Diamonds and Dreams

by Rebecca Paisley

  “What have you done to upset her?” Big demanded, his anger returning in full force. “Did you say something mean to her? Did you yell at her? Did you—Look, Mr. Saber West, I’ve warned you before about this. You do one thing to hurt that girl, and I’ll—”

  “Big—”

  “You so much as look at her wrong, and I’ll—”

  “I’m sure you would, but before you do, would you mind telling me about—”

  “Why do you want to know?” Big asked suspiciously. Saber felt sudden anger. How dare Big question him! “Because I just do!”

  “Well, I’m not telling you a damn thing! If she wanted you to know about her feelings, she’d tell you herself! The fact that she hasn’t proves—”

  “Look,” Saber interjected, summoning patience. “I’m concerned about her. Do you find some evil intent in that?”

  Big searched Saber’s face for evidence of dishonesty, but found none. “Do you care for her?”

  Yes. Saber replied mentally. No. I don’t know. “I think perhaps that that is something that concerns Goldie and myself.”

  “Anything to do with Goldie concerns me too,” Big argued hotly. “I’m the only friend she has, and—”

  “No, sir, you are not. I, too, am her friend.”

  Big raised a brow. “Then as such you shouldn’t have to come to me for information,” he said slyly. “If you were a real friend, she’d trust you, and then you could find out anything you wanted to know from her.”

  “Very well!” Saber roared, totally fed up with the man. The devil take him! “We will never discuss Goldie again.” He turned and crossed to the staircase.

  “We’ll discuss her when I say so!” Big hollered. “You may be bigger than I am, but I’m older! I don’t know about here, but in America folks are supposed to respect their elders, and you...you hotheaded young buck...you have shown absolutely no—”

  “I’ll thank you to think carefully before calling me a name,” Saber admonished. “Good day.” Swiftly, he ascended the staircase. Big might be kind and caring at times, he thought as he stepped into the long hallway, but it when it came to defending Goldie, the man was about as cordial as a rabid dog.

  No, he’d get no help at all from the huffy dwarf. If he wanted to know more about the sorrows Goldie felt, he would have to discover them for himself.

  If you were a real friend, she’d trust you...

  Big’s statement burst into Saber’s mind as he approached Goldie’s room. He stopped, staring at the floor. Could it be that Goldie didn’t trust him? The thought disturbed him, and he couldn’t understand why. What difference did it make whether or not she trusted him, for heaven’s sake?

  “It makes no difference,” he murmured to a painting of one of his ancestors. “None at all. She has to go home. I have to go home. She—I—We—It makes no difference whatsoever. The only thing I want from her are those diaries. Tonight I’ll demand she allow me to see them, and that’s that.” Squaring his shoulders, he turned around, advancing toward his own room.

  But when he reached it, he looked down the hall again. His mind painted Goldie’s image for him. Suddenly she stood before him in the corridor. Her hands were outstretched, a solitary tear gleaming at the corner of one of her golden eyes. He could have sworn the vision was real and that she was begging for his help.

  Her plea tore at him. The thought of the diaries vanished, and he could think of nothing but that tear he’d imagined by her eye. Before he realized it, he was at her door again. His image of her was gone, but within the room was the real Goldie. The warm one who smiled and teased and made him laugh and made him want to hold her.

  The Goldie who had found the common man beneath the nobleman.

  “Goldie,” he whispered, and knocked softly.

  She didn’t answer. Could it be that she was out on her balcony and couldn’t hear him knocking? He stared at the doorknob, knowing full well it was highly improper for him to open the door, but knowing also that that was precisely what he was going to do.

  He opened it only slightly, his in-bred manners forbidding him to go any further before announcing his presence. “Goldie,” he called through the crack. “Goldie, may I come in?”

  No answer. Yes, she was on the balcony, and he was sure she was decent. People didn’t stand out on their balconies in a state of undress. Bolstered by his hypothesis, he swung the door open wide and stepped inside.

  What he saw stole his breath away.

  Goldie lay sleeping. She wore nothing but diaphanous white lace. The Duke of Ravenhurst realized he should leave the room immediately.

  Saber Tremayne stayed.

  Chapter Nine

  He stared at her, his fascination so great it rendered him motionless. He saw how the late-afternoon sun, streaming in from the open glass doors, bathed her in its golden light. A soft, sweetly scented breeze whispered across the delicate fabric covering her. The gently rustling lace created shadows that played and danced upon her milky skin.

  Delicate gold. Gentle lace. Sweet dance. Soft play. Sun and shadow. Such words came into Saber’s mind as his gaze rested tenderly upon her. “Upon this little person called Goldie,” he whispered, so quietly he could not hear his own words.

  Slowly, she unfolded a petite ivory leg. Saber felt as though he were watching a fragile blossom spreading its petals. She sighed in her sleep. A small, contented bit of breath that held a hint of her voice within its airy resonance. Whatever slumberous images flowed through her mind, Saber realized they were obviously pleasing to her. He experienced an intense yearning to know what they were.

  He took a few steps toward the bed. And saw her closer. And wanted to touch her. And almost did.

  But didn’t.

  God, she was lovely. Swathed in sunbeams, lace, and tranquility...she looked like an angel. Her luxurious mass of golden curls lay upon her pearl-white pillow, and there was nothing Saber could think of that he desired more than to lose sight of his hands within them. Hers was no ordinary hair. Those curls would capture his fingers, he knew. Like satin tentacles, they would coil around his hands, refusing him release, and he would savor his imprisonment.

  He looked at the gentle mound of her breast. The fine lace veiled it artfully, giving him only a hint of the treasure that lay beneath it. He’d seen her breasts clearly once. Now he could not. Now he could only imagine what he could not see.

  He envisioned peaches, soft, subtly touched with pale pastel hues, perfect, and kissed warm by the sun. He could picture her breasts in his hands. They weren’t heavy. They laid lightly upon his palms, blushing prettily for him. They tempted. Enticed. Saber’s fantasy was so real, he could almost feel his lips upon them. Silken and supple, they filled his mouth with sweetness.

  “Goldie.” His lips formed her name, yet no sound escaped them. His gaze caressed her face.

  Warm, rich cream with flecks of cinnamon on top, he thought, then studied its shape. A heart came to mind. A little one, perfectly and softly formed.

  Her lashes. Surely they were spun of burnished gold, he decided. They fanned out beneath her eyes, long, lush, and sweeping across the finely sculpted crests of her cheeks. And her brows. How gently they arched above her eyes, like a pair of tawny, upside-down smiles.

  Her lips twitched suddenly, as if reminding him that he hadn’t yet looked at them. In truth, he’d been saving them for last, and now he allowed his hungry gaze to take its fill of them. Their pink tinge was not hidden by the alabaster fabric. Indeed, the opaline lace deepened the color of her mouth. He imagined a scarlet flower with intricate snowflakes lying upon its crimson velvet. He would pluck the blossom and raise it slowly to his mouth, his eyes never leaving it. He would smooth his lips across it, relishing its rich texture and savoring its precious scent. The thought made him tremble with desire. He fairly ached with the need to have her close to him.

  At that moment, he felt all reserve melt away, like frost upon a warm windowpane. He sensed it slipping from him, tried to hold o
nto it, but couldn’t. It was gone, and he knew then that the man standing before this sleeping girl was a vulnerable one. He felt as naked as she was, yet felt no shame.

  No fear.

  What do you do to me, Goldie? he wondered. She lay there silently, doing none of the things that so delighted him. He saw nothing at all of her captivating smile, nor did he hear the music of her voice. Yet he felt mesmerized and enchanted by the sweet sight of her sleeping beneath her lace blanket. And it wasn’t that the whole of her beauty was revealed to him; that she lay there in a state that would make any man wild with desire. Ah, golden angel, if only it were that simple. But it’s more. More, but I don’t know what.

  As he stood there gazing down at her, he realized just how much he wanted her. How much he longed to feel her tiny body cuddled next to his big one. How deeply he yearned to hear her tell him everything she knew; all the things that made her so special.

  “How is it that when I am with you, I forget to be the man I am supposed to be?” he whispered, too softly for her to hear. “I am a duke, Goldie.” And yet with her, he thought tenderly, he was a child watching dandelion seeds float in the breeze. With her he dug in the dirt and played in the mud. She made him remember things he had no desire to remember, yet when those memories came he found them pleasurable instead of painful.

  A part of him wanted her to awaken and see him standing there. He became bolder and took another step toward her bed, his knees brushing her mattress. “Five years ago, little Goldie, I swore never to care for a woman again,” he continued to whisper. “I kept my oath.” Until he met her, he amended.

  And now he found himself angered at the thought of anyone mistreating her, and admonished himself again for whatever hurt he inflicted on her. He’d bought her a gold brush because she lacked even a wooden one. He was filled with the compulsion to get her a hat since her uncle had refused to buy her one.

  “And last night, while lying abed, I even thought of Imogene’s tea parlor and how she threw you out of it,” he admitted quietly. “The thought enraged me. I would give you a tea parlor, Goldie. A grand tea parlor. And then I would watch while you decorated it to your heart’s content.

  “Goldie,” he murmured. One glint of pain in her eyes, a slight tremble of her lips, a single tear on her cheek sent concern shooting through him, and he could think of nothing but how to soothe her sorrow. And how was it that his determination to read the diaries kept fading? How was it that her problems and struggles were becoming so important to him?

  He bent, and with one finger caressed her lace-covered cheek. “Only hours ago, I renewed my vow yet another time, and already I have broken it. I thought I rode alone, yet there you were. In the sky. In the breeze. In the fields. Everywhere, all around me, there you were. Tell me—does it do me any good to continue swearing an oath that I cannot seem to keep?”

  He drew his hand away from her cheek, feeling the separation from her instantly. “What will become of this, poppet? Of this tenderness that grows between us? I am powerless to stop it. Moreover, golden angel, I’ve no further strength to try.”

  He watched her sigh sleepily. Her eyelids fluttered. She stretched languorously, and he realized she was trying to awaken. With all his heart, he longed to stay. But he knew his presence would startle her.

  He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. As he stood in the hall staring at her door, he thought of the thing he’d just done. He felt like a little boy who’d just gotten away with mischief without having been caught. The thought made him grin. “Goldie?” he called loudly, and knocked. “Goldie?”

  “Goldie,” she repeated, her eyes still closed, sleep holding her for as long as it could. Saber, she dreamed. He was calling her; she would answer. “Saber,” she whispered to him.

  “Goldie?” He knocked again.

  Her eyes opened. She saw the room. Pearls, she thought. It’s rainin’ pearls in here.

  “Goldie, are you awake?”

  “Saber?” She sat up, looking down at the pool of lace in her lap. “It’s not rainin’ pearls. This is lace.”

  “Pearls?” Saber asked. “Goldie—”

  “Saber?” Great day Miss Agnes, it hadn’t been a dream! Saber was out there calling her!

  “May I come in, Goldie?”

  “I—Wait!” She scrambled out from beneath the lace and jumped off the bed. Finding her dress, she discovered it was ruined and remembered she was the one who ripped it. “Saber, I’m not dressed. My clothes...I tore ’em up.”

  “You tore them up? Why did you do that?”

  Goldie bit her bottom lip. Because they’re ugly, and I wish I could be pretty for you.

  “Goldie?”

  “I didn’t mean to tear ’em up,” she explained. “But—”

  “Don’t you have anything else to put on?”

  “Big’s washin’ the rest of my things.” The rest of her things, she lamented. Those “things” consisted of a dress just as ugly as this one.

  “Well, look in the closet,” Saber suggested, his lips touching the door. “Maybe there’s something in there you could wear until Big is finished with your other clothes. At the very least, you might find an old robe.” He smiled, knowing full well what Goldie would find in the closet. Jillian always left gowns behind at Leighwood, and many of them were hanging in Goldie’s closet.

  Goldie stared at the big closet doors. How many times since she’d arrived at Leighwood had she resisted the temptation to open those doors and see what was inside? She’d never gone through with the urge, her conscience telling her it wasn’t right to go through another person’s things. Even now she hesitated. “But Saber, what if nothin’ fits me?” she asked, her eyes trained on the brass closet handles.

  He frowned. Jillian was tall and generously endowed. Goldie had a point. The clothes would swallow her. But Saber felt impatient. He had to talk to her! “Well, you could put something on for the time being, couldn’t you? At least it would cover you up until Big returns your other clothes.”

  Goldie took a step closer to the closet. “The things in this closet don’t belong to me,” she reminded him, her voice betraying her anxiousness to open those doors. “And what if they’re man clothes?”

  “You’ll never know until you look. And as far as wearing someone else’s things... Goldie, who’s going to know? Big won’t tell, and I won’t either.” Saber almost laughed. If Jillian knew someone else was wearing her finery, her smooth, porcelain skin would mottle with rage. For some reason, the thought pleased Saber enormously.

  “Saber, if I put somethin’ on from this closet, Daddy’s honor you won’t tell?”

  Saber chuckled. “Daddy’s honor.”

  Goldie needed no further urging. She flung open the doors. “Oh!” she squealed in pure delight. “Oh, Saber!”

  He smiled. “Are there any clothes in there?”

  “Any clothes? Oh, Saber!” She walked into the closet, her fingers caressing silk, satin, velvet, and brocade. Every kind of fabric known to man. And the colors! Dozens of colors! “Oh, Saber!”

  “You’ve said that three times. Get something on so I can come in. I want to talk to you.”

  Her pleasure grew as she touched each gown in the closet. She sighed repeatedly over each of them. They were gowns too beautiful to be real. Gowns fit for a queen.

  Her smile vanished at the thought. What if she ruined these expensive dresses? What if, in her clumsiness, she fell and tore one of them? Tears sprang into her eyes. Viciously, she wiped them away and walked out of the closet. She closed the doors, shutting away the gowns, her delight with them, and her impossible dream of actually wearing one.

  Her brown dress lay wadded up on the floor. She slipped into it, noticing it wasn’t that badly ripped. Only the shoulder seam was torn. A few stitches, and it would be as good as new. “It wasn’t even good then,” she mumbled. “You can come in now, Saber.”

  His hand on the knob, Saber wondered which dress she’d chosen. He swung open th
e door, expecting to see her drenched in flowing silk or encased in shimmering satin.

  She stood before him in her multi-patched, mud-colored frock, her hand clasping the shoulder seam. “Goldie, why—”

  “Because I might tear ’em. Saber, I know you wouldn’t tell, and neither would Big. But what if I spilled something on one of those gowns? What if I stepped on the hem and ripped it all to pieces?”

  She turned toward the balcony, but not before Saber saw the tears shining on her lashes. She was doing it again, he realized. Happy one second, crying the next. Blast it all, he was going to get to the bottom of this, and right now!

  “Goldie, come here.”

  His command hit her ears harshly. That air of authority was in it. It dared her to disobey him. She turned but did not advance. “Are you mad at—”

  “No, I’m not mad at you!”

  “Then why are you yellin’ at me?”

  His jaw clenched. Instantly, he relaxed it, knowing she was going to ask him what he was eating. “Goldie, I don’t mean to shout at you, but your sudden tears baffle me, and I become impatient with them. Explain them to me.”

  “I...Saber—”

  “Tell me, Goldie. What it is that so upsets you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “All right,” Saber said, closing the door. “Let’s talk about the gowns. Why did you weep over them? And don’t tell me you didn’t, because I saw your tears.”

  “I already told you. I might mess ’em up.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that if she ruined them, he would replace them with a thousand more. “All right,” he said instead, “but you cried because you do want to put one on. Isn’t that right?”

  She nodded.

  “If you soil one, couldn’t we wash it? If you rip one, couldn’t we mend it? As long as you don’t set one on fire, I don’t see why we couldn’t repair whatever damage you might inflict. Do you?”