A Curse of the Heart

by Adele Clee

  “Lord Wellford will be with you shortly,” he said with a solemn bow before making a silent retreat.

  Rebecca set about untying her bonnet before sitting on the sofa, and then nodded to Mr. Stone when he gestured to the space next to her.

  “George will wonder why we are here together,” she said, rooting around in her reticule in search of the ancient scroll.

  “That did occur to me. Perhaps I should be grateful he is not party to my immoral thoughts,” he said. When she plucked out the offending article, he asked, “Would you mind if I had a look at that?”

  “Of course not. I’m surprised your innate sense of curiosity has not insisted on making a thorough examination.”

  She handed it to him, and he unwound the tiny piece of paper, muttering the words as he scanned the elegant script.

  “Coupled with the strange noises at night, I can see why you thought this might be genuine. I shall cast fear unto him,” he read, his voice as emotive as a preacher delivering a sermon to a crowd full of sinners, “and the wind will howl your sins —”

  “Don’t read it!” she cried, making a feeble attempt to snatch it out of his hand.

  “And the dead will rise again!”

  “Mr. Stone!”

  “I’ve already told you,” he said in a humorous tone. “There is no such thing as a curse. Until recently, we had no way of deciphering hieroglyphics let alone place a more in-depth meaning to them. This scroll is just an attempt to frighten you.” He thrust his arm in the air and read some more. “Let crocodiles chase her through water. Let —”

  “It does not say that,” she said trying to snatch it from his hand.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat caught her attention and Rebecca turned to see George Wellford standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” he said as he walked into the room. “One does not often get the chance to see two people fighting over a piece of paper.”

  “We were not fighting, my lord,” Rebecca said as they both stood to greet him.

  With his golden hair and warm smile, she found it almost impossible to be angry with him. Perhaps it was the soft timbre of his voice or his bright blue eyes that made her heart forgive all of his sins. Perhaps that was why she chose not to spend time in his company: out of fear she might actually grow to like him.

  “Rebecca,” he said with a respectful bow. “You do not have to greet me so formally. Are we not kin?” When she didn’t answer, he looked past her. “Stone. It has been a while.”

  “Four years, Lord Wellford.”

  George raised a brow. “Has it been so long? My father, or should I say our father, was extremely fond of you. I think he always hoped I would share your enthusiasm for his work, but I’m afraid I was a constant disappointment.” He glanced briefly at Rebecca. “I hope his faith in you as a gentleman was not misplaced.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Stone replied. “It is out of respect and concern for Miss Linwood that I have accompanied her here today.”

  George waved his hand at the sofa. “Then please take a seat. I did not imagine you were here to gossip and drink tea.” He waited for them to sit and then sat in the chair opposite, his gaze firm as he steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “But first, I should like to know the nature of your involvement, Mr. Stone.”

  Rebecca decided to chirp in. “Mr. Stone is my closest friend and my business partner.” He was her only friend and her partner in the most sinful kiss of her life. “He intends to display some pieces at the museum.”

  “Is it wise for an unmarried lady to name a gentleman amongst her friends, Rebecca?” he asked, his disapproving gaze drifting back and forth between them.

  Rebecca felt her chest tighten. If she were a cat, she would hiss, arch her back and splay her claws. Why did George make a simple observation sound like a scathing reprimand?

  “Thankfully, I do not have to concern myself with what is considered appropriate in Society,” she informed coldly. “As you know, my parents are dead, Lord Wellford. So I may choose my friends and my business associates as I please.”

  “As the daughter of a respected peer, your reputation should be important to you.”

  The sweeping statement caused her heart to thump against her chest. “I may be the daughter of a peer but I was born out of wedlock, or have you forgotten. Besides, it is hardly an appropriate topic of conversation to have in front of guests.”

  The room fell silent. The only sound she was aware of was her own ragged breath.

  “Miss Linwood came to me because she believed she had brought a dreadful curse upon herself,” Mr. Stone finally said. The words sounded measured and controlled, yet Rebecca could feel the tension emanating from him. “She was hearing voices at night, scratching and moaning while the wind rattled her shutters, and a mysterious force shook her bed. As a lady living alone, you can imagine how terrifying that would be.”

  George did not even attempt to look shocked or embarrassed but just sat there as though listening to yet another report of the day’s weather.

  Rebecca heard the sound of grinding teeth and glanced at Mr. Stone to witness the muscles twitch in his rigid jaw.

  “The noises were made by an intruder,” he continued, “and frightened her out of her wits.”

  The mere mention of the intruder brought the memory of the haunting flooding back. On the first night, she had thought rats were scurrying about the boxes, thought she had imagined the bed move. It was on the second night that she heard the moaning, that she imagined a figure floating up the stairs and held her breath while she waited for it to burst through the door.

  “We know it was you,” she suddenly blurted, releasing the fear she had held on to for more than a week. “We know you arranged it all.”

  “I take it Mr. Pearce confessed,” George said with a hapless shrug. “What do you want me to say, Rebecca? That I’m sorry. Because I’m not.” He ignored Mr. Stone’s sudden intake of breath. “You were never in any danger, and it is only a matter of time before something untoward happens to you.”

  Mr. Stone thrust himself forward. “You’re wrong,” he said. “She was in danger, in danger of losing her sanity. In her desperation, she could have fled the house in the dead of night. Do you know how many unpleasant characters wander the streets at such an ungodly hour?”

  His words appeared to have some effect and for the first time, George’s cobalt-blue eyes flashed with remorse.

  “What else was I to do?” George asked, pushing his hand through his golden locks. “She refuses to heed my advice, insists on calling herself Miss Linwood when it is clearly not the name of her birth. She needs the protection of her family.”

  No matter what George said, Rebecca would never be a Wellford. He could plead, protest and dress it all up in a fancy ribbon, but it would not change the fact she was not part of his family.

  Mr. Stone sighed. “What do you want from her?”

  “I know what he wants,” she said. “He wants to chase me out of my home so he can claim it for himself.”

  “You know that is not true, Rebecca,” George said softly. “What need do I have for a house full of dusty old relics? I want you to accept you have a place here, with your family, that is all.” He turned his attention to Mr. Stone. “You have kin. I recall there being a younger sister. Tell me you do not want what is best for her.”

  Rebecca turned sharply. Why had he not mentioned he had a sister? When her eyes met his, the pain she saw there made her heart ache.

  “My sister is only ten,” he said, with a hint of sadness in his voice, “and while I can understand your motives, I cannot condone your methods. Miss Linwood shares your father’s passion for the ancient world. Her home is a place filled with magic and wonder. It is a place where she feels connected to her parents.”

  Rebecca continued to stare at him, her surprise at discovering he had a sister overshadowed by his insightful response.

  She had not considered it before, but there we
re times when the house felt alive with memories of the past. She often imagined hearing her father’s enthusiastic cries upon discovering a new Egyptian piece. Or seeing her mother’s emotive expressions as she rehearsed her lines whilst looking in the mirror. The house was like a shrine to their memory, a reminder she was once part of a loving family, and she would never forsake them.

  Tears threatened to fall.

  “I just want to be left alone,” she whispered looking down into her lap.

  She just wanted to be at home with her precious memories.

  Mr. Stone placed his hand on the seat between them and edged a little closer to her. Suddenly, she wished she was alone with him in his carriage, wished to hear his salacious banter, wished he could ease the crippling feeling of loneliness that took hold of her in moments of weakness.

  George shuffled to the edge of his chair and sat forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Perhaps I have gone about things in the wrong way,” he confessed. “Is there nothing I can do or say to make you reconsider your place there?” When she shook her head, he gave a deep sigh. “Will you not, at least, agree to meet with me on occasion? It is what father would have wanted.”

  Rebecca looked up at his angelic face, a stab of guilt hitting her squarely in the chest. There was a softness to his features that reminded her so much of her father and some part of her wanted to reach out to him, desperate for the comfort that comes with familiarity.

  “You may call on me at the museum,” she heard herself say and was quick to add, “but no one else, only you and only on occasion.”

  “I should leave,” Mr. Stone said standing abruptly, and she could not determine whether his tone held a hint of sadness or hostility. “I shall leave you to talk privately. Will you arrange to see Miss Linwood home?”

  George nodded. “Of course.”

  Mr. Stone seemed distant now, and she could feel him drifting further away from her, as though retreating to his private sanctuary and barring the door.

  Her mind and body were fraught with anguish and pain: for the loss of her parents, for the fear of being hurt by the Wellfords, for thinking Gabriel Stone would walk away and she would never see him again.

  Knots formed in her stomach, and she wanted to jump up and beg him to stay, beg him not to leave her.

  “Before you leave, Stone. Can you not persuade Rebecca to accompany me to Lord Chelton’s ball this evening?”

  “I am not the sort of gentleman to express excitement for such activities,” he replied coldly. “Besides, Miss Linwood is quite capable of making up her own mind.” He stood and offered her a respectful bow as her fear turned to anger for his indifference.

  “Yes, I will come with you tonight,” she suddenly said, brandishing the words like a weapon with the intention of hurting Gabriel Stone.

  He turned to face her, his stern countenance reminding her of the time she sat on his steps and watched him draw the curtains. The first time he’d shut her out. “Goodbye, Miss Linwood,” he said, not good day or good afternoon. “I trust you will have an enjoyable evening.”

  Chapter 10

  Gabriel strode from the house and jumped into his carriage, anger and disappointment escaping in the form of a loud exasperated sigh.

  The hard lump still pulsed in his throat, a lump that threatened to explode in a burst of uncontrollable fury at the sight of Lord Wellford playing the doting brother. He’d fought to suppress it, tried to swallow it down. Then Miss Linwood’s firm stance faltered, and he felt her betrayal like strong hands around his neck, squeezing tightly until he could no longer breathe.

  He’d not expected her to be fooled by her brother’s soppy blue eyes and soft words. He’d assumed her sharp tongue would leave Wellford sore and bruised. With steely determination, she would demand an apology. Yet like a naive debutante, she had fallen prey to his flowery charms.

  Gabriel struggled to understand why he even cared. Why could he not shake the feeling she had sided against him? Why was his mind so fraught with jealousy that all rational thought was lost to him?

  Perhaps it had something to do with the fact Wellford might prove to be the caring brother he could not be to his own sister — to the daughter of the woman who had taken his mother’s place. There was no denying the irony of his situation. He could show Miss Linwood compassion but could not feel the same way about his own kin.

  He threw his head back against the cushioned squab and inhaled deeply, only to find the sweet smell of lavender teasing his nostrils, drawing his thoughts back to the moment he first tasted Rebecca Linwood’s lips.

  Something had happened to him that night.

  Her enchanting essence had penetrated his mind and body, igniting something deep inside that could not be extinguished.

  In the past, he’d dabbled in the odd liaison, purely to sate a physical desire, purely to appease an appetite. Yet he had never felt a soul-deep connection before, never felt a blissful form of torture, an overwhelming need burning inside with such ferocious intensity.

  Even now, as the muscles in his shoulders relaxed and he welcomed the silence and solitude of his carriage, his vivid imagination refused to be tempered. Instead, he imagined her sitting astride him, moaning with pleasure as her hot body moulded around the length of him.

  Good God!

  What had happened to the man content to spend his days idling in his study with just a mound of old books for company?

  By the time his carriage pulled into Hanover Square, he could feel the tension pounding behind his eyes, which was slightly less torturous than the pulsating of his heavy loins.

  “Welcome home, sir,” Cosgrove said in his usual lofty tone as his gaze lingered on Gabriel’s furrowed brow. “I trust you’ve had an enjoyable afternoon.”

  If titles were given for sarcasm, his butler would be a duke.

  “I believe my expression says it all,” he replied shrugging out of his coat.

  “There is a package on your desk. I am certain it will improve your mood.”

  Gabriel walked into the study and surveyed the cluttered desk like an eager father, expecting a rush of excitement when his children looked up and noticed he was home. However, the feeling of pleasant familiarity did not evolve into anything deeper.

  In frustration, he strode over and picked up the package, ripping off the paper in a bid to rouse something more than a faint flicker of interest. He opened the top drawer, removed a pair of spectacles and put them on before scanning the leather cover for marks and flicking through the musty pages.

  Terrasson’s The Life of Sethos was a fictional works examining the private memoirs of the ancient Egyptians. With a glass of brandy in one hand and his book in the other, he moved to the sofa. It would take him hours to read through Terrasson’s work, and with his mind preoccupied he would forget all about Rebecca Linwood delighting the guests at Lord Chelton’s ball with her dazzling smile and generous bosom.

  Gabriel managed to read eight pages of the preface before his lids grew heavy and he became conscious of the fact he was struggling to stay awake. Eight pages became ten and then twelve and then — nothing.

  Somewhere in a dark recess of his mind, he heard the faint strains of a waltz. The triple beat called to him, forced him to concentrate, forced him to focus his gaze. At first, he imagined himself outside, as a hazy mist floated up to obscure his view, only clearing when he willed it to do so.

  He saw her then, his bewitching temptress, shining like a bright star in a black sky, illuminating the ballroom with all the power of a hundred-candle chandelier.

  He pushed himself away from the door jamb and tried to take a step forward. But the chain around his ankle pulled him back, tearing into his flesh as a reminder of his folly.

  “Let me go,” he cried. But he could only stand and stare as some other gentleman kissed her hand, as some other gentleman danced with her and pressed too close to her luscious body. “Rebecca,” he yelled, punching the air with clenched fists.

  But she coul
d not hear him.

  “Wake up, sir.”

  Cosgrove’s voice penetrated his addled brain, and he opened his eyes, blinking a few times and shaking his head until his butler had two eyes and not four.

  “Thank goodness,” Cosgrove said. “I thought you’d been taken by a fever.”

  Gabriel sat up, removed his spectacles and glanced around the room. “What time is it?” he asked noticing the solitary candle on the side table.

  “It is almost nine. I know how you hate to be disturbed when you’re reading, but I heard shouting.”

  “Thank you, Cosgrove,” he said scanning the sofa for his book and locating it on the floor next to the glassful of brandy. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Shall I ask Mrs. Hudson to prepare some supper, sir?”

  Gabriel sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and let his head fall into his hands. “Yes. Just a light repast will suffice,” he muttered, wondering why he still felt so detached from reality.

  The dream had been vivid. So much so, he knew if he closed his eyes he would still be there, still watching other men fawn over his prize. With a deep sigh, he picked up the book and flicked to the first chapter. Usually, his hunger for knowledge would have him devouring every page. Now, another passion consumed him: an eagerness to discover everything there was to know about Rebecca Linwood. An intense craving to educate himself in the needs of her body.

  Without another thought, he jumped up and made for the door. “Cosgrove,” he shouted, the word echoing through the oak-lined hallway.

  The butler stopped at the end of the corridor and walked slowly back towards him as though he had missed the urgency in his master’s voice. “You called, sir?”

  “Have the tray sent up to my room. I shall eat while I dress.”

  Cosgrove glanced dubiously at his master’s attire. “Dress, sir?”

  “Yes, Cosgrove,” Gabriel replied, taking the stairs two at a time. “I am going out.”

  “Where on earth have you been hiding this beauty?” Mr. Ingram said, lifting his monocle to his left eye and squinting with his right.