Read Online Yours Until Dawn by Teresa Medeiros - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Teresa Medeiros
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will be both a privilege and a pleasure.”
Before he could find the bell among the disheveled bedclothes, Samantha turned on her heel and went stalking down the stairs, wondering if she could talk the French cook into lacing his master’s next pot of chocolate with hemlock.
She spent the rest of that day just as she had spent her every waking moment for the past week—at Gabriel’s beck and call. Since the first morning he had summoned her, he had refused to allow her a single second to call her own. Every time she so much as thought about sitting down for a few minutes or stealing to her bed-chamber for a brief nap, his bell would start ringing again. Its persistent jangling continued morning, noon, and night until the other servants were forced to sleep with their pillows pressed over their ears.
Although she knew exactly what he was trying to do, Samantha refused to let him goad her into resigning her position. She was determined to prove she was made of much sterner stuff than old Cora Gringott or the widow Hawkins. Never had a nurse been so devoted to the well-being of her charge. She bit back her every sarcastic retort and tirelessly played the roles of valet, cook, butler, and nursemaid.
Gabriel was especially peevish at bedtime. She would tuck the blankets around him and draw the bed hangings, only to have him dolefully observe that the room was getting a trifle bit stuffy. She would open the bed hangings, peel back the blankets, and crack open a window, but before she could tiptoe to the door, he would sigh and say that he feared the night air might give him a fatal chill. After covering him again, she would linger in the doorway, just waiting for those gilded lashes of his to settle against his cheeks. Then she would hurry down the stairs to her own bedchamber, already dreaming of her feather mattress and a night of uninterrupted sleep. But before her head could sink into the plush goose down of her pillow, the bell would start ringing again.
Tossing her clothes back on, Samantha would rush back up the stairs, only to find Gabriel propped against the headboard, beaming like a cherub. He hated to disturb her, he would sheepishly confess, but would she mind plumping up his pillows before she retired for the night?
That very night Samantha finally sank down in the overstuffed wing chair in Gabriel’s sitting room, thinking only to prop up her aching feet for a few precious minutes.
Gabriel reclined in the bed, pretending to sleep, and waited for the telltale creak of the door. He’d grown accustomed to the cozy rustle of Miss Wickersham’s skirts as she bustled about his bedchamber, blowing out candles and picking up whatever objects he’d managed to strew across the floor without actually leaving the bed. As soon as she believed him to be asleep, she would attempt to make her escape. He always knew the moment she went. Her absence left an almost palpable void.
But tonight he heard nothing.
“Miss Wickersham,” he said firmly, poking his long feet out from under the blankets, “I do believe my toes are taking a chill.”
He wiggled those toes, but got no response.
“Miss Wickersham?”
A gentle snore was his only reply.
Gabriel tossed back the bedclothes. Playing the invalid day and night was growing wearying in the extreme. He couldn’t believe how intractable his nurse was turning out to be. The stubborn creature should have tendered her resignation days ago. Despite her gracious responses to his demands, her brittle restraint was showing signs of cracking.
Only tonight, after he had requested that she plump up his pillows for the third time in an hour, he had felt her hovering over him, pillow in hand, and had known he was one querulous demand away from being smothered to death.
He felt his way along the papered panels until he reached the sitting room that adjoined his bedchamber. The siren melody of the snores lured him to the wing chair that crouched in front of the hearth. Judging from
Before he could find the bell among the disheveled bedclothes, Samantha turned on her heel and went stalking down the stairs, wondering if she could talk the French cook into lacing his master’s next pot of chocolate with hemlock.
She spent the rest of that day just as she had spent her every waking moment for the past week—at Gabriel’s beck and call. Since the first morning he had summoned her, he had refused to allow her a single second to call her own. Every time she so much as thought about sitting down for a few minutes or stealing to her bed-chamber for a brief nap, his bell would start ringing again. Its persistent jangling continued morning, noon, and night until the other servants were forced to sleep with their pillows pressed over their ears.
Although she knew exactly what he was trying to do, Samantha refused to let him goad her into resigning her position. She was determined to prove she was made of much sterner stuff than old Cora Gringott or the widow Hawkins. Never had a nurse been so devoted to the well-being of her charge. She bit back her every sarcastic retort and tirelessly played the roles of valet, cook, butler, and nursemaid.
Gabriel was especially peevish at bedtime. She would tuck the blankets around him and draw the bed hangings, only to have him dolefully observe that the room was getting a trifle bit stuffy. She would open the bed hangings, peel back the blankets, and crack open a window, but before she could tiptoe to the door, he would sigh and say that he feared the night air might give him a fatal chill. After covering him again, she would linger in the doorway, just waiting for those gilded lashes of his to settle against his cheeks. Then she would hurry down the stairs to her own bedchamber, already dreaming of her feather mattress and a night of uninterrupted sleep. But before her head could sink into the plush goose down of her pillow, the bell would start ringing again.
Tossing her clothes back on, Samantha would rush back up the stairs, only to find Gabriel propped against the headboard, beaming like a cherub. He hated to disturb her, he would sheepishly confess, but would she mind plumping up his pillows before she retired for the night?
That very night Samantha finally sank down in the overstuffed wing chair in Gabriel’s sitting room, thinking only to prop up her aching feet for a few precious minutes.
Gabriel reclined in the bed, pretending to sleep, and waited for the telltale creak of the door. He’d grown accustomed to the cozy rustle of Miss Wickersham’s skirts as she bustled about his bedchamber, blowing out candles and picking up whatever objects he’d managed to strew across the floor without actually leaving the bed. As soon as she believed him to be asleep, she would attempt to make her escape. He always knew the moment she went. Her absence left an almost palpable void.
But tonight he heard nothing.
“Miss Wickersham,” he said firmly, poking his long feet out from under the blankets, “I do believe my toes are taking a chill.”
He wiggled those toes, but got no response.
“Miss Wickersham?”
A gentle snore was his only reply.
Gabriel tossed back the bedclothes. Playing the invalid day and night was growing wearying in the extreme. He couldn’t believe how intractable his nurse was turning out to be. The stubborn creature should have tendered her resignation days ago. Despite her gracious responses to his demands, her brittle restraint was showing signs of cracking.
Only tonight, after he had requested that she plump up his pillows for the third time in an hour, he had felt her hovering over him, pillow in hand, and had known he was one querulous demand away from being smothered to death.
He felt his way along the papered panels until he reached the sitting room that adjoined his bedchamber. The siren melody of the snores lured him to the wing chair that crouched in front of the hearth. Judging from
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