by Adele Clee
“You could have warned me you were not coming with me,” Rebecca said as he settled back into the seat opposite. She pulled her cloak tighter across her chest, and he read it as her way of punishing him.
“I am coming with you,” he said after taking a moment to catch his breath. “I was just a few minutes behind.”
They sat in silence for a while, and he was aware of her gaze searching his face before falling to his mouth.
“What did George have to say?” she eventually said. “He did not look very pleased.”
“He believes my interests in you run deeper than that of a business partner or friend. He thinks my morbid fascination with the dead is not good for you.”
She shot forward, her cloak falling away, presenting him with luscious mounds of creamy-white flesh. “That’s absurd. There is nothing morbid about your interest in the ancient world. You are a scholar. I am the one who collects objects belonging to the dead.”
Gabriel winced as that was not entirely true. Thankfully, she had not seen the laboratory in his cellar.
“You have not said anything about my first comment. About the fact he believes my interest in you to be disreputable.”
She raised an arched brow and her lips curved into a flirtatious smile. “What is there to say? I am fully aware of your immoral intentions, Gabriel. But I wonder if you are aware of mine.”
Desire hit him like a lightning bolt, surging through his body at a remarkable rate. It was so strong he bounced off the seat. Then he noticed his carriage had stopped abruptly, and he looked out of the window to see the elegant facade of Miss Linwood’s museum.
Damn it.
“I shall help you out,” he said throwing open the door and jumping down to the pavement, the cool night air bringing a welcome relief. He lifted her down, his hands gripping her waist for longer than was necessary. “And I shall see you safely inside.”
As they neared the front door, she glanced up at him in a coy way, suggesting her thoughts mirrored his own. “You are welcome to come in,” she said struggling to meet his gaze.
He had never received a more tempting invitation and it would take a pack of wolves gnawing at his ankles to keep him out. But as he opened his mouth to speak, her housekeeper opened the door to greet them.
“Mrs. James,” she said with some surprise. “What are you doing here at this late hour?”
Mrs. James’ suspicious gaze moved back and forth between them as she sucked in her cheeks. “Mr. Pearce told me about this dreadful business with the curse. I thought I would wait until you came home. I thought it might bring some peace of mind to know the house was secure.” She glanced at Gabriel in a way that made him want to drop to his knees, confess all of his sins and beg for forgiveness. “I thought it might help if you knew you were not alone, that there was someone here to check on you before you retired for the evening.”
The woman had as good as trampled all over his flaming desire and he could hear disappointment sizzling in his ears.
“That is very kind,” she said. “Isn’t that kind, Mr. Stone?”
“Very kind,” he repeated, wondering if George Wellford was the pack leader of this particular wolf.
“Mr. Stone was kind enough to escort me home.”
Judging by the look on her housekeeper’s face, she may as well have said he had escorted her home with the intention of tearing her clothes from her body and ravishing her in the doorway.
Mrs. James followed the conversation and then offered to take Miss Linwood’s cape.
“Well, I should be going,” he said hovering at the door, his good mood well and truly ruined. A feeling mirrored by Miss Linwood’s strained smile. “Good night, Miss Linwood.”
“Good night, Mr. Stone,” she whispered as she walked inside and closed the door.
Chapter 12
This was not how Rebecca imagined the night would end.
Instead of warm masculine fingers trailing a seductive line over the buttons of her gown, Mrs. James’ chubby stumps were pulling and yanking at the delicate objects with all the grace of a chimpanzee.
“There, I’ve done it,” she said with a gasp, helping Rebecca to step out of it before draping it over the chair.
Once in her nightdress, she sat on the stool in front of the dressing table to remove the pins from her hair. Again, she imagined Gabriel’s deft fingers caressing the copper locks.
From the moment he rescued her on the terrace, to the moment she said good night on the doorstep, she was preoccupied with an overwhelming need to sate an inner craving for him. A craving so potent she could not define it in words.
“I … I hear Mr. Stone has agreed to become a partner in the museum,” Mrs. James said as she helped Rebecca take down her coiffure.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before, but we’ve only just agreed the details.”
Rebecca had no idea why the lie fell so easily from her lips. It was not as though they were trying to discover the identity of the intruder and needed a cover story. There was no reason for Gabriel Stone to spend any more time at the museum.
“I’m sure Mr. Stone is a respectable gentleman. I know it’s not my place to say anything, it’s just sometimes a man can mistake a friendly countenance for something else, for something more …”
Rebecca was touched by her housekeeper’s words, even though she hoped Mr. Stone had misread her friendly countenance for something far more sinful.
“Thank you for your concern, Mrs. James, but there is no need to worry.”
That was another lie. There was every need to worry, as Rebecca could not stop her heart from beating rapidly in his presence. She could not stop desire unfurling in her stomach at the sound of his voice. She could not stop her body from burning at the slightest touch of his fingers.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Mrs. James said with a nod. “Well, now you’re all settled I’d best be on my way.”
“It must be nearly midnight,” Rebecca replied, trying to distract her mind from thoughts of Gabriel Stone. “Surely you’re not walking home?”
Mrs. James smiled as she opened the door. “No. Our eldest, Tom, came to meet me. He’s been in the kitchen for the last hour, tucking into a bowl of broth. No need to follow me down,” she said. “Mr. Pearce gave me his key, so I’ll lock the door on my way out.”
A tinge of guilt pricked Rebecca’s conscience for feeling so annoyed at the housekeeper’s untimely presence. Although she felt a sense of relief knowing Mr. Pearce could not enter the building without her knowledge.
“Thank you for waiting, Mrs. James. I shall see you in the morning.”
As Rebecca brushed out her hair, she listened to the housekeeper’s heavy gait plodding down the stairs. Being on the third floor, she heard nothing else after that.
Life was so much simpler when she had no one to think of but herself. Being alone had many advantages. There was no pressing need to forge alliances with estranged family. No feelings of guilt hanging around one’s neck like thick links of chain — no feelings of disappointment.
As she climbed into bed, her thoughts drifted back to Gabriel. Being alone also meant no more passionate kisses, no more flirtatious banter to thaw her frozen heart. No heated glances or dreams of love.
Thoughts of love and loneliness drove sleep away from her door. As an hour passed, she did everything she could to clear her muddled mind: closed her eyes and listened to the rain hammer against the window pane, took long deep breaths to calm her restless body.
In the end, she got up, decided to make a pot of tea and read a few pages of her father’s notebook. The floor felt cold beneath her feet, the breeze blowing in from behind the shutters causing her to shiver, and so she shuffled back into her dancing slippers and grabbed the silk cloak off the chair.
There was something about the dark. Even in an empty house, it made one conscious of making the slightest sound. But as she padded quietly across the landing to the top of the stairs, the faint hum of silence was not t
he only thing she heard. This time, the whispering wasn’t coming from the storeroom, but from inside the Egyptian museum and she tried to think of a rational explanation to calm her racing heart.
Perhaps Tom hadn’t finished eating his broth. Perhaps Mrs. James had decided to potter about while waiting. Rebecca thought to call out to her, but the distinctively masculine voices broke the silence.
“I have not come here to look at a pile of dusty old stones.”
“Shh, be quiet, or you’ll wake her up.”
“That is my intention.”
Rebecca gripped the handrail, fear creeping through her veins like a vine, wrapping itself around her throat until she could hardly breathe. She could hear two voices, their eloquent tone suggesting they were not thieves from the rookery, but privileged men of the aristocracy.
“Give me that. You’ve drunk far more than your share.”
“Perhaps we should locate her room and introduce ourselves.”
“I told you. There is something I need to do here.”
“I can wait. I suppose the thrill of anticipation heats the blood.”
Every muscle in her body grew taut, and she struggled to swallow.
She had to get out of the house. Yet the overwhelming need to protect her father’s relics caused an internal war to rage. Images of shattered vases and smashed stone tablets flooded her mind. Perhaps she should confront these men, hoping they were true gentlemen beneath all the bravado and simply up to drunken mischief?
Then she heard her father’s voice in her head telling her to run. Without another thought, she forced her hesitant feet to move quickly down the stairs, before slipping out into the street in the dead of night.
The rain fell hard, lashing off the stone paving, soaking through her dainty slippers in just a few short strides. Blinking away the rivulets trickling down her face, she hurried along Piccadilly. Her legs were aware of the route she wanted to take even though her mind was unable to string together any coherent thoughts.
By the time she reached New Bond Street, she was out of breath. But she continued running, despite the searing pain in her chest and the burning in her throat. The faster she ran, the heavier her garments became, the sodden material sticking to her body like a second skin.
When she finally reached Hanover Square, she threw herself at Gabriel’s door, pounding it with numb fists.
The butler eventually opened the door, but only wide enough to fit a boot between it and the jamb. When his disapproving gaze scanned her from head to toe, she knew he was not going to let her in.
With all the strength she could muster, she barged past him. “Gabriel!” she cried, running into all the rooms off the hall. “Gabriel.”
The butler tried to grab her arm, but she shirked out of his hold and ran up the stairs, banging on every closed door. “Gabriel.”
Eventually, a door opened at the end of the landing and Gabriel hurried out. His breeches hanging loosely from his waist as he threw a shirt over his head.
“Rebecca,” he said with some surprise. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He turned to face the irate butler, whose ragged breathing sounded more like hoarse grunts. “All is well, Cosgrove. I am acquainted with Miss Linwood. You may go back to bed.”
The butler’s horrified gaze fell to the puddle of water beneath her feet.
“It’s the museum,” she panted, wishing she could run into Gabriel’s arms, wishing he could soothe away all her troubles. “There are men … there are men in the museum.”
Gabriel rushed over and took her hands in his. “My God, your hands are freezing cold and your lips are blue.”
“I ran … I ran all the way here.”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “You’re wet through. Cosgrove, find some towels and wake Mrs. Hudson. Miss Linwood will need a bath and some dry clothes.”
Rebecca gripped Gabriel’s forearm, the hard muscle flexing beneath her touch. “If they damage anything,” she said holding back the tears. “I cannot lose my father’s relics.”
Gabriel raised his hand and brushed the wet tendrils of hair from her face, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “How many men were there?”
“Two. I think there were two.”
“Come, you can sit in my room. The fire is still burning in the grate. You may take your bath in there.” He swung back around to his butler. “Wake Higson and tell him to have the horses ready in five minutes. He is to accompany me to Miss Linwood’s house.”
Cosgrove glanced at his master, and Rebecca could have sworn the beginnings of a smile threatened to play on his grim lips. “Very well, sir,” he said, before trudging back down the stairs.
Gabriel led her into his room, the intimacy of the gesture causing her desperate need for him to resurface. He led her over to the fire and removed the wet cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“Come and sit here,” he said, pulling the chair closer to the fire before guiding her to the seat. “I must get dressed, but we will talk when I return.”
Rebecca nodded and turned her attention to the fiery flickers, rubbing her hands together in front of them in a bid to stop her from turning around.
“Do you think they will still be there?” she said, scanning what she could see of the forest-green walls and dark furniture. The room had an inherently masculine feel, a heavy brooding intensity that mirrored its owner. The potent smell of wood and spice brought back memories of their illicit kiss.
“I hope so,” he growled, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him pulling on his boots. He came to stand at her side, and she felt a large reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Hudson will provide anything you need. I shall be back shortly.”
She looked up into sinful brown eyes. “If they have damaged anything. If they have —”
When he placed his finger on her lips, she felt a tremor shake her body and had a sudden urge to kiss it, to feel it trace the outline of her mouth. “Do not talk of it until we know for sure.”
Gabriel planted a chaste kiss on her forehead and hurried from the room with purposeful strides. It occurred to her, that since her father’s death, she had been living a lie.
Despite her independence, despite her ability to provide for herself, she was weak and useless without the protection of a man. The thought brought memories of lonely suppers, of having no one to talk to about her hopes and dreams, of lying cold and unloved in her bed.
Thankfully, her melancholic mood was broken by the sound of the door opening as a tall, slim woman came in. Her tired eyes caused her features to look even more severe than her hollow cheeks suggested. “I’m Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper,” she said, her soft voice contradicting her countenance. “Let’s get you behind the screen and out of those wet clothes. Cosgrove will stoke the fire while the footman fills the tub.”
The intimate space suddenly thrummed with activity as the staff busied about, coming to the aid of a stranger.
Although Rebecca noticed the curious glances darting between them, no one asked any questions or gave the impression there was anything untoward in a young lady turning up half-dressed in the middle of the night. Indeed, they almost looked pleased at the prospect.
When it came to getting into the tub, her toes were so cold the water pained her. It took three attempts until they grew accustomed to the temperature. Rebecca bent her knees so she could rest her head on the back of the copper bath. The warm water lapped over her aching bones, and she cupped it in her hands and swished it over her shoulders.
This was where he bathed, she thought, knowing this obsession she had for him was like a living thing growing inside of her. She could almost feel him in the room. His exotic smell fed her addiction, and she closed her eyes and let the essence of the man she had grown so attached to, calm her restless soul.
Chapter 13
Gabriel rode through the rain as though Lucifer was chasing his tail. Higson said nothing about being woken from his bed or about the nature of their business. Bu
t Gabriel saw him slip his homemade cudgel into his coat pocket: the lead filled goat’s horn, heavy enough to render a man unconscious.
After tethering the horses to the railings outside Rebecca’s house, Gabriel tried the front door to find it open.
“We’ll move through the house together,” he whispered casting a dubious eye over Higson’s stocky frame as the man equipped his weapon. “Do try to be quiet.”
Once inside, Gabriel listened out for the sound of voices, for footsteps and creaking floorboards, but heard nothing. And so, by way of numerous hand gestures, he conveyed the order in which they would check the downstairs rooms.
With regimental precision, they moved through the house and once they had established it was empty, Gabriel sent Higson to search the lower floors for signs of theft or damage while he examined the third floor.
He knew why he had chosen to check that particular floor, why he found himself drawn down the dark corridor to Rebecca’s bedchamber. After all, she was currently lying naked in his bathtub, and the thought had him in a state of semi-arousal.
As he ran his fingers over her counterpane and trailed them down the hangings on her bed, he wondered if she was doing a similar thing. The image of her eager hands running over his private things caused another surge of excitement, and he felt a sudden need to hurry home, forcing him to expedite his task with more speed and efficiency.
He found no physical signs of disturbance, not until he reached the parlour, and the sight forced him to stand and stare in frozen silence.
The painting of Rebecca’s mother stood upright on the chair opposite the door; the gilt edges now framing a canvas of diagonal slashes slicing right through the image, severing the angelic face.
Gabriel’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The vision of Rebecca’s tortured expression haunted his thoughts. He imagined her dropping to her knees while he struggled to find the right words of comfort.