Yours Until Dawn by Teresa Medeiros Read Free Book Online

note into his voice. “Of course, there are many hazards in the bath for a blind man. What if I should stumble climbing into the tub and strike my head? What if I should slip beneath the water and drown? What if I should…drop the soap? I can hardly be expected to retrieve it myself.” He fumbled for her hand again, this time bringing it to his mouth and flowering his lips against the sensitive skin at the center of her palm. “As my nurse, Miss Wickersham, I think it only fitting that you should bathe me.”
    Instead of slapping him for his impertinence as he deserved, she simply wrestled her hand away from him and said sweetly, “I’m sure my services won’t be required. One of those strapping young footmen of yours should be only too delighted to retrieve the soap for you.”
    She had been right about one thing. Suddenly Gabriel did want to smile. As he heard her determined footsteps marching briskly down the stairs, it was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud.
     
    Samantha held her candlestick aloft, bathing the portrait of Gabriel Fairchild in a flickering veil of light. The house lay dark and silent around her, sleeping, just as she hoped its master was. After their earlier encounter, the earl had spent the entire day barricaded in the stifling gloom of his bedchamber, refusing to emerge even for meals.
    Tilting her head to the side, Samantha studied the portrait, wishing she were as immune to its charms as she’d pretended to be. Although it was dated 1803, it might as well have been painted a lifetime ago. The faint hint of arrogance in Gabriel’s boyish smile was tempered by the twinkle of self-mocking humor in his light green eyes. Eyes that looked toward the future and all it would bring with eagerness and hope. Eyes that had never seen things they shouldn’t have and paid the price with their sight.
    Samantha reached up and drew a fingertip down his unblemished cheek. But this time there was no warmth, no staggering jolt of awareness. There was only cool canvas mocking her wistful touch.
    “Goodnight, sweet prince,” she whispered as she gently draped the sheet over the portrait.
     
    The tender green mint of spring drenched the rolling meadows. Fluffy white clouds frisked like lambs across a sky of pastel blue. Pale yellow sunshine bathed his face in warmth. Gabriel rolled to one elbow and gazed down at the woman napping in the grass next to him. A pear blossom had drifted down to nestle in her upswept curls. His thirsty eyes drank in the warm honey gold of her hair, the downy peach of her cheek, the moist coral of her parted lips.
    He’d never seen a hue quite so delectable…or so tempting.
    As he lowered his lips to hers, her eyes fluttered open and her lips curved in a sleepy smile, deepening the dimples he adored. But just as she reached for him, a cloud came billowing across the sun, its inescapable shadow draining all the color from his world.
    Swallowed by darkness, Gabriel sat bolt upright in his bed, the rasp of his breathing harsh in the silence. He had no way of knowing if it was morning or night. He only knew he’d been cast out of his only retreat from the darkness—his dreams.
    Tossing back the blankets, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He dropped his head into his hands, fighting to get both his breath and his bearings. He couldn’t help but wonder what Miss Wickersham might make of his current attire. At the moment, he wore nothing at all. Perhaps he should knot a clean cravat around his neck so as not to offend her delicate sensibilities.
    After much fumbling and groping, he finally located the rumpled dressing gown draped across the foot of the bed and slipped into it. Without bothering to knot the sash, he rose and padded heavily across the room. Still disoriented by his abrupt awakening, he misjudged the distance between bed and writing desk. His toes slammed into one of the desk’s clawed feet, sending a tingling jolt of agony up his leg.