“Appears you already have,” he said, noticing the bowl of peeled vegetables. “I’ll just chop up everything so it will roast quicker. Morgan will probably want to make some gravy to top it all off. That boy does like his gravy.”
She went out on the porch to wait for Morgan. When she saw him approaching, she noted that he was carrying just the towel because he’d already donned his shirt, which was wet in spots because he’d washed his hair and beard. Had he made an extra effort because he’d noticed that she looked a little more elegant tonight? It would be nice to hear him say so, but she doubted that he would compliment her.
When he stood next to her on the porch, she whispered, “He started the meal. I hope he cooks as well as you do.”
“Better. He learned from Jakes, our bunkhouse cook back home.”
“He still expects you to make the gravy.”
He grinned. “He loves my gravy.”
She almost laughed, wondering which one of them was the real gravy lover.
Later, while they ate the hearty meal, Texas asked her how she spent her days in London. Her cleaning the cabin today might have given him the wrong impression about an English lady’s daily routine, so she said, “Walks in the park with my cousins, reading, calling on other ladies of leisure with my aunt. There were a few social gatherings even prior to the start of the official Season this summer, which is a whirlwind of balls and parties I was looking forward to attending.”
“Did you have servants?”
“Oh, my, yes. There are more than a dozen in my uncle’s house—footmen, upstairs and downstairs maids, the cook and her helpers, several ladies’ maids, and my uncle’s valet.”
He seemed incredulous. “All in one house?”
She smiled. “It is a big house.”
“And the men over there of your acquaintance, what sort of work do they do?”
“The rich don’t work over there, do they?” Morgan answered Texas’s question by asking her one.
“Lords don’t, it would be considered scandalous, but rich tradesmen do, the same as here in America.” She paused before pointing out, “You’re rich, yet you intend to keep on working. It’s all a matter of preference, wouldn’t you say?”
“And what country you live in. In ours—yeah, it’s yours, too—people don’t look down on a man for working even if he’s rich enough not to need to.”
It was beginning to sound as if they were heading for an argument, which was the last thing she wanted, so she smiled and said, “Quite right,” then to Texas, “I’m hoping that when you finish eating, you will play us one of the songs you’ve composed. Perhaps one with a waltz tempo so Morgan and I can dance.”
Morgan put in, “He’s going to be eating until he walks out the door, aren’t you, Tex?”
Texas glanced at Morgan, then at her, then back at Morgan, then down at his plate, which still had a few bites of food on it. “I don’t know, I may be laughing too hard to play anything, if I have to watch you dancing. A waltz?” He started laughing early.
Violet grinned at Morgan. “It will be fun. I’ll teach you if you don’t know how.” She stood up and held out her hand to him. “Come, I’ll show you the steps while Texas finishes his dinner.”
For a moment she didn’t think he’d leave his chair, but then he rose and she was reminded of how tall he was, of his magnificent physique. Forcing herself to focus on the dance, she positioned his right hand on her waist and clasped her right hand with his left. Lightly resting her other hand on his upper arm, she said, “The waltz is a lively formal dance in triple time. Follow my footsteps. One, two, three, then backward, one, two, three. We will turn rhythmically around as we progress around the dance—er, cabin floor. Now again.”
Texas had started playing his harmonica by then, a lovely tune she didn’t recognize. But when she demonstrated the rise and fall part of the dance, where they needed to briefly go up on their toes, Texas started laughing again and the music stopped.
He complained, “She should be teaching me. After all, I’m the one getting married soon and will have to dance at the wedding shindig.”
Morgan’s hand tightened a little on hers as he told his friend, “I’ll teach you once I learn. I’m already getting the hang of it. Stick to your harmonica playing.”
Violet laughed as the music started again, but Morgan did in fact seem to know what he was doing now. She liked the feeling of his hand on her waist, and he was surprisingly light on his feet for a big man. Smiling at her, he twirled her out onto the porch, lifted her down the stairs, and danced with her in the yard under the stars, where they had more room and didn’t have to worry about bumping into the table. His blue eyes gazed at her intently as they moved in time to the music. She was enchanted. It was almost what she’d imagined her first ball would be like—well, not the venue, but certainly the thrill of dancing with a tall, strapping, exciting man who was giving her his undivided attention.
“So this is how they dance at the balls you mentioned?” he asked. “It’s a lot different from our boisterous western dancing, though both seem to involve twirling about.”
“Maybe you can teach me a western dance later?”
“Maybe I will. But tell me more about your balls. What does a lady do if she’s asked to dance but doesn’t like the fella? Or does that proper etiquette you’ve mentioned require her to accept all offers?”
“No, she can simply say her dance card is full.”
“And what would she do if her partner holds her too close?”
He pulled her closer to him to demonstrate. Violet was startled to feel her breasts brushing against his chest. Giving him an admonishing look, she said, “A lady would tap his shoulder with her fan and remind him of proper decorum.” And she pretended to tap his shoulder, but he didn’t loosen his hold on her so she could step back.
Instead he lowered his head and said close to ear, “And what does a lady do if her partner does this?”
A little shiver ran down her spine, and all of a sudden he was kissing her. She’d expected it when he’d brought her outside, remembering all those warnings about gentlemen who might suggest a stroll on the terrace just so they could steal a kiss. But she hadn’t expected to want this particular kiss so much—yet she did, and responded with all the pent-up passion she felt for him. He’d lifted her off her feet with one arm tight around her waist and was still dancing with her held so close to him, not as quickly, yet they still seemed to be twirling. But one kiss turned into another more intense one that stirred her even more deeply. She’d already let go of his hand and put her arms around his neck, while his free hand now moved slowly up and down her back, exciting her further, until his fingers moved to the back of her neck to caress her there.
One moment she was sighing in pleasure, and then she was gasping as Morgan tripped over the flower fence, losing his footing, but quickly turning their bodies to cushion her fall as they tumbled into the bed of flowers. Breathless, Violet found herself lying on top of him, powerfully aware of the hard, masculine body beneath her. Impulsively, she turned her head to kiss him—but she couldn’t be that bold! So she immediately rolled off him, but he rolled as well toward her; thinking he meant to put himself on top of her, she rolled again, and landed smack in the stream.
She came up sputtering, wiping water from her eyes and face, and burst out laughing. She couldn’t stop, not when he started laughing, too. She didn’t think she’d ever laughed so hard in her life.
When he grabbed her hand to pull her out of the water, she grinned. “By the by, the lady would have slapped his face.”
“Is mine in danger?”
That just started another round of laughter.
Chapter Twenty-Six