Tomorrow's Dreams by Heather Cullman Page B

Shakespeare.”
    His indifference made her temper hit the boiling point. “I can just imagine what those girls are hungry for,” she muttered.
    â€œI’m sure you can.” His gaze never wavered from the near-naked form sauntering toward the door. “Titania?”
    The girl paused.
    â€œThanks.” He tossed a gold coin to her, which she caught with practiced ease.
    â€œBelieve me, honey. It was my pleasure.”
    Eyeing the exiting saloon girl with distaste, Penelope plastered herself against the doorjamb, scrupulously avoiding contact as she passed. As the woman disappeared down the hall, she let out a snort of disgust. “Really, Seth. Is that little trollop the best you could find?”
    â€œI have no complaint. Her appetite was hearty enough,” he said, sauntering to the sideboard to study the untouched dishes.
    Penelope sniffed. “I imagine you’ll complain loudly enough when you find yourself with the French pox. It’s excruciating, I hear. Especially when your man’s part turns black and rots off.”
    Seth laughed. “I’m sure you’d enjoy watching me suffer in such a manner.”
    She sniffed.
    He laughed again. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. But I have it on good authority that Titania is as clean as a freshly laundered sheet. Speaking of ailments, I thought you were too ill to dine with me. Nobody informed me of your miraculous recovery.”
    Uncomfortable at having to add yet another lie to her already infinite list, Penelope reached down and fidgeted with the brass doorknob. “I decided that Floyd is”— scr-e-e-ch! the unoiled knob protested as she fitfully twisted it back and forth—“right. Perhaps what I need is a glass of champagne and some food. I haven’t eaten”— screech! grind! —“anything since this morning, and not eating always gives me a headache.”
    Seth winced at the shrill sounds emanating from the doorknob. “Then, why don’t you stop lurking in the doorway and come eat something?” He motioned to the white-clothed table in the center of the red and gold embellished room.
    As happy as a martyr on the way to the stake, she complied. “For the record, I wasn’t lurking,” she grumbled, perching on the edge of a gilded “Fancy” chair.
    â€œYou have your definitions, and I have mine.”
    â€œSo you’ve been kind enough to point out.”
    They lapsed into strained silence as Seth lifted the silver covers off the serving dishes. From where Penelope sat, she could see that there was antelope steak in mushroom sauce, wild goose liver in jelly, and what appeared to be some sort of fish, all accompanied by an eye-popping array of side dishes. When Seth pulled the cover off the last charger to reveal something she couldn’t identify, she broke the silence. “What is that?”
    He peered down at it for a moment, then smiled. “Lamb fries.” Glancing across the table to where she sat listlessly toying with her silverware, he added, “If I remember correctly, lamb is a particular favorite of yours.”
    She nodded without enthusiasm.
    Ignoring her marked lack of interest in the food, Seth picked up a plate, inquiring politely, “May I serve you?”
    She sighed in resignation. “If you wish.”
    Starting with a heaping serving of the lamb, he quickly filled her plate. After setting the food in front of her, he poured them each a glass of champagne, then served himself. That task completed, he settled into the chair opposite hers and began to devour his meal with gastronomic delight.
    Penelope, on the other hand, merely stared at her plate, restlessly spinning her knife like a top.
    â€œWhy so nervous, Princess?”
    She glanced up, startled. “I’m not nervous,” she lied.
    â€œSure you are.” He nodded meaningfully at her hands.
    She jerked her hand from the knife and flattened