A Curse of the Heart

by Adele Clee

  Pleasure burst forth in powerful waves. The tremors carrying a rush of pure emotion for the man who was slowly working his way back up to her.

  “You’re sure about this?” he panted positioning himself between her thighs, his devilish grin melting her heart. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Change her mind?

  “I’m sure,” she whispered, her head still floating in the clouds.

  There was nothing she wanted more.

  “Thank God, as I cannot wait a moment longer. There is no easy way to do this, but I promise you it will not be uncomfortable for long.”

  She nodded as she caressed his back and shoulders, lifted her mouth to his to show she wanted him regardless. Despite the discomfort, she welcomed the intrusion as he entered her.

  “Rebecca,” he whispered as he pushed deeper. And as she stretched to fit him, the look on his face suggested he adored the feel of her.

  He kissed her then, their tongues tangling with a rampant need, the hair on his chest brushing against her sensitive nipples as he pushed through her maidenhead, swallowing down her tiny shriek, making her forget it should feel anything other than divine.

  Together they found their rhythm, rocking in unison, driving closer and closer to the blissful peak of their passion.

  She could feel him moving inside her. Filling her, completing her, chasing away every lonely thought she’d ever had, and she didn’t want it to end. Her frantic hands clawed at the muscles in his back, scrambled lower to dig into his buttocks, to spur him on. Every part of her was made to fit with him. She clung on, anchoring him to her body, to her soul, as his thrusts became more desperate, harder and more frantic.

  The feeling was upon her again. It started in the pit of her stomach, pooling and pulsating between her thighs, the waves of pleasure shooting down to her toes as her body sang to his tune.

  “Oh, Gabriel, I … I.”

  “Rebecca.”

  Her breathless pants mingled with his guttural groans. She felt the muscles in his legs stiffen, heard his roar of satisfaction as she soared through some imaginary heaven.

  When their breathing slowed he looked down at her, his gaze warm and tender and he lowered his head and kissed her softly on the mouth before collapsing in an exhausted heap.

  As he lay sprawled across her, his back damp from over-exertion, his eyes closed in sated slumber, she knew he had not only claimed her body. He had claimed her heart and soul, too. And as she closed her eyes to join him in sleep, she did so in the blissful knowledge that she had fallen in love with Gabriel Stone.

  Chapter 15

  Gabriel woke from the wild, passionate dream to find a warm, feminine body curled next to him.

  He felt her slender thigh draped over his leg, her hand splayed over his chest covering his heart, her breasts squashed against his ribs. And in her slumber, her breath tickled the hair on his chest like a gentle breeze. He had never felt so sated, so content. Yet somewhere deep inside, the desperate ache for her still gnawed away, and he knew he would take her again.

  He would take her now if the opportunity presented itself.

  Gabriel could not remember another time in his life when he’d acted so recklessly. To take an unmarried lady as a lover was scandalous, to take the daughter of an old friend, sinful. Falling prey to the weakness of his own desire was an entirely new experience.

  As his mind replayed a series of lascivious images, a recount of their amorous encounter that did little to ease the ache between his legs, reckless did not even begin to describe his conduct.

  Lost in the dizzying heights of his own release, he had forgotten to withdraw.

  Bloody hell.

  But that was not his only faux pas.

  What sort of gentleman takes a lady’s virginity, collapses on top of her and then promptly falls asleep? Next time he would be more alert, more attentive. And he would not be so damn careless.

  Would there be a next time?

  The question bounced back and forth in his mind, challenging him for an answer before he settled on — definitely. Despite every foolish and sinful thing he’d done, the thought that he would never have her again, never taste her sweet mouth, never experience such bone-shattering satisfaction, was impossible to comprehend.

  Even now, he had to fight the irresistible urge to roll on top of her and bury himself deep inside; the snug fit so deliciously tempting. Instead, he did something he knew he would regret. He gathered her closer to his chest, caressed her back with soothing strokes and tried to understand what the hell was happening to him.

  He had sworn never to let anyone get this close. So why did he persistently ignore his own advice? Gabriel had known her for four days, yet it felt as though he had known her a lifetime. The thought unsettled him. If he felt this way after a few days, how would he feel after a month?

  Needing a distraction, he eased her out of his grasp and climbed out of bed. The room felt cold. So he pulled the sheets over her naked body, swallowing down his desire as he did so, promptly throwing on his shirt and breeches.

  It was strange how comfortable he felt having her in his private chamber. His house was his sanctuary, the only place he felt at peace. No other woman had managed to ease her way in. No other woman had found the secret door to his heart.

  Dipping his fingers into the washbowl, he splashed his face with cold water. The water he should have used to wash away the evidence of his release.

  Then another thought struck him — there would have been blood.

  He hadn’t even bothered to ask if she’d experienced any discomfort. He hadn’t taken the time to show her that his feelings ran deeper than the need for carnal gratification.

  “You’re awake early.”

  Her voice sounded deep and languid from sleep, an erotic blend that spoke to his most primal of needs. Yet when he turned to face her, it was his heart that swelled.

  “I appear to have fallen asleep somewhat prematurely last night,” he said, walking over to sit on the bed, dismissing the fact the sensations in his chest were new to him. “The least I can do is arrange breakfast.”

  “Last night? Gabriel, it was a few hours ago.” She sat up, holding the sheet under her arms to keep it in place, although the sight of her bare shoulders was enough to rouse his manhood to attention.

  Gabriel had never taken a woman’s virginity. He had never dealt with the slight awkwardness, with the feeling of wanting to ask intimate questions, but not really knowing how to broach the subject. “Are you alright? After this morning, I mean.”

  The words sounded childish and pathetic, but Rebecca’s smile made the world seem a brighter place.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “It was, well, it was everything I thought it would be.”

  His masculine pride could not help but ask, “In a good way?”

  “Of course in a good way,” she said with a chuckle. “In an extremely good way.”

  Relief flashed through him. “Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if we dressed and then ate downstairs.” He did not want his staff to discover Rebecca in his room, but that was not the only reason. A comfortable familiarity clung to him, making him forget to build his barricade, making him feel bare and exposed.

  “I’m afraid the best I can do is an itchy nightdress and a wrapper,” she said glancing around in a bid to locate the garments.

  “Well, a nightdress is slightly more appropriate than your current state of undress.” He considered jumping back into bed and taking the only sustenance he needed. But he mentally chastised himself for the inability to think of anything other than salacious thoughts. “I shall have some fresh water sent to your room and meet you in the dining room in thirty minutes. It will also give you a moment to think about how you want to proceed.” When she looked a little startled, he added, “You cannot go home, Rebecca. At least not yet.”

  She stared at him for a moment.
“We will discuss it over breakfast,” she said with a certain finality, which meant she had already made up her mind.

  When he eventually found the courage to tell her about the painting, perhaps she would view things differently.

  The thought caused him to swallow deeply.

  “Very well,” he nodded as he turned to the door, his weakened position leaving him totally unprepared for her next question.

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask you before,” she said, calling out to him, “but I wondered why you never mentioned you had a sister? I assume she lives with her mother.”

  Gabriel froze.

  The words were said so casually, yet they struck him like a vicious blow. He struggled to turn around and face her, fearing she would see the truth in his eyes. The ridiculous truth — that he blamed them for something, for nothing, for everything.

  “We are estranged,” he said coldly. “I provide for them financially, but tend to keep my distance for reasons I do not care to go into.”

  He didn’t even want to begin to imagine what she was thinking and fearing another verbal assault, another prying attack, he made his escape in the guise of needing to locate Mrs. Hudson.

  As he made his way downstairs, the past weighed heavily on his shoulders. Having Rebecca in the house, seeing her snuggled in his bed, the honest discussions, the comfortable breakfast, all made it feel less like an institute for research, less like a safe haven for scholars and more like a family home.

  The words family and home caused panic to flare.

  A home should be a place of affection and security. He knew it as a place where deception lay hidden amongst the fake smiles and caring gestures. A place tarnished and dirty, a place of pain and anguish and he had sworn never to put himself in such a predicament again.

  For his own sanity, for his own protection, Rebecca Linwood could not stay another night in his house.

  Rebecca felt ridiculous sitting in a formal dining room in her nightclothes while Gabriel sat dressed in a navy-blue coat and beige breeches. The staff made no mention of the fact and busied around her as though she was mistress of the house and as such could do as she pleased.

  Gabriel, on the other hand, had eaten half of his meal without saying a word.

  The atmosphere brimmed with suppressed tension, as though he had stuffed his feelings into a chest and been forced to sit on the lid to stop them leaping out.

  In mentioning his sister, had she roused painful memories of the past?

  Or did he find her presence stifling?

  The life of a recluse demanded peace and solitude; perhaps he struggled with the idea that someone else was invading his personal space. After all, his world had been turned on its head in the last few days, and he had a habit of withdrawing into himself, of putting up a blockade to prevent anyone from getting in. She had seen it at George Wellford’s house, and she could see it now.

  Perhaps he wanted her in his bed but did not need her troubles and complications in his life.

  With a heavy heart, she said, “Thank you, for letting me stay last night. But I think it best I go home after breakfast.”

  When he looked up, she diverted her gaze, feigning interest in the eggs on her plate.

  “I thought we had already established that is not possible.”

  “Well, I cannot stay here,” she said, testing the theory that he would be pleased to have the house to himself again. When he failed to reply, he confirmed her suspicion and the thought reinforced the dull ache in her chest.

  He put down his cutlery, wiped his mouth with his napkin and gave a deep sigh. “There is something I need to tell you. Something,” he paused and swallowed before speaking again. “Something did happen at your house last night.”

  She felt the blood suddenly drain from her face, pooling in her throat, thick and heavy. Something terrible had happened, and he’d kept it from her. “What is it? What happened? Did you lie about my father’s things?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “No, I did not lie to you, Rebecca.” His tone suggested a disdain for lies and untruths, suggested the words were abhorrent, that the remark offended him. “An item has been damaged, ruined, but not one of the antiquities.”

  Her hand flew to her chest desperate to ease the pounding. “Not one of the paintings in the lower gallery?” Heaven help her. She would have to sell her soul to cover the cost. “They are on loan, Gabriel, and I do not have the money to replace them.”

  He pursed his lips, closed his eyes briefly. She knew that whatever he was going to say would hurt her in some way. “It’s the painting, the one of your mother. When I got there, I found it on the chair. The canvas had been slashed with a knife. Whoever defaced it wanted it to be the first thing you saw when you walked into the room.”

  She repeated his words in her head, praying she’d misheard. But bile erupted in her stomach and threatened to rise up to burn the back of her throat. Who would do such a thing? Who despised her so much that they could rip out her heart for their own pleasure?

  As she struggled to speak, only one word escaped from her lips. “Why?”

  Gabriel brushed his hand through his hair: a sign of anger, frustration or guilt, she didn’t know. “I wanted to tell you last night. I should have told you last night.”

  Her painting destroyed … her mother gone.

  She stared straight through him, not really listening, his words one long mumbling sound. Rational thought tried to break through her chaotic emotions. It was only a painting. Yet the pain that choked her and robbed her of her breath felt as raw as the day her mother died.

  Transported back to the gloomy room, she thought of the moment her mother took her last breath, the moment she felt the huge gaping hole open up in her chest. Now the hole had been torn open anew.

  It’s only a painting.

  The faint words drifted through her mind again. It was more than a painting to her. The angelic face acted as a constant reminder that the house had once been filled with love. It watched over her, providing comfort and companionship and the strength to strive forward each day.

  Now, like all the other good things in her life, it was gone.

  How long would it be before she lost Gabriel?

  She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the wooden floor and Gabriel stood, too.

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca. I know what it means to you. I’m sure it can be repaired. There is an artist …”

  He continued talking, but she stopped listening.

  A few hours ago, she had experienced one moment of sheer bliss. A moment of freedom from all of the pain and disappointment. But the new day had brought with it the reality of the situation: she was one of those unfortunate people who attracted nothing but hurt and suffering. It was only a matter of time before the beauty of the man before her turned into something sour, before it turned into something that made her heart ache with sadness, not joy.

  A sob caught in the back of her throat.

  Loving Gabriel had created a new wound. And she had the suspicion he would not be able to heal it.

  “I must go,” she said, trying not to look at him for fear of melting under his sinful gaze, suddenly grateful for the solid table standing between them. “Would you mind sending for your carriage? And I will need my cloak.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “Then I shall accompany you.”

  “No!” The word came out as a shriek. “I’ll be fine. Mrs. James will be there and Mr. Pearce. I … I would like to rest in my quarters. I would like to be alone.” She felt weak and nauseous and being alone was a feeling she knew how to deal with, a feeling she lived with daily.

  Gabriel cursed and muttered to himself. “Then let Higson accompany you. He can repair the basement door while you rest.” His voice sounded strained, but she could not worry about that.

  She agreed and waited for him to leave the room. She waited until the sound of his boots echoed down the hallway and then exhaled, releasing years of suppressed pain, hugged her stom
ach and let the tears fall.

  Chapter 16

  Rebecca felt exhausted and emotional, yet the rhythmical rocking of the carriage did little to soothe her spirit.

  A hint of cedar hung in the air. The smell reminded her of Gabriel’s skin, of his hair and his mouth, and the carriage felt like a dark void: cold and empty without him in it.

  As they rumbled out of Hanover Square, she forced her gaze to her lap, knowing that to see Gabriel’s solemn face would tear at her heart, and she could not think about that, not today.

  It was almost eleven o’clock when they rolled into Coventry Street, the high sun visible as the street bustled with activity. Dogs chased after their master’s heels. Ladies strolled in groups displaying their pretty parasols, a man dodging them as he navigated the crowd while balancing paper parcels on his head, the world blissfully unaware of the sadness consuming her.

  When they pulled up outside her house, Higson jumped down and advised her to wait in the carriage while he went inside to find the housekeeper.

  Visitors eager to experience the wonders of Egypt queued at the front door. The proprietor wearing nothing but a nightgown and a damp silk cloak was not on the list of recommended attractions.

  Higson returned with a pale blue pelisse and matching parasol and waited while Rebecca made herself look more respectable before escorting her into the house.

  “I’ll go and see about the basement door,” he said seeing her safely to the third floor. “And I’ll report back before I leave.”

  Rebecca nodded.

  Clutching the folded parasol like a weapon, she walked towards the parlour door. Holding her breath, she anticipated seeing the damaged portrait for the first time. Wincing, for fear one glance would scorch her eyes.

  But the painting was not on the chair as Gabriel had mentioned.

  “Higson.” She called out to the coachman, and he plodded back up the stairs and crossed the landing to stand in front of her. Upon closer inspection, his thick side-whiskers made his face seem fuller, friendlier than she expected. His warm countenance so opposed to his coarse, hulking frame. “Last night, you were with Mr. Stone when he checked the building.”