“There will be plenty.”
“I wasn’t sure you would be able to fire up the dragon.”
“The dragon? Oh, you mean the cookstove. I was able.”
“I see.”
Jane paused before she began to pour batter onto the greased griddle. “So? Are you going to invite them? I know from experience that the batter’s best when it’s freshly made.”
“That might be true, but they won’t know and won’t care. It seems to me that you and I should have our breakfast first. Together. Alone.”
Jane’s nerves jangled unexpectedly. It was his tone that did it. When he spoke in certain ways, low and husky with that slight rasp that put her in mind of callused fingers sifting silk, it was as if those same fingers were walking up her spine.
“All right,” she said, keeping her back to him. “These won’t take long.” And they didn’t. She made a stack of six, put four on a plate for him and gave two to herself. He had syrup, butter, and utensils on the table when she handed him his plate, but he waited for her to sit down before he tucked into his meal. Jane owned there was a certain amount of pleasure watching him eat because his pleasure was that obvious. She liked that he had unguarded moments. Genuine moments. She drew her coffee cup closer and took it in both hands. She lifted it, sipped, and smiled over the rim of the cup. “This would not be a satisfying beverage if it were not for the aroma.”
“Can’t you say the same about all foods?”
“Probably, but I think it is most true of coffee.” She set the cup down and picked up her fork. “I heard you coming in this morning, but I never heard you leave. I thought you were sleeping when I got up.”
“You were sleeping when I left.”
“I was?”
“I left last night. If you didn’t hear me go, I think we can assume you were asleep.”
“Yes. Yes, of course, but why did you leave? Where did you go?”
“I left because I couldn’t sleep. And where I went was out.”
The area between Jane’s dark eyebrows puckered as she frowned, but she did not ask another question. She cut out a bite of the hotcakes, stabbed it, and put it in her mouth.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Well enough.”
Morgan took another bite. His gaze slid to the cookstove. “How did you conquer the dragon?”
Jane shrugged.
“Jake says she breathes fire.”
“She probably does when her dampers aren’t regulated.”
“All right,” he said. “I am going to ask. How do you know how to do it?”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I know how to do it?”
“You lived on Fifth Avenue. Even strangers to Manhattan know that address. Home to brownstone mansions and gilded parlors. Some things you wrote led me to believe that you come from money.”
“I lived with it,” she said. “I did not come from it.”
“So you lived with it. The Ewings had help. You told me that. There were things I expected I would have to teach you, so now I’m wondering how you learned to slay the dragon in a home where servants would have done it for you.”
Jane cocked her head to one side and regarded Morgan with a faintly mocking smile. “You have misapprehended an important point,” she said. “And it would be a disappointment for both of us, I think, if you married me for love of money. I have no claim to the Ewing fortune. None. In every way that was important, Morgan, I was a servant to Cousin Frances. There were appearances to be kept, and this was done. I accompanied the family to any event that Cousin Frances deemed appropriate and always had a place at the table. I had a foot in both worlds, but I was only truly welcome in one. So, yes, I can slay the dragon. Yours is smaller, newer, and less bad-tempered than one I am used to. Mrs. Shreve, the cook, was easy with a compliment, and she told me that I had the right touch, the right temperament, and knew all the right words when the situation called for them.”
“The right words?”
“Curse words.”
