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lilac-scented night air. “Perhaps by morning this house won’t smell like an open grave any longer.”
    Beckwith trotted after her. “Have you lost your wits, Lavinia? What are we going to tell the master?”
    “Oh, we’re not going to tell him anything.” Mrs. Philpot nodded toward the doorway where Miss Wickersham had disappeared, a sly smile curving her lips. “ She is.”

Chapter 3
    My dear Miss March,
    I must confess that since I first laid eyes on you, I’ve thought of nothing—and no one—else…
    G abriel came creeping down the stairs the next morning, sniffing at the air with each step. He flared his nostrils, but couldn’t detect so much as a whiff of lemon. Perhaps Miss Wickersham had heeded his warning and taken her leave. With any luck, he would never again have to tolerate her impertinence. The thought left him feeling curiously empty. He must be hungrier than he realized.
    Abandoning any attempt at stealth, he charged toward the drawing room, already bracing himself for his shins’ first impact with some immovable piece of furniture. In truth, he welcomed the pain it would bring. Every fresh bruise or scrape only served to remind him he was still alive.
    But there was no preparing himself for the blow to come. As he crossed the drawing room without encountering so much as a wayward footstool to break his stride, a lance of sunlight struck him full in the face. Gabriel staggered to a halt, throwing up a hand to shield his face from its dazzling warmth. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, but could do nothing to defend against the cheery lilt of birdsong or the lilacscented breeze caressing his skin.
    For a minute he believed he was still dreaming in his bed. Believed he would open his eyes and find himself lying in a shimmering green meadow beneath the silky white blossoms of a pear tree. But when he opened them, it was still night, despite the treacherous warmth of the sun on his face.
    “Beckwith!” he bellowed.
    Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Without thinking, Gabriel swung around and made a grab for his assailant. Although his hands closed on empty air, the tart tang of lemon still tickled his nostrils.
    “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s extremely bad form to sneak up on a blind man?” he snarled.
    “Dangerous, too, it would seem.” Although that all-too-familiar voice lacked none of its usual asperity, there was a breathless quality to it that made his pulse quicken.
    Struggling to tame more than just his temper, Gabriel took several steps backward. Since it was impossible to escape the seductive warmth of the sunlight, he deliberately turned the left side of his face away from the sound of her voice. “Where in the devil is Beckwith?”
    “I’m not sure, my lord,” his nurse confessed. “There seems to be some sort of curious malady going around this morning. Breakfast isn’t prepared and most of the servants are still abed.”
    He spread his arms wide and executed a full turn, not hitting a single object in any direction. “Then perhaps the more appropriate question should be: Where is my furniture? ”
    “Oh, don’t worry. It’s still here. We just pushed most of it against the walls so it wouldn’t be in your way any longer.”
    “ We? ”
    “Well, mostly me.” For a rewarding second, she sounded nearly as confounded as he felt. “Although it seems the servants must have decided to lend a helping hand after I was abed.”
    Gabriel blew out a sigh fraught with exaggerated patience. “If all of the rooms are exactly the same, how am I to know whether I’m in the drawing room or the library? Or in the compost heap out behind the house, for that matter?”
    For one blissful moment, he actually succeeded in rendering her speechless. “Why, I never thought of that!” she finally said. “Perhaps we should have the footmen drag a few pieces toward the middle of each room to serve as landmarks.” Her skirts rustled as she paced around him, plainly engrossed