Yours Until Dawn (11 page)

At the heart of a juicy bit of banter, she stopped in midsentence. “Do forgive me. I didn’t mean to ramble on and disturb your rest.”

Eager to know how the scene would end, he waved away her apology. “You might as well finish now. I suppose even your infernal yammering is preferable to the sound of my own thoughts.”

“I should imagine they’d grow tiresome very quickly.”

It required no trick of Gabriel’s imagination or memory to envision her smirk as she ducked back behind the book. But at least she did as he bade, taking up where she’d left off and reading to the end of the play. At the close of the last act, they both breathed a mutual sigh of satisfaction.

When Samantha finally spoke, her voice had lost its flinty edge. “Boredom must be the very worst of your enemies, my lord. Before the war, I’m sure you were engaged in the pursuit of many…
pleasures
.”

Was it his imagination or did her voice seem to caress the word? “Boredom
was
the worst of my enemies. Until you arrived at Fairchild Park.”

“If you’d only allow me, I could help alleviate some of your tedium. I could take you for long walks in the gardens. I could read aloud to you every afternoon. Why, I could even help you with your correspondence if you like! There must be someone who would love to hear from you. Your fellow officers? Your family? Your friends back in London?”

“Why spoil their fond memories of me?” he asked dryly. “I’m sure they’d much rather think of me as dead.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided. “I’m sure they’d all be heartened by a brief note letting them know how you’re getting along.”

Gabriel was puzzled by the brisk tap of her footsteps crossing the room. Until he heard the drawer of the writing desk slide open.

Acting purely on instinct, he threw back the blankets and lunged toward the sound. This time, desperation sharpened his aim instead of dulling it. His hands closed easily over the familiar contours of the drawer, slamming it shut. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he realized the soft, warm object trapped between his outstretched arms was his nurse.

My darling Cecily,

Now that I’ve been bold enough to address you by your Christian name, dare I hope to imagine my own name shaped by your luscious lips?

F
or a dazed moment, Samantha didn’t even dare to breathe. The hypnotic patter of the rain, the gentle gloom, the warmth of Gabriel’s breath stirring her hair, all wove together, suspending her in a misty cocoon where time lost all of its power and meaning. Gabriel seemed to be equally mesmerized. She had insisted that he don a shirt that morning, but she hadn’t insisted that he fasten it. The broad chest pressed to her back barely seemed to be stirring. His palms were still flat against the desk drawer, his muscled forearms rigid with strain.

Although their awkward stance wasn’t quite an embrace, Samantha couldn’t help but think how easy it would be for him to wrap his arms around her, to draw her into the raw heat of his body until she had no choice but to melt against him.

She stiffened. She wasn’t some weak-kneed, starry-eyed debutante, ripe for seduction at the hands of the first gentleman who crooked a finger at her.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, breaking the dangerous spell that bound them. “I didn’t mean to pry. I was just searching for some stationery and ink.”

Gabriel lowered his arms, but it was Samantha who quickly moved away, seeking to put some distance between them. Without his warmth surrounding her, the damp she’d barely noticed before seemed to sink deep into her bones, making them feel old and brittle. Sinking back down on the window seat, she hugged back a shiver.

Gabriel stood still and silent for a long moment, as if deep in thought. Then, instead of reproaching her for meddling as she expected, he tugged open the drawer. His hands didn’t fumble at all as they unerringly located the contents of the drawer. As he turned and tossed the thick bundle in her direction, Samantha was so startled it almost slipped through her grasp.

“If you want something to read for your amusement, you might try these.” Although scorn darkened Gabriel’s face, Samantha sensed that it wasn’t for her. “I think you’ll find they contain all of the elements one usually enjoys in a farce—witty banter, a secret courtship, a pathetic fool so drunk on love he’s willing to risk everything to win his lady’s heart, even his life.”

She gazed down at the ribbon-bound packet of letters. The linen stationery was worn, yet perfectly preserved, as if the letters had been handled often, but with great care. As Samantha turned them over, a woman’s perfume drifted to her nose, as evocative and sweet as the first gardenias of the season.

Gabriel dragged the chair out from under the knee well of the desk, turned it around, and straddled it. “Go on,” he commanded, nodding in her direction. “If you read them aloud, we can both enjoy a fine laugh.”

Samantha toyed with the ends of the silk ribbon, a ribbon that had once been wound through a woman’s lustrous hair. “I hardly think it would be proper for me to read your private correspondence.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Some plays are better performed than read anyway. Why don’t I start with the first act?” He folded his arms over the back of the chair, his face hard.

“The curtain rose over three years ago when we met at a house party at Lord Langley’s country estate during the Season. She was so very different from the other girls I’d known. Most of them didn’t have a thought in their pretty heads beyond snaring a wealthy husband before the Season was done. But she was warm and bright and funny and well read. She could discuss poetry and politics with equal ease. We shared a single dance, and without even surrendering so much as a kiss, she stole my heart.”

“And did you steal hers as well?”

His lips curved in a rueful half-smile. “I made a valiant effort. But unfortunately, my rakish reputation had preceded me. Since I was an earl and she the daughter of a humble baronet, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that I would do more than trifle with her heart.”

Samantha didn’t know if she could blame the girl. The man in the portrait on the landing had probably won—and broken—more than his fair share of hearts. “I would have thought both she and her family would have been thrilled to catch the eye of such an esteemed—and wealthy—nobleman.”

“That’s just what I thought,” Gabriel admitted. “But it seems her older sister was involved in some unfortunate scandal involving a viscount, a moonlight rendezvous, and the viscount’s enraged wife. Her father’s fondest wish was that his youngest daughter make a match with some stolid gentleman farmer or perhaps even a clergyman.”

A fleeting image of Gabriel in a curate’s collar nearly made Samantha laugh aloud. “I can see why you might have been something of a disappointment to him.”

“Precisely. Since I couldn’t sway her with my title, my wealth, or my charms, I set about trying to win her with my words. For several months, we exchanged long, bantering letters.”

“Secretly, of course.”

He nodded. “Had it become known that she was corresponding with a gentleman, especially one of my reputation, her good name would have been destroyed.”

“Yet it was a risk she was willing to take,” Samantha pointed out.

“In truth, I think we both enjoyed the thrill of the game. We would come face to face at some ball or soiree, murmur a few polite words, then pretend indifference. No one knew that I was aching to drag her away to the nearest moonlit garden or deserted alcove and kiss her insensible.”

The husky note in his voice sent a dark shiver dancing over Samantha’s flesh. Although she tried to fight the temptation, she saw Gabriel running a hand through his golden hair as he paced some shadowy alcove. Saw the anticipation that brightened his eyes as he scented the rich gardenia of his lady’s perfume. She felt the strength in his arms as he reached out to draw her through the curtain. Heard him groaning deep in his throat as their lips and bodies brushed, consumed with the irresistible hunger of the forbidden.

“One would have thought I’d grow bored with such an innocent dalliance. But her letters enchanted me.” He shook his head, looking genuinely bemused. “I had never dreamed a woman’s mind could be so layered or so fascinating. My mother and sisters were rarely engaged by anything more stimulating than the latest snippet of gossip from Almack’s or the most recent fashion plates smuggled from Paris.”

Samantha bit back a smile. “It must have been quite a shock for you to learn that a woman could possess a mind as keen and discerning as your own.”

“Indeed it was,” he confessed, his silky tone informing her that he wasn’t completely oblivious to her sarcasm. “After several months of this delicious torture, I wrote and tried to persuade her to elope to Gretna Green with me. She refused, but she wasn’t so cruel as to leave me completely without hope. She vowed that if I could prove I had some interest in this world that extended beyond my next winning hand of faro at Brook’s, some passion that didn’t involve horses, hounds, or pretty young opera dancers, she would consent to become my bride, even if that meant defying her father’s wishes.”

“How very magnanimous,” Samantha murmured.

Gabriel frowned. “She still didn’t entirely trust my affections. No matter how passionately I pledged my love, there was a part of her only too willing to believe I was still an irresponsible rake-hell who had inherited everything of import— my title, my wealth, my social standing.” He arched a self-mocking eyebrow, stretching his scar taut. “Even my good looks.”

Samantha’s stomach was starting to churn. “So you set out to prove her wrong.”

He nodded. “I joined the Royal Navy.”

“Why the Navy? Your father could have purchased you a prestigious commission in the Army.”

“And what would that have proved? That she was right about me? That I was incapable of achieving anything on my own merit, my own skills? If that were my intent, I could have joined the militia and simply played the part of hero. There’s nothing like starched broadcloth and a bit of shiny braid on a man’s shoulders to turn a lady’s head.”

Samantha saw him striding into some crowded ballroom, his cocked hat tucked beneath his arm, his tawny hair gleaming beneath the glow of the chandeliers. His dashing figure would have set all of the unmarried ladies to blushing and simpering behind their fans.

“But you knew your lady’s head would not be so easily turned,” she ventured.

“Nor her heart so easily won. So I signed on under Nelson’s command, confident that when I returned from sea, she would be ready to become my wife. Knowing that we were to be parted for several months, I sent her one last letter, entreating her to wait for me. Promising her that I was determined to become the man—and the hero—that she deserved.” He attempted a crooked smile. “So ends Act One. There’s really no point in continuing, is there? You already know the ending.”

“Did you ever see her again?”

“No,” he replied without a trace of irony. “But she saw me. After I was brought back to London, she came to the hospital. I don’t know how long I’d been there. The days and nights were equally endless and equally indistinguishable.” He touched a finger to his scar. “I must have looked quite the monster with my sightless eyes and my ruin of a face. I doubt she even knew I was conscious. I didn’t yet have the strength to speak. Yet I could smell her perfume, like a breath of heaven amidst the hellish stench of camphor and rotting limbs.”

“What did she do?” Samantha whispered.

Gabriel clapped a hand over his heart. “Had a more sentimental playwright crafted the story, she would have no doubt thrown herself upon my chest, pledging her eternal love. As it was, she simply fled. It wasn’t necessary, you know. Under the circumstances, I never would have expected her to honor her obligation to me.”

“Obligation?” Samantha echoed, struggling to hide her outrage. “I thought a betrothal was supposed to be a commitment between two people who love each other.”

He laughed without humor. “Then you’re more naïve than I was. Since ours was a secret engagement, at least she was spared the humiliation and scandal of a public estrangement.”

“How very fortunate for her.”

Gabriel’s eyes took on a hazy look, as if the past were somehow more visible to them than the present. “Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew her at all. Perhaps she was just a figment of my imagination. Someone I fashioned from a clever turn of phrase and the fantasy of a stolen kiss—my dream of the perfect woman.”

“She was beautiful, I suppose?” Samantha asked, already knowing the answer.

Although Gabriel’s jaw hardened, his voice softened. “Exquisite. Her hair was a warm honey-gold, her eyes the color of the ocean beneath a summer sky, her skin the softest—”

Examining her own chapped hands, Samantha cleared her throat. She was hardly in the mood to sit and listen to him wax poetic over charms she did not possess. “So what became of this paragon?”

“I assume she returned to the bosom of her family in Middlesex, where she’ll probably marry the local squire and retire to a country estate to raise a passel of practical, pudding-fed brats.”

But none of them would have the face of one of Raphael’s angels or sea-foam-green eyes framed by gilded lashes. For that, Samantha could almost pity her. Almost.