Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

  The ground vanished beneath her feet. She no longer saw the moon. The hedgerows disappeared. The night breeze ceased to exist. She forgot to breathe.

  All that mattered was Saber’s kiss. Upon her wrist. His lips. Smoothing across her skin, touching every nerve she possessed. “Saber,” she whispered. “Oh...”

  Saber felt her fingers quiver upon his throat; his lips spread into a smile. “Is a kiss on your wrist what you thought it would be, Goldie?”

  His deep voice vibrated upon her skin. It tickled. And caressed. And make her feel dizzy with pleasure. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And what about a kiss here?” Slowly, he pushed up the sleeve of her nightgown, his lips inching up her arm, and stopping at the crook of her elbow. There, his kisses resumed.

  “Saber,” she told him, her body afire with a need she had no idea how to satisfy.

  “Goldie,” he answered her, knowing exactly what she meant by calling his name.

  Her entire arm trembled. Like hot liquid, exquisite sensation flowed through her. It burned, and yet it felt strangely wonderful. She couldn’t understand how that could be. “Oh, Saber,” she whispered when his kisses began the slow journey to her upper arm. That odd, but demanding longing was growing. Sensing that fulfillment would come from Saber, she took a step closer to him, daring this dreamy experience to last for just a little while longer.

  Saber straightened, realizing his breath was coming in ragged heaves. He’d done nothing but kiss her wrist and arm, yet the slight contact had filled him with desire. He gazed down at her.

  Bright moonlight spilled all over her. It painted her gown, and the sheerness of her night rail became apparent to him. He could see little more than the outline of her tiny body, but the sight was enough. He burned with a longing so great, he could think of no remedy for it.

  None but one.

  He pulled her into his arms again. Goldie felt his hands pushing at her lower back, urging her closer to him. She’d never been held this way before. Never experienced such intimacy. Nor had she ever sensed such desperation in any man. She longed to respond to it. Yearned to show him her emotions matched his.

  But she didn’t know the way. Had no idea even how to begin. “Saber,” she entreated softly, nervously, “I—Tell me what to say to you. What to do to you.”

  He was struck. Not by confusion, or amusement. No, not even by the rising passion. It was tenderness that thrummed through him. How it filled him, seeking and finding buried emotion within him. Her plea was so dear to him, he wished he could find a way to capture and keep it about him for always. She thought not of what would please her, but what would please him.

  It was the most unselfish thing anyone had ever said to him.

  He knew she didn’t know what she was offering him, yet she extended it freely, honestly, and perhaps most importantly, with all the innocence and trust in the world. And that precious gift was not to be abused, he realized.

  The thought caused him to take a step away from her. “Goldie,” he began, lifting a flaxen curl from the corner of her eye, “you’ve said much. Done much. I ask nothing more than what you’ve already given.”

  Picking up her hand again, he pressed a last kiss to her wrist, then swept her into his arms. Looking deeply into her amber eyes, he saw a bereft expression in them. “Smile for me, Goldie,” he beseeched her, his voice little more than a whisper.

  Her confusion and dismay faded. She had no clue to his thoughts, no hint of his reasons for concluding the encounter. But she no longer cared. The tender glow in his seaweed eyes was all that mattered. Placing her palm on his cheek, she smiled for him.

  She knew she’d never experienced a night as wonderful as this one. Even if the time with Saber were to end tomorrow, she’d live on the wonderful memories for the rest of her life. One thought of them would wash away anything bad that might ever happen to her.

  As Saber began the trek back to the mansion, she curled her arms around his neck, resting her cheek upon his chest. She felt safe, warm, and happy in his strong embrace.

  And for the first time in many years, she allowed herself to feel cherished.

  Chapter Eight

  Absently, Dane stared at the ceiling of the elegant master bedroom, one hand fondling the plump mass of Dora Mashburn’s breast, the other holding a letter from William Doyle. William would be coming to Ravenhurst soon. Dane was anxious to see him, for William was a good friend. William handled everything so that Dane had little to do but relax and enjoy the life of a gentleman. Yes, Dane mused, William understood things. He comprehended the fact that Dane deserved all the respect and wealth afforded to the nobility.

  He smiled, glancing at the letter again. William was in Cornwall now, buying copper mines. Not for Tremayne, but with Tremayne money. Dane laughed, thinking of the fortune William was amassing for them.

  “Wot’s funny?” Dora asked, wishing she could read. Purring, she pushed her hips rhythmically against his bare leg.

  “I beg your pardon?” Dane snapped.

  “Wot’s funny, milord,” Dora corrected herself.

  Dane tossed the letter to the bedside table. “Many things are funny. Many things are sad, too.” He sighed deeply, pondering a great sorrow. “She hurt me. I was going to allow her to share her charms with me. Yes, I was going to do her that honor. I would have made her my lady. But she did not realize who I am. Didn’t recognize my supreme authority. Why didn’t she? That’s a very upsetting thing for me to think of.”

  Dora listened to him sigh again, knowing exactly how to alleviate his sadness. The cure was just as wonderful to her as it was to him. “Close yer eyes, milord,” she urged. “Close ’em, an’ I’ll be yer lady.”

  Excited, Dane shut his eyes, bringing the image of a delicate face to mind. Concentrating on it, he reached for Dora, lifting her atop his own body. “Milady,” he whispered, smoothing kisses on her neck.

  Dora began touching him all over, until he was ready for her. She moaned when he slid into her. “Yes, milord,” she cooed. “I’m yer lady. Lady Hutchins.”

  “More,” Dane groaned. “Tell me more, my dearest lady.”

  Dora knew the words by heart. “I love ya. I’ll spend the rest o’ me life lovin’ ya. I’m yers, milord. Now. Tomorrow. Ferever. I’m yer lady.”

  Dane exploded inside her. Many long moments passed before his pleasure subsided. When it did, he opened his eyes, frowning when it was Dora’s face he saw. “Get off!”

  She complied instantly. It was always like this, but she didn’t care. She lived for the sweet moments when she could be his lady.

  Peering at him through her stubby lashes, she renewed her vow to become his lady in reality. Nothing would spoil her chances of making that dream come true.

  * * *

  Goldie sat and kicked off her slippers. Like little green swords, thick, stiff grass stuck up between her toes. “Y’know, Saber,” she began, scratching Itchie Bon’s head, “it’s gonna be kinda lonesome here without Addison, Winston, Kenneth, and David. I reckon I got kinda used to ’em bein’ around.”

  Her gaze darted to him, then left him just as quickly. She’d been stealing glances at him all morning, each swift stare sending thrills rolling through her.

  Memories of last night spun into her mind. The two of them hidden in that romantic, moonlit tangle of bushes...his lips on her wrist...his body pressing close, so close, to hers... And it hadn’t been her imagination either, she reminded herself. The dream had been real. Another wave of happiness splashed over her.

  “You gonna miss ’em too?” she asked absently, daring just one more glance at him and enjoying the heady sensation it brought.

  Stretched out beside her on the lawn, Saber twirled a blade of grass between his fingers. Goldie’s voice, like the tender melody of a song, played through his mind. She really had a lovely voice, he mused. So sweet, so soft.

  At the thought, he dragged his fingers through his hair. He’d dwelled on it all night, deciding that wha
tever strange pull existed between them, he had to find the strength to fight it. To hurt Goldie... God, the very idea made him ill. Furthermore, he cautioned himself, he had no need, no room, indeed, no desire for an emotional relationship in his life anyway.

  He would read the diaries, look for evidence against Hutchins and Doyle, then do for Goldie what he’d tried to do for Delia. The charade had to end. He would end it as quickly as possible and think no more about it. The diamond, he remembered bitterly, belonged in the city. With all its walls.

  The dandelion needed her open fields. “Where her wishing seeds can drift without hindrance,” he said softly.

  “What’s that about seeds, Saber?”

  He looked up at her. The pure innocence radiating from her amber eyes told him he was doing the right thing. “I didn’t say seeds. I said leave. The boys had to leave. They couldn’t stay—”

  “Yeah, I understand about jobs. Addison said they all had to get back to work.”

  Saber threw the blade of grass into the breeze. What a perfectly outlandish lie Addison had spun for Goldie, he mused. Jobs. The earls of Aurora Hills, Dryden, Barclay, and Meadsborough working for a living? Saber subdued the urge to roll his eyes at the absurdity. “Am I not sufficient company for you, poppet?” he asked, absently watching a glint of sunlight dance through her hair.

  She looked down at him. “Poppet?”

  “What?”

  “Poppet. You called me a poppet. What is that?”

  The endearment had escaped him inadvertently, and that angered him instantly. What had come over him, that he broke a vow only seconds after having renewed it? “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, you’re enough company for me. Now what’s a poppet?”

  Blast it all! Saber thought furiously. What a morning this had been thus far! First he’d dealt with his friends’ jests, raised brows, and knowing glances before seeing them off. What did they think? That he would marry Goldie once they were gone? And that breakfast Big made...what a bit of diversion that had been. He’d never before eaten eggs that bounced off his plate when he tried to cut them.

  And the diaries, he thought irritably. Goldie had made no mention of them this morning, and he couldn’t think of a way to coerce her into showing them to him. They were, after all, diaries, and as such personal and private. Granted, they weren’t Goldie’s, but she might not be willing to allow him to read her aunt’s secret thoughts.

  And now he’d called her a poppet. A sweet name reserved for someone for whom one felt affection. There was only one girl he’d ever called that before, and she’d been lost to him for five years.

  “Poppet is just a name, Goldie. A name for...a small girl...or a little doll, or the like.”

  Goldie’s contentment vanished. A small girl, she repeated silently. A little doll. Oh, how she hated being so tiny! So flat-chested! Saber was right. She did look like a doll. A childish doll.

  When she hung her head and began twiddling her thumbs, Saber realized she was dismayed. Could it be that she thought the name ‘poppet’ was derisive? “Goldie, dolls are... Don’t you think dolls are nice?”

  She forced herself to nod, but continued to look at her lap. “I have a doll,” she told him, trying her very best to sound nonchalant. “Uncle Asa gave it to me.”

  Saber seized the opportunity to change the subject. He decided he’d listen to her tales about her uncle, then gradually lead the conversation to the diaries. “Tell me about him.”

  She sighed heavily, a reaction not lost on Saber. “Well, Uncle Asa’s my daddy’s brother. But Daddy didn’t drink or get into trouble. Daddy was the most honest soul in all the world. That’s why when I swear to somethin’, I say ‘Daddy’s honor.’ “

  Her earlier contentment returned. Thoughts of her parents often performed the feat of changing her gloom into cheerfulness. “Lightnin’ will strike me if I ever lie against Daddy’s honor. Not that I would though, Saber,” she informed him, grinning.

  Saber noted the rapid change of her mood. Her tears dried with the arrival of her smile; her smile disappeared upon the trickle of her tears. It wasn’t easy keeping up with her. “Ah, I see. Daddy’s honor.” What a charming oath, he mused.

  She sat up straight, curling her arms around herself. “I didn’t know Mama or Daddy for very long, but I remember ’em both. Mama was from Georgia, and Daddy was from Alabama. I was born in both states. I bet you don’t know anybody else who can say somethin’ like that, do you?”

  There was laughter in her eyes, and he wondered if she was teasing him. “How could you have been born in two states?”

  Her grin broadened. “Well, when Mama and Daddy got married, they both wanted to live in their home states. Instead of havin’ a fight over it, Daddy built our house right on the state line. When I was born, Mama’s birthin’ bed laid right over that boundary. The left side of me was born in Georgia, and my right came out in Alabama. My birth papers say I was born in Georgia though. Daddy let Mama have her way on that since she was the one who did all the work gettin’ me into the world.”

  Saber looked at the ground and chuckled. The story of her birth was quite feasible, but it was outrageous at the same time. And that described Goldie herself too, he decided. There were some things about her that were common and familiar. And yet she was unique. He couldn’t understand how it was possible to be ordinary and unique at once, but could think of no other way to describe her. “The little person called Goldie,” he murmured, bringing his gaze back up to hers. “You’re right. I don’t know anyone but you who can say they were born in two places. And it sounds as though your parents were special people to have come to such a fair agreement concerning your birth.”

  She wiggled her toes into the grass again. “Yeah, they were real special. One of the things I remember best about ’em was how they always talked about their troubles together. There wasn’t a problem in the world they couldn’t solve when they shared ideas with each other. It was real nice when they were alive, Saber. They hardly ever got mad at me about anything. Well, one time Mama had to scold me when I got too near to Daddy when he was sick. He never got well. Died two days later. Mama went purty soon after that. Uncle Asa was there visitin’, and I’ve been with him ever since. He—”

  She looked up at the sky. “There’s good in him. I’ve seen it and felt it. He always says he’s sorry. So when he’s in one of his mean, hollerin’ moods, I try—It’s only when he’s drunk. He says he’s sorry, Saber.”

  He felt as though she was trying to convince herself as well as him. Compassion for her blossomed inside him. No one had ever mistreated him, and he couldn’t understand what it was like to have to deal with that. “What kinds of things does he say to you when he’s in one of his mean moods?”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s sayin’.”

  “Still, what does he say?”

  “Well, you know. Mean stuff.”

  “Goldie, you’re staring at the sky. Will you please look at me?”

  She gave him her attention. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Mad?” This wasn’t the first time she’d worried about him being angry at her. It baffled him. “Goldie, why would I be mad at you?”

  She ran her hand over a dandelion bed before answering. “For starin’ at the sky.”

  “For staring at... Why would that anger me?”

  “I—Because I wasn’t givin’ you my full attention,” she tried to explain. “Actually though, I was givin’ you my full attention, Saber. I was just starin’ at the sky at the same time.”

  He took a moment to think about that. “And would your uncle have been angered at you for staring at the sky?” At her hesitant nod, something tender swept through him. “Goldie, what does your uncle say to you when he’s angry?”

  Pain clutched her heart. “Do you know what stertor means?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m well aware of the fact that you are changing the subject.”

  “You don’t know what it means
, do you?”

  “It’s the act of making a snoring sound.”

  “And do you do any stertorin’ when you’re sleepin’?”

  He stared at her for a long while. “Since you’re so intent on playing your word game, allow me to ask you a word. What is vituperation?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief that he’d apparently forgotten what they’d been discussing. “Vituperation? Well, I don’t have my dictionary out here with me, but it sorta sounds like a spittin’ word. Does it mean to spit?”

  “Vituperation is constant and bitter scolding and denunciation. When you vituperate someone, you are berating that person in an abusive manner. You would probably yell and use harsh words.”

  Goldie tried to smile nonchalantly, but didn’t manage to succeed. He knew, she realized. He knew what she herself was always trying to forget. Lord, he was smart. So smart that he’d backed her into a corner without her ever suspecting.

  “Goldie, I see no need to explain the word any further,” Saber said. “I can see by that weak smile of yours that you understand exactly what I’m hinting at. I’m asking you to confide in me. Is that so terrible?”

  Yes, she answered silently. She wanted no one’s pity, especially not Saber’s. “Saber, we need to get on with the duke lessons. I brought one of Aunt Delia’s diaries out here with me, and we’ll read what she says about dukish people.” She withdrew a small book from her dress pocket.

  Saber felt a surge of excitement at the sight of the diary. But it faded immediately when he saw Goldie run her fingers over the cover of the book. Her hand was trembling. Though he was desperate to read Delia’s journals, he couldn’t dismiss the significance of those pale, quivering fingers.

  “We can read the diary in just a moment, Goldie. But right now, I want to discuss the mean stuff—”

  “Uncle Asa’s only mean when he’s been drinkin’. I ignore what he says.”

  “If you ignore him, then why do the memories of his words cause such distressing reactions in you?” he fenced, his concern growing. “Tell me this, Goldie. Does your uncle strike you?”