Diamonds and Dreams (24 page)

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 onto 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 the 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?”

Her gaze drifted back to the closet. “But
what if I
do
set it on fire? Gertrude Micklewhite set her
cape on fire once. And she had it tied in such a tight knot, she
couldn’t get it off before it burned the tips of her ninnies. They
didn’t burn so badly that they melted or anything like that, but
they got seared some.”

The unseemly thought of “seared ninnies”
struck Saber’s sense of humor. It occurred to him that breasts
aflame were no laughing matter, but after all, they hadn’t melted
or anything like that, he remembered with a smile. “Goldie, why
don’t I watch you at all times while you’re wearing the gown? I’ll
warn you if you get close to a flame of any sort.”

“Well...”

Saber returned to the hall. “I’m giving you
exactly one minute to put one of them on. After that, I’m coming
back into this room.”

She jumped when he shut the door. Slowly,
hesitantly, she removed her dress, stepping out of the muddy puddle
it made at her feet. She rummaged through the gowns once more,
choosing one of warm coral silk. It rustled as she held it, the
delicate sound making her shiver with anticipation.