words gave Samantha pause, she simply said, “Very well. I’ll be right there.”
She dressed quickly, blessing the simplicity of her dark blue, high-waisted morning gown and the new French styles. At least she didn’t have to squander precious time waiting for a lady’s maid to lace her corset or wrestle with a hundred tiny silk-covered buttons.
When she emerged from her chamber, still tucking flyaway wisps of hair into her drooping chignon, Beckwith was waiting in the hall to escort her to Gabriel’s bedside. As they hurried down a long corridor and up a broad flight of stairs to the third floor of the house, Samantha smothered a yawn with her hand. Judging from the murky light seeping through the freshly washed window on the landing, night was only just beginning its surrender to dawn.
Gabriel’s bedchamber door stood ajar. If not for the vigorous jingling, Samantha might have feared finding him collapsed on the floor on the verge of death.
Instead, he was reclining against the carved teak headboard of his towering four-poster, looking in robust good health. He wore no shirt, and judging from the way the silk sheet rode low on his hips, no pantaloons, either. The candlelight cast a glowing patina over skin that already looked as if it had been sprinkled with gold dust. As her gaze was drawn to that impressive expanse of muscle and sinew, Samantha felt her mouth go dry. A sparkling mat of hair tapered to a narrow ribbon on his taut belly before disappearing beneath the sheet.
For a moment, Samantha feared Beckwith might actually drop the candles and clap his hands over her eyes. At the butler’s scandalized gasp, Gabriel gave the bell in his hand one last indolent flick.
“Really, my lord!” Beckwith exclaimed, resting the branch of candles on a nearby pier table before returning to stand at rigid attention by the door. “Don’t you think you should have at least covered yourself before the young lady arrived?”
Gabriel simply draped one muscular arm over the mound of pillows piled next to him, stretching like some large, lazy cat. “Forgive me, Miss Wickersham. I didn’t realize you’d never seen a man shirtless before.”
Thankful that he couldn’t see the heat flooding her cheeks, Samantha said, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen plenty of men without their shirts.” Her cheeks grew even hotter. “I mean while performing my duties. As a nurse.”
“That’s very fortunate. But I still wouldn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Gabriel fumbled among the bedclothes until he located a rumpled cravat. He draped the scrap of cloth around his neck and tugged it into a clumsy knot before turning a devilish smile in her direction. “There. Is that better?”
Somehow he managed to look even more indecent wearing a cravat but no shirt. If this was the trap he’d set for her, he had baited it well. Refusing to be caught without a struggle, Samantha went marching over to the bed. Gabriel stiffened as she tucked one finger into his poorly made knot, tugging it loose.
Despite his wary stillness and her concerted efforts, the backs of her fingers brushed the heated velvet of his skin more than once as she fashioned the lace-edged linen into a snowy waterfall she would have dared any valet to improve.
“There,” she pronounced, giving her handiwork an approving pat. “ That’s better.”
Gabriel’s gilt-tipped lashes were lowered over his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t strangle me with it.”
“Tempting though the prospect might be, I have no desire to seek other employment right now.”
“It’s rare to find a woman who can tie a cravat with such skill. Have you a father or grandfather who was a fumble-fingers?”
“Brothers,” was all she offered. Straightening, she moved just out of his reach. Despite his blindness, she feared he still saw more than she wanted him to. “Now would you care to enlighten me as to why you dragged half of your household out of their
She dressed quickly, blessing the simplicity of her dark blue, high-waisted morning gown and the new French styles. At least she didn’t have to squander precious time waiting for a lady’s maid to lace her corset or wrestle with a hundred tiny silk-covered buttons.
When she emerged from her chamber, still tucking flyaway wisps of hair into her drooping chignon, Beckwith was waiting in the hall to escort her to Gabriel’s bedside. As they hurried down a long corridor and up a broad flight of stairs to the third floor of the house, Samantha smothered a yawn with her hand. Judging from the murky light seeping through the freshly washed window on the landing, night was only just beginning its surrender to dawn.
Gabriel’s bedchamber door stood ajar. If not for the vigorous jingling, Samantha might have feared finding him collapsed on the floor on the verge of death.
Instead, he was reclining against the carved teak headboard of his towering four-poster, looking in robust good health. He wore no shirt, and judging from the way the silk sheet rode low on his hips, no pantaloons, either. The candlelight cast a glowing patina over skin that already looked as if it had been sprinkled with gold dust. As her gaze was drawn to that impressive expanse of muscle and sinew, Samantha felt her mouth go dry. A sparkling mat of hair tapered to a narrow ribbon on his taut belly before disappearing beneath the sheet.
For a moment, Samantha feared Beckwith might actually drop the candles and clap his hands over her eyes. At the butler’s scandalized gasp, Gabriel gave the bell in his hand one last indolent flick.
“Really, my lord!” Beckwith exclaimed, resting the branch of candles on a nearby pier table before returning to stand at rigid attention by the door. “Don’t you think you should have at least covered yourself before the young lady arrived?”
Gabriel simply draped one muscular arm over the mound of pillows piled next to him, stretching like some large, lazy cat. “Forgive me, Miss Wickersham. I didn’t realize you’d never seen a man shirtless before.”
Thankful that he couldn’t see the heat flooding her cheeks, Samantha said, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen plenty of men without their shirts.” Her cheeks grew even hotter. “I mean while performing my duties. As a nurse.”
“That’s very fortunate. But I still wouldn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Gabriel fumbled among the bedclothes until he located a rumpled cravat. He draped the scrap of cloth around his neck and tugged it into a clumsy knot before turning a devilish smile in her direction. “There. Is that better?”
Somehow he managed to look even more indecent wearing a cravat but no shirt. If this was the trap he’d set for her, he had baited it well. Refusing to be caught without a struggle, Samantha went marching over to the bed. Gabriel stiffened as she tucked one finger into his poorly made knot, tugging it loose.
Despite his wary stillness and her concerted efforts, the backs of her fingers brushed the heated velvet of his skin more than once as she fashioned the lace-edged linen into a snowy waterfall she would have dared any valet to improve.
“There,” she pronounced, giving her handiwork an approving pat. “ That’s better.”
Gabriel’s gilt-tipped lashes were lowered over his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t strangle me with it.”
“Tempting though the prospect might be, I have no desire to seek other employment right now.”
“It’s rare to find a woman who can tie a cravat with such skill. Have you a father or grandfather who was a fumble-fingers?”
“Brothers,” was all she offered. Straightening, she moved just out of his reach. Despite his blindness, she feared he still saw more than she wanted him to. “Now would you care to enlighten me as to why you dragged half of your household out of their
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