the nest of silky curls on top of her head. “I want you to have it. It’s my gift to you, Goldie. Goldie...” He straightened, looking down at her. He’d been going to call her by her whole name, and realized he didn’t know what it was. “How very odd. We’ve been together for two weeks, and I’ve never thought to ask you your full name. How utterly strange. What is your name?”
“Mae,” she whispered, still dwelling on the fact that he’d really and truly given her the brush. “Goldie Mae.”
Saber’s arms dropped from around her; he stared at her with wide eyes. “Mae.” The name made him think of fresh gingerbread. Of a big, warm kitchen and the stout, merry woman who ran it. The same woman who’d made those delicious eggs when he’d failed to bring her the duck.
Delia. Delia Mae. He hadn’t seen her in twenty years, but remembered her as if he’d seen h
er five minutes ago. How he’d loved her gingerbread. And her stomach. It was like a big, fat pillow, and he used to push his face into it, enjoying its berth, its softness and the sweet smells of good food clinging to her apron. And he liked climbing into her lap. He’d lay his head on her ample bosom, and she’d tell him stories. Recollections of the things she’d done in her life. Tales about her ancestors and bits of what she knew about the few remaining relatives she still had.
Her family in America.
Delia Mae. Goldie Mae. He sat back down, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled disbelievingly. The world wasn’t such a big place after all, he decided.
Goldie saw he was grinning at her as if he knew a secret. “Saber, you gonna share your secret, or make me guess?” she asked, tapping her chin with her finger.
He realized the time had come to tell Goldie who he was. This was the perfect opportunity. He’d explain everything, then ask for news of Delia. “Goldie, there’s something I have to tell you. Sit down here with me.”
His voice, like the light touch of a feather, brushed across each of her emotions, bringing them to life, making her shiver with sweet yearning. Her gaze never leaving his, she took a chair next to him.
Saber reached for her hand and held it between his own. He wondered how to begin and decided to be forthright. “Goldie,” he said softly, “I...”
While waiting for him to finish, she detected the aroma of the baking pie. “Great day Miss Agnes, the pie!” She flew to the oven, grabbed a cloth, and snatched out the dessert. “Well, look at that. It’s not even brown yet, and here I thought the thing was gonna come out lookin’ like something Big and the devil made together. I guess I lost my sense of time. I do that sometimes, y’know.” Smiling, she slid the pie back into the oven.
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