Samantha crooked two fingers over her head. “A donkey?” he ventured.
Shaking her head, she curled her hands into paws and made tiny hopping motions.
“A rabbit!” Finally getting into the spirit of the game, Beckwith stopped himself just short of clapping his plump hands. “She has teeth like a rabbit!”
Gabriel snorted with satisfaction. “No doubt perfectly suiting her long, horsey face.”
Samantha tapped her chin.
“And on her chin,” the butler continued, his enthusiasm mounting, “there’s an enormous wart with…” Samantha put her hand under her chin and wiggled three fingers. “Three curly hairs growing out of it!”
Gabriel shuddered. “It’s even worse than I suspected. I can’t imagine what possessed me to think…”
Beckwith blinked innocently behind his spectacles. “Think what, my lord?”
Gabriel waved away the question. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a consequence of spending too much time in my own company, I fear.” He held up a hand. “Please spare me any more details about Miss Wickersham’s appearance. Perhaps some things really are better left to the imagination.”
He turned toward the stairs, his tread heavy. Samantha cupped a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter, but despite her best efforts, a squeak escaped.
Gabriel slowly pivoted on his heel. Did she imagine the flare of his nostrils? The suspicious curl of his lip? She held her breath, fearing the slightest move or wayward draft might give her away.
He cocked his head to the side. “Did you hear that, Beckwith?”
“No, my lord. I didn’t hear anything. Not even the creak of a floorboard.”
Gabriel’s sightless gaze scanned the floor below, returning to linger near Samantha with uncanny accuracy. “Are you certain Miss Wickersham doesn’t have any of the attributes of a mouse? Twitching whiskers? A passionate fondness for cheese? A tendency to creep about and spy on people, perhaps?”
Beckwith’s brow was starting to glisten again. “Oh, no, my lord. She doesn’t resemble a rodent in the least.”
“That’s fortunate. Because if she did, I might have to set a trap for her.” Arching one tawny eyebrow, he turned on his heel and started up the stairs, leaving Samantha to wonder nervously just what bait he might use.
Bells were ringing, sweetly caroling their song across the countryside. Samantha rolled over and nestled deeper into her feather pillow, dreaming of a sunny Saturday morning and a church thronged with smiling people. A man stood before the altar, his broad shoulders straining the fawn linen of his morning coat. Samantha started down the long aisle, a bouquet of lilacs gripped in her trembling hands. She could sense him smiling at her, could feel his irresistible warmth tugging her toward him, but no matter how bright the sunshine streaming through the stained-glass windows or how close she drew to him, his face remained in shadow.
The ringing of the bells swelled, no longer melodious, but jarring and off-key. Their harsh, insistent jangle was joined by an even more insistent pounding on the door of her bedchamber. Samantha’s eyes flew open.
“Miss Wickersham!” cried a muffled voice tinged with panic.
Samantha scrambled out of bed and rushed to the door, tossing a dressing gown over her plain cotton nightdress. She threw it open to find the earl’s harried butler standing in the corridor, clutching a branch of candles in his shaking hand.
“Good heavens, what is it, Beckwith? Is the house afire?”
“No, miss, it’s the master. He won’t stop ringing until you come.”
She rubbed at her bleary eyes. “I should have thought I’d be the last person he’d summon. Especially after all but tossing me out of his bed-chamber this morning.”
Beckwith shook his head, his quivering chins and red-rimmed eyes making him look only a sniffle away from bursting into tears. “I’ve tried to reason with him, but he insists that he wants only you.”
Although his
Shaking her head, she curled her hands into paws and made tiny hopping motions.
“A rabbit!” Finally getting into the spirit of the game, Beckwith stopped himself just short of clapping his plump hands. “She has teeth like a rabbit!”
Gabriel snorted with satisfaction. “No doubt perfectly suiting her long, horsey face.”
Samantha tapped her chin.
“And on her chin,” the butler continued, his enthusiasm mounting, “there’s an enormous wart with…” Samantha put her hand under her chin and wiggled three fingers. “Three curly hairs growing out of it!”
Gabriel shuddered. “It’s even worse than I suspected. I can’t imagine what possessed me to think…”
Beckwith blinked innocently behind his spectacles. “Think what, my lord?”
Gabriel waved away the question. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a consequence of spending too much time in my own company, I fear.” He held up a hand. “Please spare me any more details about Miss Wickersham’s appearance. Perhaps some things really are better left to the imagination.”
He turned toward the stairs, his tread heavy. Samantha cupped a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter, but despite her best efforts, a squeak escaped.
Gabriel slowly pivoted on his heel. Did she imagine the flare of his nostrils? The suspicious curl of his lip? She held her breath, fearing the slightest move or wayward draft might give her away.
He cocked his head to the side. “Did you hear that, Beckwith?”
“No, my lord. I didn’t hear anything. Not even the creak of a floorboard.”
Gabriel’s sightless gaze scanned the floor below, returning to linger near Samantha with uncanny accuracy. “Are you certain Miss Wickersham doesn’t have any of the attributes of a mouse? Twitching whiskers? A passionate fondness for cheese? A tendency to creep about and spy on people, perhaps?”
Beckwith’s brow was starting to glisten again. “Oh, no, my lord. She doesn’t resemble a rodent in the least.”
“That’s fortunate. Because if she did, I might have to set a trap for her.” Arching one tawny eyebrow, he turned on his heel and started up the stairs, leaving Samantha to wonder nervously just what bait he might use.
Bells were ringing, sweetly caroling their song across the countryside. Samantha rolled over and nestled deeper into her feather pillow, dreaming of a sunny Saturday morning and a church thronged with smiling people. A man stood before the altar, his broad shoulders straining the fawn linen of his morning coat. Samantha started down the long aisle, a bouquet of lilacs gripped in her trembling hands. She could sense him smiling at her, could feel his irresistible warmth tugging her toward him, but no matter how bright the sunshine streaming through the stained-glass windows or how close she drew to him, his face remained in shadow.
The ringing of the bells swelled, no longer melodious, but jarring and off-key. Their harsh, insistent jangle was joined by an even more insistent pounding on the door of her bedchamber. Samantha’s eyes flew open.
“Miss Wickersham!” cried a muffled voice tinged with panic.
Samantha scrambled out of bed and rushed to the door, tossing a dressing gown over her plain cotton nightdress. She threw it open to find the earl’s harried butler standing in the corridor, clutching a branch of candles in his shaking hand.
“Good heavens, what is it, Beckwith? Is the house afire?”
“No, miss, it’s the master. He won’t stop ringing until you come.”
She rubbed at her bleary eyes. “I should have thought I’d be the last person he’d summon. Especially after all but tossing me out of his bed-chamber this morning.”
Beckwith shook his head, his quivering chins and red-rimmed eyes making him look only a sniffle away from bursting into tears. “I’ve tried to reason with him, but he insists that he wants only you.”
Although his
Similar Books
