Page 23 of Margins of Love
“You should try a fountain pen. The ink is waterproof and thick.”
“I found your fountain pen in the library.” Fave’s tone was stern even as he broke into a smile.
“Use it. I am happy to let you borrow it,” Rachel said.
“Where did you get it?”
But she would not answer his question. She could not tell a gentile her secret—her family could be found out. Their story had traveled as far as they had, and though they had shed their Swiss looks and accents, they had not shed their past.
Rachel felt herself blushing, so she focused on her triangle of toast and spread a small pat of butter on it that a footman had served on ice chips. She felt hot. Her insides churned under Fave’s steamy glowering. Rachel decided that chewing on some of these ice chips would serve her well when Fave was near, so she popped one in her mouth.
* * *
Fave felta pit forming in his stomach. Why was she so mysterious? How could she understand his trouble with ink splattering upon skimming his drawings? Fave was so impressed that he was rendered speechless. He observed what Rachel ate. She did not touch the bacon. Neither did he. She took eggs and a muffin, allparvefoods, free of milk and cold cuts. Was she aware that her choices were kosher, avoiding the combination of meats and dairy?
He watched her nimbly buttering one of the muffins. It was almost silly to cut it into portions. Despite his mother’s near-daily afternoon tea, he had never understood the fashion with small foods. He preferred a generous pastry over a pile of bite-sized ones. Then Rachel did the single most tantalizing and erotic gesture he had ever seen. She took a piece of ice from the butter dish on her teaspoon and brought it to her mouth. The split-second unfolded in Fave’s mind in agonizing slow-motion. Rachel opened her lips just enough to slide the ice chip off the spoon and into her mouth, her tongue darted to the white tips of her beautiful front teeth. Never in his life had Fave envied an ice chip, but this lucky one melted onto Rachel’s lips and made them glisten. And just like that, Fave’s body tensed again at the closeness to her, and he could not take his eyes off her mouth.
“Tea?” he offered in an attempt to mask his lust.
Rachel refused.
“Why?” he asked, stunned at a proper English lady declining tea. It was as British as discussing the rainy weather.
“I prefer green tea,” she responded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Where do you get green tea?” Fave asked. He had heard of it but never tasted it.
“My father brings it from his travels. We rarely run out.”
Their eyes met, and she must have seen his sincere interest, for she continued. “It is the same leaf, you know, only it is not fermented.”
“What is?” Fave’s lust muddled his mind, removing the usual finesse of his speech.
“Green tea.”
He raised an eyebrow. She was so intelligent and eloquent, unlike any other lady he had met in London. His silence must have given her the cue to carry on.
“The tips of the tea plants, sencha, for example, are harvested and carefully dried. For green tea, I mean.” She blinked at Fave, whose stare was more intense now. “If the leaves are not bruised and do not ferment,” she said, pausing. She looked as though searching for the right words. “Then the tea remains green when you steep it in a cup.” She smiled.
Fave’s muscles twitched with excitement. Her lecturing tone was adorable. He returned her smile, for how could he not when he was the recipient of the loveliest rays of light radiating from her gorgeous face?
“There is less acidity in green tea, it is not fermented.” She seemed determined to fill the silence with trivial facts.
He smiled, knowing he should stop and not give away his feelings, but he was so happy to be near her.
She blushed. Her rosy cheeks made her look even sweeter.
Then she continued, saying, “Jasmine tea is my favorite.”
“Jasmine?” Fave shook himself from his stupor.
“You just told me that you preferred green tea.” He was confused. Then again, it was not his head that did the thinking near this Venus.
“Green tea is often infused with dried jasmine petals. The aroma is fragrant and refreshing.” She beamed as if she had imparted some delicate secret recipe.
“And where would you procure such a mélange?”
“I have some in my trunk upstairs.” She smirked.
