Read Online Yours Until Dawn by Teresa Medeiros - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Teresa Medeiros
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the chill in the air, Miss Wickersham hadn’t bothered to lay a fire for her own comfort.
Plagued by a stab of remorse, Gabriel knelt beside the chair. Surely only utter exhaustion could have driven his indefatigable nurse to this! He knew he should shake her awake, should insist that she get up immediately and close the window or fetch him a warm brick wrapped in wool to warm his toes. But instead he found himself reaching toward her, touching his fingers to the flyaway wisps of hair that crowned her brow. They were softer than he expected, gliding like gossamer between his fingertips.
The snoring ceased. She shifted in the chair. Gabriel held his breath, but her breathing quickly resettled into a deep and even rhythm.
His hand grazed the icy metal of her steel spectacles. Despite Beckwith’s claims, they seemed to be hanging askew on a nose far too small to bear such a weight. Gabriel gently drew them off and laid them aside, assuring himself he was only seeing to her comfort. But with her face bared to his touch, she presented a temptation too great to resist.
She had only herself to blame, he told himself firmly. If she hadn’t coaxed Beckwith into playing that wicked trick on him, his curiosity about her appearance might have been satisfied.
Gabriel ran his fingertips over her cheek, startled by the downy softness of her skin. She must be far younger than her flinty voice had led him to believe.
Instead of satisfying his curiosity, his discovery only deepened it. Why would a genteel young woman choose such a thankless vocation? Had she been the victim of a father with a gambling habit or a faithless lover who had ruined her, then left her to fend for herself? If they couldn’t find posts as governesses or seam-stresses, such women too often ended up on the streets with no goods to sell but themselves.
His cautious exploration proved that there was nothing long or horselike about her face. Delicate bones shaped it into a perfect heart, broad at the cheek, but tapering to a rather pointed chin that betrayed no sign of a mole, hairy or otherwise. Gabriel’s thumb strayed away from his other fingers only to encounter a more enticing softness.
As he ran the pad of his thumb over her plump lips, Miss Wickersham nestled her cheek into his palm, a husky little moan of contentment escaping her lips.
Gabriel froze, paralyzed by the hot surge of blood to his groin. He had boasted that his circulation was just fine, but until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how very fine it was. It had been so long since he’d felt a woman’s skin warm beneath his touch, felt the caress of her breath as her lips parted in invitation. Even before Trafalgar, he’d spent nearly a year at sea with only a packet of worn letters and his dreams for the future to warm him. He’d forgotten just how powerful that first sweet kick of desire could be. And how dangerous.
He yanked his hand back, thoroughly disgusted with himself. It was one thing to torment his nurse while she was awake, quite another to fondle her while she slept. He reached for her again, this time determined to shake her awake and send her to her own bedchamber before his wits could completely desert him.
She stirred and the delicate snores resumed. Gabriel sighed.
Muttering several colorful oaths beneath his breath, he fumbled his way back into the adjoining room and snatched up a quilt. He returned to the sitting room and awkwardly tucked the quilt around her before stumbling back to his own cold, empty bed.
Samantha curled deeper into her cozy nest, trying to ignore the fact that it felt as if a dozen pesky elves were doing needlework on her right foot. She didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to relinquish the delicious dream still clinging to the edges of her consciousness. She couldn’t remember the exact details. She only knew that in it she had felt warm and safe and loved and that letting it go would leave her with nothing but a helpless sense of
Plagued by a stab of remorse, Gabriel knelt beside the chair. Surely only utter exhaustion could have driven his indefatigable nurse to this! He knew he should shake her awake, should insist that she get up immediately and close the window or fetch him a warm brick wrapped in wool to warm his toes. But instead he found himself reaching toward her, touching his fingers to the flyaway wisps of hair that crowned her brow. They were softer than he expected, gliding like gossamer between his fingertips.
The snoring ceased. She shifted in the chair. Gabriel held his breath, but her breathing quickly resettled into a deep and even rhythm.
His hand grazed the icy metal of her steel spectacles. Despite Beckwith’s claims, they seemed to be hanging askew on a nose far too small to bear such a weight. Gabriel gently drew them off and laid them aside, assuring himself he was only seeing to her comfort. But with her face bared to his touch, she presented a temptation too great to resist.
She had only herself to blame, he told himself firmly. If she hadn’t coaxed Beckwith into playing that wicked trick on him, his curiosity about her appearance might have been satisfied.
Gabriel ran his fingertips over her cheek, startled by the downy softness of her skin. She must be far younger than her flinty voice had led him to believe.
Instead of satisfying his curiosity, his discovery only deepened it. Why would a genteel young woman choose such a thankless vocation? Had she been the victim of a father with a gambling habit or a faithless lover who had ruined her, then left her to fend for herself? If they couldn’t find posts as governesses or seam-stresses, such women too often ended up on the streets with no goods to sell but themselves.
His cautious exploration proved that there was nothing long or horselike about her face. Delicate bones shaped it into a perfect heart, broad at the cheek, but tapering to a rather pointed chin that betrayed no sign of a mole, hairy or otherwise. Gabriel’s thumb strayed away from his other fingers only to encounter a more enticing softness.
As he ran the pad of his thumb over her plump lips, Miss Wickersham nestled her cheek into his palm, a husky little moan of contentment escaping her lips.
Gabriel froze, paralyzed by the hot surge of blood to his groin. He had boasted that his circulation was just fine, but until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how very fine it was. It had been so long since he’d felt a woman’s skin warm beneath his touch, felt the caress of her breath as her lips parted in invitation. Even before Trafalgar, he’d spent nearly a year at sea with only a packet of worn letters and his dreams for the future to warm him. He’d forgotten just how powerful that first sweet kick of desire could be. And how dangerous.
He yanked his hand back, thoroughly disgusted with himself. It was one thing to torment his nurse while she was awake, quite another to fondle her while she slept. He reached for her again, this time determined to shake her awake and send her to her own bedchamber before his wits could completely desert him.
She stirred and the delicate snores resumed. Gabriel sighed.
Muttering several colorful oaths beneath his breath, he fumbled his way back into the adjoining room and snatched up a quilt. He returned to the sitting room and awkwardly tucked the quilt around her before stumbling back to his own cold, empty bed.
Samantha curled deeper into her cozy nest, trying to ignore the fact that it felt as if a dozen pesky elves were doing needlework on her right foot. She didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to relinquish the delicious dream still clinging to the edges of her consciousness. She couldn’t remember the exact details. She only knew that in it she had felt warm and safe and loved and that letting it go would leave her with nothing but a helpless sense of
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