Yours Until Dawn by Teresa Medeiros Read Free Book Online Page A

Biting off an oath, he sank down in the desk chair and groped for the center drawer’s ivory knobs.
    He felt inside the velvet-lined drawer, knowing exactly what he would find—a thick packet of letters tied with a single silk ribbon. As he drew it out, tantalizing tendrils of fragrance wafted to his nose.
    This was no penny lemon verbena purchased from some common street vendor, but a woman’s scent—rich and floral and seductive.
    Breathing deeply, Gabriel tugged loose the silk ribbon and ran his hands over the expensive linen stationery. The paper was crumpled and worn from the many months he’d carried the letters next to his heart. He smoothed one of them open, tracing the graceful loops of ink with his fingertip. If he concentrated hard enough, he might be able to make out a single word or perhaps even a familiar phrase.
    Meaningless words. Empty phrases.
    His hand curled into a loose fist. He slowly refolded the letter, thinking how ludicrous it was for a blind man to hoard letters he could no longer read from a woman who no longer loved him.
    If she ever truly had.
    Even so, he painstakingly tied the ribbon around the letters before dropping them gently back into the drawer.

Chapter 4
    My dear Miss March,
    Dare I hope that you would allow me to woo you with honeyed words?
    W hen Gabriel emerged from his bedchamber the next morning, desperate for a brief respite from his own company, his suspicious sniffing yielded only the mingled aromas of bacon and chocolate. He cautiously followed them to the dining room, wondering just where Miss Wickersham might be lurking. To his surprise, he was allowed to breakfast in peace without anyone critiquing his table manners or his attire. He ate hastily and with even less finesse than usual, hoping to make it back to the haven of his bed-chamber before his overbearing nurse could come springing out at him.
    After swiping the grease from his mouth with a corner of the table linens, he went hurrying back up the stairs. But when he reached for the ornately carved mahogany door that led to the master bedchamber, his hands met only air.
    Gabriel recoiled, fearing that in his haste he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way.
    A cheery voice sang out, “Good morning, my lord!”
    “And a good morning to you, Miss Wickersham,” he replied through gritted teeth.
    He took one tentative step forward, then another, robbed of his confidence by the treacherous warmth of the sunlight on his face, the gentle breeze caressing his brow, the melodic chirping of some bird perched just outside the open window of his bedchamber.
    “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” she said. “I thought we’d air out your chambers while you were downstairs at breakfast.”
    “We?” he repeated ominously, wondering just how many witnesses there were going to be to her murder.
    “Surely you didn’t expect me to do all the work by myself! Peter and Phillip are preparing your morning bath while Elsie and Hannah change the linens on your bed. Mrs. Philpot and Meg are out in the yard airing out your bed hangings. And dear Millie is dusting your sitting room.”
    The splash of water and the brisk flapping of sheets confirmed her claims. Gabriel took a deep breath—a breath poisoned by the sweet tang of lemon verbena and laundry starch. As he exhaled, he heard a rustling from the direction of his dressing room like the sound a rat might make. A very plump, balding rat, wearing a waistcoat.
    “Beckwith?” Gabriel barked.
    The rustling ceased, fading to stony silence.
    Gabriel sighed. “You might as well come out, Beckwith. I can smell your hair pomade.”
    Shuffling steps informed him that the butler had come creeping out of the dressing room. Before his nurse could offer some cheery explanation for his presence there, Beckwith said, “Since you don’t wish to have a valet hovering over you, my lord, Miss Wickersham suggested that we group your clothing according to type and color. Then you