A Curse of the Heart

by Adele Clee

  It meant more to her than he would ever know.

  Chapter 8

  Seeing the coarse rope attached to the bed, seeing the look of horror on Miss Linwood’s face caused something to snap inside Gabriel’s chest.

  He would find out who was responsible and then there would be hell to pay.

  Even as they made their way down to her office, he could still see the look of fear in her eyes. As much as she tried to make others believe she was strong and resilient, there was a certain vulnerability about her that called out to him.

  Indeed, the different aspects of her character were like the facets of a gem: each unique angle contributing to its dazzling beauty. As the owner of the museum, she was forthright, haughty and knowledgeable, and he enjoyed their discussions about the ancient world.

  Then, there was another side. A fragility that roused a medieval sense of chivalry, something he had forgotten he possessed. Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of all was the fiery passion simmering beneath the surface. He had only managed to glimpse it, only managed to take a sip of sweet nectar from a cup he imagined was as deep as the ocean.

  “Are you well, Mr. Stone?”

  Her voice penetrated his thoughts and he realised they were standing in the middle of the gallery. “Yes, Miss Linwood. Forgive me. I was just thinking about the intruder.”

  She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Well, perhaps we can cross Mr. Pearce off the list. Look, he has decided to make an appearance this morning.”

  Miss Linwood’s naivety touched him.

  He followed her gaze to one of the display cabinets, to the painfully thin gentleman whose bony fingers were busy scanning the pages of a ledger. It was obvious the man wasn’t reading as his eyes moved up and down the page at too rapid a rate.

  “I need you to trust me, Miss Linwood,” Gabriel said, placing her hand in the crook of his arm and forcing her to follow his direction. “I need you to agree with everything I say, without question or reservation. Regardless of how strange it sounds.”

  He gave her no chance to protest as he stepped in front of the curator. “Mr. Pearce. Good morning.”

  The man looked up, his left eye twitching. Gabriel doubted he suffered from an uncontrollable muscle spasm. The curator inclined his head to Miss Linwood and with a stutter said, “G-good morning.”

  “I am Mr. Stone, Miss Linwood’s new partner in the museum.”

  The absence of a top lip did not prevent the curator’s mouth from quivering. “I was not aware that —”

  “I asked Miss Linwood to refrain from discussing the matter,” Gabriel interrupted, “as we had not agreed the details. But rest assured I shall be spending a ridiculous amount of time here.”

  Gabriel glanced at Miss Linwood, his eyes darting to the right to inform her it was her turn to speak.

  “You must understand,” she began, “I could not discuss the matter until I was certain of Mr. Stone’s intentions. But he is considered an expert on ancient Egypt and his knowledge will be invaluable to us.”

  Although he had told her to agree with him, he rather liked the idea that she held him in such high regard.

  “I do have some antiquities of my own that I intend to display,” Gabriel added with an exaggerated wave of the hand. “I thought you could accompany us to the office to discuss the best way to proceed.”

  The mere mention of his own objects caused an odd feeling to form in his stomach. The feeling he imagined one would get when conducting an illicit affair: the thrill and anticipation of a passionate encounter waging a bitter battle with a moral responsibility. He dismissed the image of his lonely books left abandoned on his desk, deserted and forsaken. After all, he was not betraying them; he was in a museum filled with the wonders of Egypt. Perhaps he would stumble upon something to further his knowledge on the process of mummification.

  Gabriel waved his hand, instructing Mr. Pearce to take the lead. “On you go, Mr. Pearce. We shall follow.”

  The gentleman edged past them and skulked off in the direction of the office, glancing behind periodically, as though aware of Gabriel’s piercing gaze burrowing into his back.

  Once in the room, Miss Linwood took her place behind the desk and invited Mr. Pearce to sit opposite. Gabriel chose to stand, knowing his pacing would unnerve the curator.

  “There is also another matter that needs to be addressed,” Gabriel said, slamming the office door to make Mr. Pearce jump. “And in some ways, it relates to my reservations regarding the security of my own objects.”

  “I can assure you,” Mr. Pearce said, his head moving left to right while he tried to locate Gabriel, “all the antiquities are treated with extreme care.”

  “That is not the case. Is it, Mr. Pearce?” Gabriel said as he moved to the curator’s side. “You see, for the past week, someone has been sneaking into the storeroom at night. The antiquities are in disarray, boxes open and scattered across the floor and yet you have said nothing to Miss Linwood. Why is that?”

  Gabriel glanced at Miss Linwood, whose expression resembled someone on the front row of a gladiatorial arena, waiting to see if the outcome would be thumbs up or down.

  “I … I haven’t been in the storeroom,” he stammered.

  Gabriel moved to stand next to Miss Linwood, folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “A curator of a museum has not been in his storeroom or taken an inventory of its treasures for a whole week?” he said, feigning amazement. “Is this how you normally work, Miss Linwood?”

  “No. Not at all. The list should be checked daily, Mr. Stone.”

  Mr. Pearce ran his fingers along the edge of his collar and craned his neck as though his shirt chafed his skin. He looked at Miss Linwood, then at Gabriel, before turning to look at the closed door.

  “Well, the watchman will be able to tell us more when we have assessed the damage. Of course, he will want to look at the item the intruder dropped, and I will conduct a meeting with all staff. The motive is obviously theft,” he turned to Miss Linwood. “What did you say was missing?”

  Her eyes widened and then she said, “The bronze spoon is missing from its box. It is Eighteenth Dynasty.”

  “Add that to trespass,” Gabriel said counting the list of transgressions on his fingers, “damage to property and intention to cause bodily harm. Once we find out who is responsible, I'm certain the person will hang.”

  “It is not my fault,” Mr. Pearce cried jumping up from his chair. “You cannot blame a man for doing what he is told. It was his lordship. He made me do it. But I swear to you, I have not stolen anything.”

  Gabriel could sense Miss Linwood’s body stiffen. It was always unpleasant to discover one’s trust had been misplaced. In his head, he imagined putting a comforting hand on her shoulder to ease the tension, which would probably have stopped her from jumping out of her chair, too.

  “You mean to tell me it … it was George Wellford who asked you to break into my home in the dead of night and scare me out of my wits?” she said leaning over the desk, her face level with Mr. Pearce.

  The curator could only stare at the floor.

  “Of all the sneaky, underhanded … ugh … you may tell Lord Wellford to go to the devil,” she continued before swinging round to face Gabriel. “What did I tell you? He wants me out of here and will do whatever it takes to achieve his goal.”

  Gabriel waved his hands up and down: a simple gesture to calm a volatile spirit. “Let us hear what Mr. Pearce has to say on the matter,” he said turning to face the gentleman. “What precisely did Lord Wellford ask you to do?”

  Mr. Pearce held his hands in front of him and began fiddling with his fingers. “I was to frighten her a little. That is all. Lord Wellford wants Miss Linwood to understand that the museum is no place for an unmarried lady.”

  “You see, he wants me out of London,” she said. “Trust me, he will have some gentleman with a purse full of coins ready and waiting to cart me off to the country.”

  The image of Miss Lin
wood as the wife of a country squire did not sit well with Gabriel. He could not imagine her taking tea with the vicar or hosting a summer fete or being out in the garden pruning roses. The lady had a passionate spirit and a deep love of the ancient world. It would be like trying to contain a butterfly in a jar: eventually, her spirit would wither and fade. Her father would not have left her the house and all his treasures if he had not thought her capable. If she were to marry, then the gentleman would have to accept that the museum was her life, and he doubted there were many men willing to do so.

  “You were never in any danger,” Mr. Pearce said, finding the courage to look up at the lady. “I acted out of concern, nothing more.”

  “Concern!” she spat. “You do not need to concern yourself with me.”

  “Did Lord Wellford pay you?” Gabriel interrupted.

  Mr. Pearce nodded and scrunched up his face as though the words forming in his mouth were painful. “He … he gave me ten pounds.”

  Miss Linwood threw her hands up in the air. “Ten pounds! Is that the price of a lady’s sanity?”

  “I have a family. What was I supposed to do?”

  Gabriel gritted his teeth. “You were supposed to act honourably out of respect for your patron. Am I to understand Wellford gave you the ancient scroll?”

  Mr. Pearce nodded. “He said it was a copy of an old curse. He said Miss Linwood would be more inclined to believe it.”

  “Right,” Miss Linwood said, banging her hands on the desk. “Mr. Pearce. You will go to the storeroom and clear up the mess. With your ten pounds, I suggest you pay for someone to come and fix the hole in my ceiling. That is if you wish to continue working here.”

  Gabriel gaped in astonishment. “You’re not letting him stay?”

  “I shall decide his fate when I have spoken to Lord Wellford. Now, be on your way, Mr. Pearce, before I change my mind.”

  The man scurried from the room as though wolves were biting at his heels.

  “Surely, you’re not going to let him stay,” Gabriel repeated, as he was struggling to believe how anyone could be so lenient. He had wanted to thrust his fist down the man’s throat in the hope of pulling out his missing lip.

  “I do not mind saying this to you, Mr. Stone, but my head is in such a tizzy I am not sure what is going on.” She flopped back down in the chair and let out a deep sigh. “I thank you for all your help. You must think me rather foolish for believing in a curse.”

  “On the contrary,” he said. “When I first heard the noises, I was tempted to believe it myself. Had the scroll been written in another language, then I’m sure I would have been more inclined to agree with you.”

  It was not a lie. Well, perhaps it was a small exaggeration.

  “Talking of the scroll, I had best go and remove it from the crate. I intend to feed it to Lord Wellford for luncheon in the hope he chokes on it.” She smiled at him, and the world seemed suddenly brighter. “I’m sure you will be relieved to get back to your studies now the matter is resolved. I have wasted far too much of your time.”

  Gabriel waited to feel the burning in his chest, the craving that tugged at his stomach whenever he thought of his work. But for some reason, it did not come. Perhaps his mind was so preoccupied with this tempting beauty he had lost sight of what was important. The only way to correct that was to immerse himself in his books.

  Which was why he was somewhat shocked when he said, “I will come with you when you visit Lord Wellford. It would not hurt to let him believe we are partners. At least for the time being.”

  Her eyes widened. “I could not ask you to do that,” she said, although a look of relief flashed across her face.

  “But only if you think I may be of some use, Miss Linwood,” he added, in the hope of appeasing the independent side of her character. “I said I would help you until the matter is concluded and I am a man of my word.”

  “Well, at least if you’re there, then there is no chance of him locking me in his cellar while he hurries off to summon a suitor.”

  Gabriel glanced down at his dusty coat. “I will need to change out of these clothes and shall return with my carriage.”

  “You have a carriage?” she said with some surprise.

  “My father was the youngest son of a viscount. Consequently, I have money, but no title.”

  Miss Linwood looked up at him as though he had sprouted horns. “How wonderful. So, presumably, you have an uncle or a cousin who is a viscount.”

  “An uncle,” he nodded, but he recalled only seeing him once since his father’s death.

  “So when you say you are on your own, you mean you have no siblings,” she clarified.

  Gabriel swallowed to clear the lump from his throat.

  “Like you, I do have family to speak of,” he said, choosing not to answer her question directly, as he did not want to lie to her. “But I prefer to be alone.”

  Chapter 9

  “You’re certain Lord Wellford will see you?” Mr. Stone said as the carriage rumbled along Compton Street on its way to Bedford Square.

  Sitting in such close quarters, Rebecca struggled to breathe let alone rouse a coherent response.

  He sat opposite, his muscular thighs straining against pale buckskin breeches. Their knees were but an inch apart and despite all the bumps and rumbles, he managed to maintain the distance.

  It was odd how she craved his company.

  She should have told him she could deal with George on her own. But for some strange reason, the thought of being near him for a few more hours seemed far too tempting to resist. Even now, in the dark confines of his carriage, the air pulsed with some undefinable emotion: a feeling of need, of longing, of desperation. She could feel the energy sparking between them, heating her blood, and it took all her efforts to try to focus on the conversation.

  “If he refuses to see me, I shall sit outside his front door until he has no choice but to open it,” she said. Her gaze drifted over his broad shoulders encased in a dark blue coat, and she imagined bronzed skin stretched smoothly over each bulging contour. “I do not think he is as stubborn as you, Mr. Stone.”

  His eyes glinted with mischief, and he did not look the least bit studious. He looked like a devilish rogue.

  “So you think me stubborn, Miss Linwood?” He sat forward and the exotic scent of spice and something utterly masculine filled her head. “Do you remember what happened the last time you drew attention to the flaws in my character?”

  There was something different about him now. Something so opposed to the man she first met at Lord Banbury’s ball. He appeared more relaxed, his voice smooth and warm, his gaze firm and focused. Rebecca could feel the blush rising in her cheeks as she recalled their passionate encounter. Under such scrutiny, a lady should look to her lap to convey her modesty. Instead, she found the courage to look him in the eye.

  “I shall never forget it, Mr. Stone,” she said, a little surprised that her own voice sounded deeper than usual.

  He sucked in a breath as his gaze lingered on her lips. When he exhaled slowly, she felt a ripple of pleasure flow through her body and all she could think of was how wonderful it felt to be lost in his sinful mouth.

  “Morality is a peculiar thing,” he said with a sigh, throwing himself back in his seat. “At times, it feels like a thick iron rod running through me, one that refuses to bend to my will.”

  Every logical part of her mind told her to ignore his comment, told her to look out of the window and feign interest in anything other than those ravenous brown eyes.

  “Are you suggesting you wish to be immoral, Mr. Stone?” she said, feeling a strange thrum of excitement course through her as she waited for his answer.

  He looked at her beneath hooded lids. “What do you think, Miss Linwood? Do you think me a gentleman capable of suppressing immoral thoughts?”

  “I believe you are a gentleman capable of doing anything you set your mind to.”

  “Your faith in me is flattering,” he said c
overing his heart with his hand. “However, it does not stop me from wanting to do a whole host of unseemly things.”

  The fluttering sensation in her stomach began to rise up to her throat. The very topic of conversation was immoral, but she was not the least bit offended. On the contrary, it was a testament to their friendship — if that was how one would define their relationship — that he could speak openly and honestly and so she chose to do the same.

  “Do you think I do not feel the same temptations, Mr. Stone? Do you think me cold to your heated gaze? Do you think desire only flows through your veins?”

  When his open mouth finally closed, he gave an amused chuckle. “I doubt it is the same,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

  As a novice to the skill of seduction, she should have been drowning in the depths of her own innocence. Yet she wanted to excite him, to prove she could match him stroke for stroke.

  “Well, Mr. Stone. Perhaps one day you may get the opportunity to find out.”

  With his mouth curved into a lascivious grin, he replied, “Now it is not only my interest that is piqued, Miss Linwood.”

  The carriage jolted to a halt, and the spell was broken.

  Mr. Stone opened the door and jumped to the pavement. “Don’t get down, Higson. I shall help Miss Linwood out.” He did not bother to lower the step and, despite her gasp, wrapped his strong hands around her waist and lifted her down. “Perhaps you are my Achilles’ heel, Miss Linwood,” he said as she brushed the creases out of her dress. “The more time I spend in your company, the more all respectable intentions are lost to me.”

  Rebecca patted him on the chest with her gloved hand. “Don’t lose heart, Mr. Stone. I never said I wanted you to be respectable,” she whispered before sauntering past him to knock on Lord Wellford’s door.

  Thankfully, Rebecca did not have to throw herself across the threshold or bang loudly demanding to be heard. Winters, Lord Wellford’s butler, instructed them to wait in the hall, and after a few minutes returned to escort them into the parlour.