To my Michael, one of my greatest blessings is waking up to your sweet face every morning. To my very own Axis of Angels—you know who you are . . . To all of the angels of mercy at Western State Nursing Facility. May God bless you for all you do to take care of my mom. And for my sweet Lord, who healed the lame and made the blind to see. Dd Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight? christopher marlowe CONTENTS Chapter 1 “So tell me, Miss Wickersham, have you any… 1 Chapter 2 As Samantha groped her way down the curving… 21 Chapter 3 Gabriel came creeping down the stairs the next… 43 Chapter 4 When Gabriel emerged from his bedchamber… 57 Chapter 5 “Miss Wickersham? Oh, Miss Wickersham?”… 75 Chapter 6 “Insufferable man,” Samantha muttered to herself… 93 Chapter 7 For a dazed moment, Samantha didn’t even dare… 113 Chapter 8 When Samantha entered Gabriel’s bedchamber… 127 Chapter 9 “I used to boast to all my friends that I could… 139 Chapter 10 When Samantha heard a muf.ed bang, she sat… 149 Chapter 11 “What is it?” Gabriel demanded, his sense of… 167 Chapter 12 Samantha was sulking. 183 Chapter 13 The man standing at the head of the long table… 191 Chapter 14 Promptly at two o’clock the following afternoon… 207 Chapter 15 Ignoring the marquess’s outstretched hand… 225 Chapter 16 Gabriel sat just inside the door of the folly, listening… 243 Chapter 17 “Does she have to be here?” the marchioness of… 261 Chapter 18 “Have you gone stark raving mad?” Samantha… 273 Chapter 19 “Beckwith!” 289 Chapter 20 “She can’t simply have vanished into thin air. 299 Chapter 21 The stranger made his way through the crowded… 315 Chapter 22 Gabriel Fairchild stood at the head of the stairs… 325 Chapter 23 Cecily stood before him in the .relight, wearing… 341 Chapter 24 Cecily gazed out the carriage window at the… 353 Chapter 25 As Cecily met Gabriel’s cool green gaze, a shudder… 365 Epilogue 371 About the Author Praise for Teresa Medeiros Other Books by Teresa Medeiros Copyright Cover About the Publisher DChapter 1 d England, 1806 My dear Miss March, I pray you’ll forgive me for being presumptuous enough to contact you in this rather unconven- tional manner... “S o tell me, Miss Wickersham, have you any experience?” From somewhere deep in the sprawling Ja- cobean mansion, a tremendous crash sounded. Although the portly butler who was conducting the interview visibly flinched and the house- keeper standing at rigid attention beside the tea table let out an audible squeak, Samantha re- fused to so much as blink. Instead, she drew a neat packet of papers from the side pocket of the battered leather portman- teau resting at her feet and held them out. “I’m 2 Teresa Medeiros sure you’ll find my letters of reference are in or- der, Mr. Beckwith.” Although it was midday, the light in the mod- est breakfast parlor was abysmal. Shafts of sun- light bled through the cracks in the heavy velvet drapes, striping the rich ruby weave of the Turk- ish carpet. The wax candles scattered across the occasional tables filled the corners with flicker- ing shadows. The room smelled musty and close, as if it had gone unaired for ages. If not for the absence of black swags over the windows and mirrors, Samantha would have sworn some- one very dear to the household had recently died. The butler took the papers from her white- gloved hand and unfolded them. As the house- keeper craned her long neck to peer over his shoulder, Samantha could only pray the dim light would work to her advantage, preventing them from studying the scrawled signatures too closely. Mrs. Philpot was a handsome woman of indeterminate age, as sleek and nar- row as the butler was round. Although her face was unlined, silver frosted the black chignon anchored at her nape. “As you can see, I served two years as gov- erness for Lord and Lady Carstairs,” Samantha informed Mr. Beckwith as he gave the papers a cursory thumbing-through. “Once the war re- sumed, I joined several other governesses in vol- unteering to treat sailors and soldiers who Yours Until Dawn 3 returned from sea or the front with debilitating wounds.” The housekeeper could not quite hide the faint tightening of her lips. Samantha knew there were still those in society who believed women who nursed soldiers to be little more than glorified camp followers. Immodest creatures who wouldn’t even blush to look upon a strange man’s nakedness. Feeling heat rise to her own cheeks, Samantha lifted her chin another notch. Mr. Beckwith examined her over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. “I must confess, Miss Wickersham, that you’re a trifle bit . . . younger than what we had in mind. Such strenuous duty might require a woman of more. ..maturity. Perhaps one of the other applicants...” At Samantha’s arch look, he trailed off. “I don’t see any other applicants, Mr. Beck- with,” she pointed out, sliding her own ill- fitting spectacles up her nose with one finger. “Given the generous, even extravagant, wages you offered in your advertisement, I fully ex- pected to find them lined up outside your gates.” Another crash came, this one even closer than the last. It sounded as if some sort of massive beast were lumbering toward its den. Mrs. Philpot hastened around the chair, her starched petticoats rustling. “Would you care for some more tea, my dear?” As she poured from the porcelain pot, her hand trembled so violently