The steward cast Ben an uncertain look.
“It’s all right, Stephen,” Ben told him. “You may sit with us.”
Fable clapped her hands and then hurried to get the steward a cup of coffee.
When she returned, Ben was, as usual, smiling at her. His sister was not.
“Miss Ramsey, we don’t serve the servants.”
Fable’s smile softened. “My lady, I didn’t ask you, His Grace, or Lord Sudbury to serve anyone. There’s nothing wrong with a servant serving another servant.”
“You are no one’s servant,” the duke corrected.
Fable graced him with a smile, then shifted her gaze back to his sister. “Stephen worked all morning to make the coffee we’re all enjoying. Whether one has an abundance–” She looked around at all the food on the table, “or if you have nothing, gratitude is something we should all practice.”
“He can drink it in the kitchen,” Prudence said unmoved, and pushed her cup away.
Stephen began to rise from his chair.
Fable didn’t want him to go. If this was what having money and power did to a person, she wanted no part of it. This wasn’t her home. She couldn’t tell Lady Prudence that if she didn’t like it, leave.
“Stephen, sit down.” The duke’s rumbling voice warmed her blood and made her want to smile. “Prudence, he’s my loyal steward. He’ll sit at my table from this day on.”
“Sir, I–” Stephen tried.
“Drink your coffee,” the duke ordered. The steward obeyed. “It’s very good,” Ben added, holding up his cup to Stephen. “Thank you.”
Sitting near Ben, Lord Sudbury caught Fable’s eye and smiled with a slight nod. Beside him, the villainess cast her a stunned look.
Fable didn’t want to be her rival, or her enemy in any way. After all, she was falling in love with her brother. Enemies only made one’s life miserable, and this life she was living right now was too good to harbor animosity toward anyone. But could a street urchin find warmth in a heart so cold? She remembered winning the heart of cranky Old Ernest Hemmingway from Bleecker St. back in twenty-seventeen. She knew Ernest Hemmingway wasn’t his real name, but if that’s what he wanted to be called, who was she to argue? One good thing about living on the streets was that you could be whoever you wanted to be.
Old Ernest sold fish behind the piers. Every Tuesday, Fable’s mother set off with Fable in tow to the piers. Old Ernest used to save fish for her that was starting to lose its freshness. But after her mother tried to steal two bluefish, he refused to ever speak to her again. Fable and her mother went three months without any seafood–until her mother begged her to go speak to Old Ernest for her. She hadn’t gone directly to him, but stayed half-hidden and watched him from where he could see her. Finally, he called her over. She went with her long hair bouncing around her delicate shoulders. She didn’t ask him for food, but smiled at all the filets and whole fish over ice. Fable didn’t like seafood, but her mother did. By the end of the day, the cantankerous old man smiled at her as if she were his treasured grandchild. She returned to her mother with three bass and a bag of shrimp.
Fable knew how to win affection. She didn’t smile now, in case Lady Prudence thought she was gloating over having her way. She looked away and set her gaze on Lord Sudbury.
“My lord,” she said, keeping her voice soft, but just loud enough for Lady Prudence to hear. “You spoke the truth when you said the duke’s sister was the most beautiful woman in England.”
Lady Prudence blushed and then smiled into her hand.
There now, Fable thought, quietly slapping her hands together under the table. That wasn’t so difficult.
“Miss Ramsey,” the duke of Colchester said in a quieter voice so that only she and Stephen could hear, a look of pure entertainment on hisface. “What other wonders are you hiding?”
Chapter Eleven
Ben sat at the desk in his study, trying to pen a letter of apology to Lord Brambley for not being able to escort his daughter to London. But all Ben could think about was Miss Ramsey’s tour of the house with Stephen taking place while the owner of the house sat alone writing letters.
Last month he would have welcomed being alone, which he sought to be most of the time. But not lately. Since he’d met her he always sought the company of Miss Ramsey. He felt a need he couldn’t control to see her, hear her voice, hold her, breathe her, watch her while she ate or slept. He felt more familiar with her than anyone else he knew. And he wanted more with her. More–beyond the physical, though, even now, alone in his study, the very thought of being in bed with her in his arms made him remember how badly he’d wanted to kiss her andundress her, and make love to her. He believed she was a virgin–though he knew it was only by the grace of God that she was if the life she described to him was the truth.
He was a virgin too. He knew the basics of what to do from listening to his soldiers while they laughed about their experiences around campfires. Ben didn’t think it was a laughing matter, unless the laughing was done by the pair involved.
He wouldn’t mind laughing with Fable while–
He pushed out his chair and stood up. He loved her. There was no denying it. He’d already confessed to her. He wanted to go find her. Would he appear the fool? Pathetic? He hated this unfamiliar need in him because he couldn’t control it. And he’d become a master at controlling himself when he was off the field. He had to control it all or risk releasing the warrior. Since the injury to his arm, he’d had to leash all the anger, the endless need for revenge, blood, and destruction. Without his arm, he was useless. But in three years, with steadfast dedication, he’d strengthened his muscles and recovered the use of his arm. He’d been planning on writing to the king about meeting with him to return to service. But here he was, hesitating. Hesitating! And why? Because of a woman! A woman without a home, a family, or a pence to her name. Not only that, she claimed to be from another time and that there was a man armed with a sword chasing her. She didn’t have a shred of proof to support either claim, save for villagers who had seen a red-haired woman appear out of nowhere. There was no proof it was her. Even the pocket watch wasn’t in her possession. And yet, here he was in the hall, ready to go find her. He looked around, swallowed, and then set out to check inside every room. He didn’t care if she was out of her mind, he would believe what she told him was real to her.
He thought about losing her and felt sick to his stomach. Missing her would be unbearable. He didn’t miss anyone inhis life, except his parents. But his heart felt heavy when he wasn’t with Fable, burdened with the desire to exact revenge that burned as hot as it first had seventeen years ago. The warrior had become a friend to him, but being caged had become torturous.
But since that first day when she fell into his arms, she made him forget the warrior and eased the pain. She soothed him like a comforting aroma to his soul. She made him laugh again, and she broke his heart. She gave him peace–and now he craved it even more than revenge.
