Authors: Shirl Henke
“Now, let's see about this meat. No offense to the cook, but it looks kinda bony. That why they put these little mittens on the bones sticking out?” he asked Sally, who by this time just nodded dumbly, not daring to look in Sabrina's direction.
Sabrina watched in stunned horror as he ignored the carving knife and used his hands to tear apart the rib bones, separating the juicy meat of the chops into dripping hunks. He placed one three-rib slab on her plate, liberally sprinkling the tablecloth with pink splotches in route, then took another four ribs and plunked them on his own plate.
He looked at her and winked, then used the napkin on his lap to wipe his hands, saying, “Thought I'd forget, didn't you?”
Before Sabrina could form a response, he picked up the bottle labeled “Who Shot John” and took a generous pull, after which he replaced it by his side and tore into the rare lamb. He separated one rib from the others and tossed the frill on his plate, then began to gnaw the meat from the bone.
How dearly Sabrina wished to leap across the table and use that hateful napkin to strangle the life out of him! Better yet, seize that bottle of vile-smelling spirits and break it over his Neanderthal head! Suppressing those exceedingly unladylike although comforting visions, she said in the iciest tone she could muster, “You have made sport of me and this young woman quite beyond enough, my lord. We shall leave you to drink yourself insensate in solitude, since your company is too barbaric to be endured by anyone with a modicum of decent manners. When you are prepared to resume your lessons in earnest, you may apologize and perhaps—perhaps I shall return.”
With that, she stood up, dismissed the red-faced servant, who went scurrying into the kitchen, and stormed toward the door.
Chapter Seven
“Now don't take on like this. I was only funning, honest.” Josh tossed down his napkin and stood up as Sabrina stomped out the door. Muttering an oath, he quickly followed.
“Your idea of humor would disgust the emperor Nero, my lord,” Sabrina said when he overtook her in the foyer, blocking her path to the front door. “And you nearly gave that poor maid the vapors.”
“Aw, Sally'll be all right. She knows how to take a joke. Only thing is, she was afraid to laugh because she thought you might fire her.”
Sally. The chit was young and quite pretty. “Obviously, I have no authority to dismiss any of Lord Hambleton's staff and Sally knows it,” Sabrina snapped, appalled at her sudden twinge of jealousy. She immediately quashed it. “As to my sense of humor,” she quickly continued, “when something is genuinely amusing, I shall laugh. Perhaps the customs are different in Texas, but here one does not find amusement at the expense of another. You were making sport of me.”
Oh, I'd love to make sport
with
you
, he thought, but he said, “That wasn't what I was doing. I was poking fun at myself. Well”—he hesitated and grinned— “maybe I was funning the way I thought you expected me to act, too,” he confessed. “I apologize. Will you give me another chance?”
When he looked at her with that earnest schoolboy expression on his all-too-handsome face, those green eyes seemed to pierce right down to her soul. How could she refuse?
You need the money
. She assured herself that was the only reason she would agree. “If I do, I insist on your word as a ...Texan that you'll try no more such shenanigans, but be a diligent pupil.”
Josh put up his hands in mock surrender. “You nailed me, ma'am. Since I'm no gentleman, I could welch on that, but my honor as a Texan...well, that's another matter. I give you my word. No more jokes...at least none on purpose.”
Sabrina looked uncertain for a moment, but the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth gave her away. She had bested him. And enjoyed it. “Very well. However, consider yourself on probation from here on.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. We could go back and finish that lamb. I promise to use my knife and fork.”
“I believe you've placed sufficient strain on the kitchen staff for one day. The afternoon might be more profitably spent working on drawing-room conversation.”
“You mean you're going to give me another list—this time of things I can't talk about in front of womenfolk?” he suggested with a grin.
“Among other things, yes. Your manners in the presence of ladies must be impeccable. For example, you must always see that a lady is seated before you take your own seat,” she began, ticking off things on the fingers of her hand. “You should immediately rise when a lady enters a room, a matter about which you are not in the least attentive. When no servant is present to do so, you must always open a door and hold it for a lady. If the weather is cool, you should assist her in donning her cloak before going outdoors and in removing it when you reach your destination, if it is indoors.”
Visions of “assisting” her in the removal of considerably more than a coat flashed through his mind as his eyes swept down her diminutive, curvaceous body. Josh could imagine the velvety feel of her pale English skin, flowing like silk beneath his caresses. He had to get a grip on his fancies or she'd be storming out of here again, mad as a rattler with the piles.
He extended his arm to her gallantly and said, “I reckon bowing and scraping for ladies is pretty much like eating dinner. Just watch how the other fellows do it and follow suit. I picked up a few things on business trips to New York and Chicago. Of course, even the richest Yankees can't match the English as gents, so I'll have to practice...”
His smile was enough to reduce her to a puddle of porridge. Gingerly she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her toward the front parlor. Sabrina knew she was treading on dangerous ground with this man. He was not only a foreigner but a member of the peerage, the likes of whom she had never before met. He was self-educated and proud, highly intelligent and possessed of a most unpredictable sense of humor.
And he exuded an aura of...what to call it? Untrammeled maleness? Wicked virility? No mere words did justice to the effect he had on her, always keeping her off balance. It must simply be his alien background. The more she learned about him, the better she could understand what made him behave as he did. Then she could deal with him as if he were any other man.
You know that is pure rubbish.
If the Texas viscount felt the faint tremor that passed from her hand through his coat sleeve, he did not reveal it as he ushered her through the door.
Instead, he smiled as he offered her a seat on the settle, hoping to join her there. Sabrina shook her head and sat instead on a chair across from it. “A lady and gentleman who are not affianced do not sit side by side,” she said primly, struggling to keep her tone formal and instructive. But she knew he wanted to sit next to her, and that simple fact flustered her as she struggled to gather her scattered thoughts and begin another lesson.
If only he didn't fold himself into his seat with such negligent ease. His long legs stretched beneath the low table between them as he leaned back and grinned at her. She was so acutely aware of him. Each time he walked into a room, it seemed to grow smaller, filled with his Texas-sized presence.
And sexual aura
. Sabrina felt her skin tingle as she suppressed the thought.
“Now, Miss Edgewater, what shall we talk about? Or maybe I should say, what
shouldn't
we talk about?”
The sly insinuation was not lost on her, but she stiffened her spine and ignored it. “I think it best if we simply begin conversing. I shall correct you as we proceed.”
“Oh, I'd bet my best Santa Gertrudis stud bull on that,” he said dryly.
“Perhaps when in an agricultural setting, the mention of...stud bulls would be appropriate, but not in a drawing room.”
He nodded, not in the least chastened. “Well, it surely is a beautiful afternoon.” He looked to her for confirmation. When she nodded approval, he continued, “The sun's shining to beat all, and the breeze is enough to cool the sweat—”
“Perspiration is not acceptable,” she interjected.
Josh sighed. ‘This is harder than herding cats.”
“We could discuss literature. Who is your favorite poet?”
“Ladies first. Who's yours?” he countered.
Sabrina smiled. “That is a difficult decision. Shakespeare's sonnets, Shelley, Wordsworth, Tennyson...but perhaps most of all Matthew Arnold. I particularly admire ‘Dover Beach.’ ” Sabrina waited, wondering if in his eclectic readings he was familiar with this favorite of hers.
“A dark view of life and love. In fact, downright depressing.”
“But the poet's words are vivid...and accurate.”
He studied her with open curiosity. “A beautiful woman like you must've had lots of chances to marry. But you didn't. Why, I wonder?”
Sabrina cursed her errant tongue. She'd betrayed too much, mentioning that poem. This man was far too keen an observer of human nature. “That is a most personal question, and a gentleman never comments on the marital status of a lady,” she replied.
He nodded at the rebuke. “You're right. None of my business. As to my favorites...well, on this side of the pond, I'd have to go with Browning.”
“I assume you mean Robert, not Elizabeth Barrett,” she said.
“Most women swoon over her love poetry. You don't fancy it?”
“She's far too emotional. Maudlin.”
Josh shook his head and grinned at her. “You're a hard woman, Miss Edgewater.”
Sabrina could not resist returning his smile. “One who'll teach you to act like a gentleman yet.”
They continued discussing various topics, with Sabrina interjecting corrections to his colorful speech wherever she deemed it appropriate. He accepted her instruction with good grace, finding that beneath her starch propriety she did indeed possess a sense of humor and bright wit. That combined with the delicious little package it was wrapped in made him even more anxious to lure her into his bed. She was unique. Independent.
Unlike so many fancy ladies he'd met since he'd become rich, she was completely uninterested in luring him into matrimony. Her standoffishness only heightened the challenge. Sabrina Edgewater was an enigma. Why would a lovely woman want to devote her life to educating indigent girls? Was her uniqueness merely the difference between more materialistic American females and their class-conscious English counterparts, or was there some secret hurt buried in her past that made her shy away from a conventional family life?
Eventually he'd find out. He was good at figuring people. That and plain back-busting hard work had made him successful in business. And business now concerned just two things—finding out how to stop the assassination of the Japanese minister and learning what made Sabrina Edgewater tick. Maybe the two could be combined...
As he walked her to the gate late that afternoon, the Hambleton carriage he'd summoned stood waiting. “I could pay for a hansom,” she protested, but Josh had seen her walk up the street that morning and knew she could ill afford much in the way of fares for a public conveyance.
“Consider it a prerequisite of working for Uncle Ab,” he said with a grin.
“Do you actually call his lordship that to his face?” she practically whispered.
Josh chuckled. “Sure. I think he likes it. He doesn't have much in the way of kin left. Just a few nieces who live a ways off and hardly ever visit. They have their own families to keep them busy.”
“That must be lonely,” Sabrina said thoughtfully, grateful for her parents, even though she did not get to visit them nearly as often as she would like.
“I have a favor to ask,” Josh said as he dutifully opened the gate while the coachman jumped from his box and let down the steps to the carriage.
Sabrina looked curiously at him. “What is it?”
“Well, I have this invitation to watch a bunch of toe dancers tonight. Some fancy Russian bunch.”
“Ballet?” Sabrina could not keep the excitement from her voice. “You mean the Saint Petersburg Company's production of Swan Lake?”