far—her pity. He would almost prefer her laughter.
“Do you know what the best thing about getting my sight back will be?” he asked softly.
“No,” she replied, all of the bravado gone from her voice.
Straightening, he took one step toward her, then another. She refused to give ground until he was almost on top of her. Feeling the air shift as she retreated, he clumsily flanked her until their positions were reversed and she was the one backing toward the door. “Some might believe it would be the joy of watching the sun dip below a lavender horizon at the end of a perfect summer day.”
When he heard her back come up against the door, he splayed one palm against the thick mahogany behind her. “Others might judge it to be perusing the velvety petals of a ruby red rose…”—leaning forward until he felt the warm tickle of her breath against his face, he deepened his voice to a smoky caress—“or gazing tenderly into the eyes of a beautiful woman. But I can promise you, Miss Wickersham, that all of those pleasures will pale in comparison to the sheer unmitigated joy of being rid of you.”
Sliding his hand down until he encountered the doorknob, he flung open the door, sending her stumbling backward into the hallway.
“Are you clear of the door, Miss Wickersham?”
“Pardon?” she snapped, plainly confused.
“ Are you clear of the door? ”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Without further ado, Gabriel slammed it in her face.
Samantha was passing through the foyer later that day, on her way to retrieve Gabriel’s bed hangings from the laundress, when his smoky baritone came floating down from the landing above. “So tell me, Beckwith, just what does our Miss Wickersham look like? It’s straining the limits of my imagination to envision such a vexatious creature. All I can see in my mind’s eye is some sort of withered crone bent over a cauldron, cackling with glee.”
Samantha jerked to a halt, her heart lurching with panic. She touched a trembling hand to her heavy spectacles, then to the dull, reddish brown hair she’d wound into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.
Seized by sudden inspiration, she drifted back into Beckwith’s line of vision and pressed a finger to her lips, silently pleading with him not to reveal her presence. Gabriel was leaning against the wall, his imposing arms folded over his chest.
The butler drew out his handkerchief and mopped his damp brow, plainly torn between loyalty to his master and Samantha’s beseeching gaze. “As nurses go, I suppose you could describe her as rather… nondescript.”
“Come, now, Beckwith. Surely you can do better than that. Is her hair icy blond? Or faded gray? Or black as soot? Does she wear it cropped? Or wound around her head in a strangling crown of braids? Is she as shrunken and bony as she sounds?”
Beckwith shot Samantha a frantic look over the banister. In reply, she puffed out her cheeks and drew a huge circle around herself with her hands.
“Oh, no, my lord. She’s a rather …l-l-large woman.”
Gabriel frowned. “How large?”
“Oh, about…” Samantha held up ten fingers, then eight. “About eighty stone,” Beckwith finished confidently.
“Eighty stone! Good God, man! I’ve ridden ponies smaller than that.”
Samantha rolled her eyes and tried again.
“Not eighty stone, my lord,” Beckwith said slowly, his gaze riveted on her flashing fingers. “Eighteen.”
Gabriel stroked his chin. “That’s odd. She’s rather light on her feet for such a large woman, don’t you think? When I took her hand, I would havesworn…” He shook his head as if to clear it of some inexplicable notion. “What of her face?”
“We-e-e-e-ell,” Beckwith said, stalling for time as Samantha closed her fingertips over her pert nose and made a tugging motion. “She has a rather long, pointy nose.”
“I knew it!” Gabriel exclaimed triumphantly.
“And teeth like…” Beckwith narrowed his eyes in bewilderment as
“Do you know what the best thing about getting my sight back will be?” he asked softly.
“No,” she replied, all of the bravado gone from her voice.
Straightening, he took one step toward her, then another. She refused to give ground until he was almost on top of her. Feeling the air shift as she retreated, he clumsily flanked her until their positions were reversed and she was the one backing toward the door. “Some might believe it would be the joy of watching the sun dip below a lavender horizon at the end of a perfect summer day.”
When he heard her back come up against the door, he splayed one palm against the thick mahogany behind her. “Others might judge it to be perusing the velvety petals of a ruby red rose…”—leaning forward until he felt the warm tickle of her breath against his face, he deepened his voice to a smoky caress—“or gazing tenderly into the eyes of a beautiful woman. But I can promise you, Miss Wickersham, that all of those pleasures will pale in comparison to the sheer unmitigated joy of being rid of you.”
Sliding his hand down until he encountered the doorknob, he flung open the door, sending her stumbling backward into the hallway.
“Are you clear of the door, Miss Wickersham?”
“Pardon?” she snapped, plainly confused.
“ Are you clear of the door? ”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Without further ado, Gabriel slammed it in her face.
Samantha was passing through the foyer later that day, on her way to retrieve Gabriel’s bed hangings from the laundress, when his smoky baritone came floating down from the landing above. “So tell me, Beckwith, just what does our Miss Wickersham look like? It’s straining the limits of my imagination to envision such a vexatious creature. All I can see in my mind’s eye is some sort of withered crone bent over a cauldron, cackling with glee.”
Samantha jerked to a halt, her heart lurching with panic. She touched a trembling hand to her heavy spectacles, then to the dull, reddish brown hair she’d wound into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.
Seized by sudden inspiration, she drifted back into Beckwith’s line of vision and pressed a finger to her lips, silently pleading with him not to reveal her presence. Gabriel was leaning against the wall, his imposing arms folded over his chest.
The butler drew out his handkerchief and mopped his damp brow, plainly torn between loyalty to his master and Samantha’s beseeching gaze. “As nurses go, I suppose you could describe her as rather… nondescript.”
“Come, now, Beckwith. Surely you can do better than that. Is her hair icy blond? Or faded gray? Or black as soot? Does she wear it cropped? Or wound around her head in a strangling crown of braids? Is she as shrunken and bony as she sounds?”
Beckwith shot Samantha a frantic look over the banister. In reply, she puffed out her cheeks and drew a huge circle around herself with her hands.
“Oh, no, my lord. She’s a rather …l-l-large woman.”
Gabriel frowned. “How large?”
“Oh, about…” Samantha held up ten fingers, then eight. “About eighty stone,” Beckwith finished confidently.
“Eighty stone! Good God, man! I’ve ridden ponies smaller than that.”
Samantha rolled her eyes and tried again.
“Not eighty stone, my lord,” Beckwith said slowly, his gaze riveted on her flashing fingers. “Eighteen.”
Gabriel stroked his chin. “That’s odd. She’s rather light on her feet for such a large woman, don’t you think? When I took her hand, I would havesworn…” He shook his head as if to clear it of some inexplicable notion. “What of her face?”
“We-e-e-e-ell,” Beckwith said, stalling for time as Samantha closed her fingertips over her pert nose and made a tugging motion. “She has a rather long, pointy nose.”
“I knew it!” Gabriel exclaimed triumphantly.
“And teeth like…” Beckwith narrowed his eyes in bewilderment as
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