Yours Until Dawn (33 page)

The name jabbed like a hot needle through the ice around Gabriel’s heart. He locked his hands at the small of his back, feeling his jaw go taut. “I was going to send word that you were free to burn her belongings. She obviously has no intention of ever coming back for them.”

Beckwith and Mrs. Philpot exchanged a dismayed look.

“If that’s what you w-wish, my lord,” Beckwith said haltingly, “but I think you should take a look at this first.” He drew a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his waistcoat. “Hannah and Elsie were turning the mattress in Miss Wickersham’s chamber when they found it.”

Gabriel tried not to remember the night he had shared that ridiculously narrow mattress with her, the way it had forced their warm bodies to nestle together like spoons in a drawer.

He gazed down at the paper in Beckwith’s hand, oddly reluctant to examine it. “Surely she didn’t leave me another note. Her first was quite eloquent. It hardly required any embellishment.”

Beckwith shook his head. “That’s why we found it so peculiar, my lord. It’s not a letter
to
you. It’s a letter
from
you.”

His frown deepening, Gabriel accepted the folded letter from Beckwith’s hand. Bits of old wax still clung to the ivory linen. It was even more worn than the letters he had carried into battle next to his heart. It appeared the paper had been stroked often and lovingly by tender fingers.

Gabriel unfolded it, recognizing with a start his own bold hand, his even bolder words.

My darling Cecily,

This will be the last missive you will have from me for a very long while. Even though I cannot post them, please know that I will write words of love for you on my heart every night we are parted so I can read them to you when we are reunited.

Now that I have taken your counsel and signed away my vain and useless life to His Majesty’s Service, I hope you will not laugh your merry laugh and accuse me of shipping off to sea only to prove to my tailor how dashing I can look in a uniform.

During the long months when we are parted, I will strive to become a man worthy of your affections. I’ve made no secret of my fondness for gaming. Now I am gambling to win the most precious stakes of all—your heart and your hand in matrimony. Wait for me, I beg you, and know that I will return to you as soon as I am able. I carry your letters and all of my hopes for our future next to my heart.

Ever your,
Gabriel

Gabriel slowly lowered the letter, surprised to discover that his hands were shaking. “Where did you get this? Did you find it somewhere inside this house, on the stoop outside?”

They both blinked at him as if he’d lost his wits.

“No, my lord,” Mrs. Philpot said, stealing a worried look at Beckwith. “We found it exactly where we said we did. Beneath Miss Wickersham’s mattress.”

“But how did she come to be in possession of it? I don’t understand…”

But suddenly he did understand.

Everything
.

Closing his eyes against a rush of raw emotion, he whispered, “There is none so blind as he who will not see.”

When he opened them, everything in his life was suddenly crystal clear.

Tucking the letter inside his coat, next to his heart, he gave Beckwith a ferocious scowl. “So tell me, Mr. Beckwith, when are you going to make an honest woman out of Mrs. Philpot here?”

Although they were afraid to look at each other, the two servants both began to blush and stammer.

Beckwith drew a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopped at his brow. “You know, my lord?”

“How long?” Mrs. Philpot asked, wadding her gloves into a tiny ball.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Since I was about twelve and spotted the two of you kissing in the apple orchard. I nearly fell out of the tree and broke my neck.”

“Are we to be allowed to keep our positions?” Beckwith asked, growing bold enough to reach over and take Mrs. Philpot’s trembling hand in his.

Gabriel pondered the question for a moment. “Only if you get married right away. I can’t have you living in sin under my roof and corrupting the morals of my children.”

“But—but, my lord…you don’t have any children,” Mrs. Philpot pointed out.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to remedy that.” Gabriel strode toward the door, determined not to waste another minute.

“Where are you going?” Beckwith called after him, sounding more bewildered than usual.

Gabriel pivoted on his heel, grinning at them both. “I have a ship to catch.”

Cecily was out of the coach before it even stopped moving.

“Run, Cecily! Run like the wind!” Estelle called after her as she lifted her skirts and took off down the narrow street that led to the docks. It was snowing harder now, but she barely felt the icy bite of the flakes. She had left her cloak behind in the coach, believing she could move faster without its encumbering folds.

As her feet flew over the planks of the docks, she could see the towering spars of the ships waiting to sail and could only pray that the
Defiance
was among them.

She darted past a group of men unloading merchandise from a freighter. Rounding a stack of crates, she crashed right into the chest of a sailor nearly as wide as she was tall.

“Whoa, there, lass!” he boomed, catching her elbow to steady her. His blue eyes were not unkind.

Cecily clutched at his arm, dangerously near tears. “Please, sir, the
Defiance
! Can you tell me where I can find it?”

“I most certainly can.” He beamed down at her, revealing a mouthful of black and gold teeth. “She’s right there. And a fine sight she is flying His Majesty’s colors into battle!”

Her heart already beginning to pound with dread, Cecily slowly turned to follow the direction of his pointing finger. A ship in full sail was gliding toward the horizon, its majestic masts nearly obscured by the gusting snow.

“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled as the seaman doffed his cap to her, hefted a massive crate to his shoulder, and lumbered off.

She slumped against a barrel, both her toes and her heart going numb as she watched the
Defiance
—and all of her hopes for the future— disappear over the horizon.

“Looking for someone, Miss March?”

Cecily whirled around to find Gabriel standing on the dock a few feet behind her, his unbound hair blowing in the wind. Her heart leapt with joy. It was all she could do not to run into his arms.

He arched one tawny eyebrow. “Or would you prefer I call you
Miss Wickersham
?”

My darling Cecily,

My arms will always be open to you, as will my heart…

A
s Cecily met Gabriel’s cool green gaze, a shudder of awareness rocked her. She presented her back to him, wrapping her arms around herself to hug back a shiver. “You may call me Cecily if you like, now that I’m no longer in your employ.”

She heard his measured footsteps moving closer. He draped his coat over her shoulders, enfolding her in its juniper-scented warmth. “I hope you won’t be expecting a letter of reference.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “I think I performed my duties with admirable enthusiasm.”

“That may be true, but I don’t want you performing them for anyone else.”

At the possessive note in his voice, Cecily turned to face him, her heart pounding madly. “How did you know I would be here?”

“I didn’t. I came to inform my shipmates that I had resigned my commission. You can keep the coat. I won’t be needing it.”

She hugged the garment tighter around her, afraid to ask, afraid to hope.

“Perhaps it’s just as well that I ran into you, because I believe I have something that belongs to you.” Gabriel reached inside his coat, the backs of his fingers brushing her breast as he drew out a folded piece of stationery.

She took the familiar scrap of ivory linen from his hand, lifting her bewildered eyes to his. “How did you get this?”

“The servants found it beneath your mattress at Fairchild Park. Beckwith and Mrs. Philpot delivered it to me only this morning. When I gave you my letters for safekeeping, I never suspected you had a stash of your own.”

“It must have fallen out of the ribbon the night you came to my room. I suppose I never should have brought them to Fairchild Park with me, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them behind.” She shook her head disbelievingly. “I had no idea. I thought I gave myself away last night.”

“Oh, you gave yourself away, all right.” With the knowing look in his eyes, the smoky timbre of his voice, suddenly everything that had been between them in the night was between them again. “And I was only too willing to take advantage of your generosity. But, no, it wasn’t last night that spoiled your absurd little masquerade.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “Not so absurd, I think. I fooled you, didn’t I? But the only trouble was that I fooled myself as well. I told myself that I could somehow atone for everything I’d done by helping you adjust to your blindness.” She gazed up at him, no longer trying to hide the longing in her eyes. “But the truth was that I would have risked anything, even your hatred, just to be near you again.”

An old pain shadowed his eyes. “If you wanted to be near me that badly, then why did you run away from me at the hospital? Was I that abhorrent to you?”

She lifted a hand, touching a finger gently to his scar. “I didn’t flee your bedside because I was horrified by the sight of you. I fled because I was horrified by
me
. By what I had driven you to, all in the name of some girlish fantasy. I wanted you to win my heart by fighting a dragon. I never realized that in the real world, more often than not, the dragon wins. I was appalled at what I had cost you. I blamed myself for scarring and blinding you. I didn’t see how you could ever forgive me.”

“For what? Wanting me to be a better man?”

“For not loving the man you were enough.” She let her hand fall limply to her side. “I went back to the hospital the very next day. But you were gone.”

Gabriel gazed down at her bowed head, her soft fall of golden curls. In that moment, she was Cecily, the girl he had loved. And Samantha, the woman who had loved him.

“You were right,” he said. “I didn’t love you. You said it yourself. I never really knew you. You were only a dream.”

At Gabriel’s words, Cecily felt her heart crack in two like a block of ice. She turned her face away, not wanting him to see her tears.

But he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his fierce gaze. “But now I do know you. I know how brave and silly and stubborn you are. I know that you’re more clever than me by half. I know you snore like a baby bear. I know you have a wicked temper and a sharp tongue and can give some of the most magnificent set-downs I’ve ever heard. I know you make love like an angel and that without you my life is a living hell.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, his eyes shining with tender yearning. “Before, you were only a dream. Now you’re a dream come true.”

As Gabriel touched his lips to hers, a dizzying rush of sweetness spiraled through Cecily’s veins. She wrapped her arms around him, returning his kiss with an ardor that left them both trembling.

He drew away. “I have only one more question for you.”

Her wariness returned. “Yes?”

He scowled down at her. “Have you really seen numerous men without their shirts?”

Cecily laughed through her tears. “Only you, my lord. Only you.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

She let out a squeal as he swept her up into his arms, cradling her like a baby.

As Gabriel’s long strides carried them toward the street, she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling as if she’d come home at last. “Before we proceed, my lord, I really must insist that you clarify your intentions. Are you offering me a position as your nurse or your mistress?”

He tenderly kissed her nose, her cheeks, her parted lips. “I’m offering you a position as my wife, my lover, my countess, and the mother of my children.”

Cecily sighed, snuggling deeper into his arms. “Then I accept. But I’ll still expect you to shower me with extravagant baubles on occasion.”

He leered down at her, using his scar to its most devilish advantage. “Only if you earn them.”

She suddenly stiffened in his arms, her eyes widening in horror. “Oh, no! I just thought of something. What will your mother say?”

Gabriel grinned down at her in the swirling snow. “Why don’t we go find out?” His eyes sobered. “This isn’t just a dream, is it? When I wake up in the morning, will you still be here?”

Cecily stroked his cheek with loving fingers, smiling up at him through a mist of joyful tears. “Every day, my love. For the rest of our lives.”

15 December, 1809

My dearest Lord Sheffield,