Secrets of a Perfect Night Read Online Free PDF

up to her shoulders; she had to leave it there until, with the first glimmer of day-light, she eased from his side.
    She left him fully recovered, and deeply asleep.

Two
    T HE RATTLE OF a log in the grate woke Adrian. He stretched, luxuriously warm under the quilt. Then he relaxed, and simply lay there, and mutely gave thanks. He was alive. More than that—he felt wonderful. Marvelous—as if he’d lost all the nagging problems of his life in the snowstorm. As for his corporeal self, he had never, he realized in passing amazement, felt better.
    He wondered at his peculiar state of well-being—perhaps a form of euphoria consequent on cheating death? Or was it merely because he was back on the moor? Whatever the cause, the result was inescapable. He felt like a new man, resurrected, resuscitated, ready to get on with his life.
    Another clunk from the fireplace had him lifting his head. Through the open bed-curtains at the foot of the bed, he saw a towheaded youth crouched before the hearth. The youth cast a glance over his shoulder and saw him watching. Scrambling to his feet, the youth bobbed his head awkwardly.
    “Sorry t’wake you, sir—yer lordship.”
    “Tom, isn’t it?” Adrian frowned as he dragged thememory free of the cobwebs in his mind. He hadn’t seen the boy for seven years, but that shock of pale hair combined with the snub nose was hard to forget. “Tom Cooper.”
    Tom grinned and ducked his head. “Aye, that be me. I work for Miss Abigail now. I brung your clothes.” He gestured across the room; Adrian couldn’t see because of the bed-curtains. “Miss Esme had them before the fire all night so they be dry and Agnes took an iron to them—said she did the best she could.”
    “I’m sure all will be fine—my thanks to you, Miss Esme, and Agnes.” And most importantly, Abby. Adrian came up on his elbow and pulled back the side bed-curtains. His clothes sat waiting on a chair, his coat draped over its back. “I’m trying to remember, Tom—Miss Esme is Miss Abigail’s aunt, isn’t she?”
    “Aye.” Tom resumed rebuilding the fire. “She came to live here when Miss Abigail did.”
    Adrian had only the vaguest recollection of Esme from the dim and distant past; he didn’t recall meeting her last night. “Agnes has red hair?”
    “Aye—and a temper to match. She’s Miss Abigail’s maid.”
    “Who else lives here?”
    “No one—just the four of us. Millie Watkins from the village comes to help with the house and the cooking, but she won’t be about today—the whole village’s snowed in.”
    The snow…Adrian remembered. “You and Agnes took Bolt upstairs. How is he?”
    “Don’t rightly know. Agnes said as how he’d woken for a bit but hadn’t all his wits about him. She said he’ssleeping at present—I’m to go up and set the fire in that room soon as I finish here.”
    Adrian lay back and sorted through his memories of the previous day. He remembered the drive, the storm, their slow trek across the moor. He recalled the accident with startling clarity; the subsequent slog up to the cottage was much less clear.
    He remembered his shock, and winced. Abby must have thought him the clumsiest clod, but he hadn’t expected it—hadn’t been prepared for the sudden sight of her after all these years. He hadn’t even known she was still living in the neighborhood, still unmarried—hadn’t had a clue that she looked like that. Had matured to look like that. She had certainly matured.
    He’d fallen at her feet. He winced again, then put the incident from his mind—not one of his better moments, it was definitely better forgotten. His recollection of what followed was hazy, but he was almost certain he’d reached the bed under his own steam. Beyond that…the only thing he remembered was the dream.
    His almost wet dream—thank God he was long past that stage. He hadn’t had a dream like that in years, if ever. It had been so intensely vivid, he could almost feel the