A Curse of the Heart

by Adele Clee

  They were silent for a moment. The threat of violence hung in the air, and she watched him with caution as he sat back in the seat opposite, removed his hat and placed it on the seat beside him.

  With a clear view of his face, she knew she had seen him before, the familiarity banishing some of her fear. “I believe we’ve met,” she said, remembering the apprehension in his eyes when challenged by Gabriel, which gave her a little more confidence to be brazen. “At the Chelton’s, I recall. Were you not of the opinion that those with questionable lineage had questionable morals?”

  Surely this act of revenge didn't stem from being passed over in the ballroom. Gabriel’s threat to knock his teeth down his throat hardly warranted kidnap and common assault.

  He ignored her question, the black beads for eyes still hard and unreadable. “Why do you call yourself Linwood when you are obviously a Wellford?”

  Rebecca wondered if the words tasted as sour as they sounded. She had a good mind to tell him to go to the devil but knew if she had any hope of escaping, she would need to be cooperative. “There are many reasons. To save my brothers the embarrassment of having a sister who works for a living. To save me the embarrassment of being associated with those who despise me.”

  “You’re lying,” he spat. “Is that what you tell yourself when you want sympathy? That everyone despises you. Poor little Rebecca, all lost and alone with no one to love. Is that what you tell your scholar friend?” He shrugged. “Where is he now when you need him most?”

  She struggled to follow his meaning, the thoughts lacking unity, flitting back and forth somewhat fragmented. Was his gripe with her or with Gabriel?

  “If you believe I’m lying, why do you think I chose the name Linwood?” Perhaps if she got him to talk for a while, he would reveal his motive for kidnapping her in broad daylight.

  He sat forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Because you refuse to acknowledge your father, you refuse to acknowledge his name. Oh, you’re probably not even aware that’s the reason, and so you find other ways to explain the shame he brought to your door.”

  “Shame? I feel no shame. I loved my father. I still love him.”

  Her words roused his temper, his face flushing red, his teeth grinding together. “Love!” he said with contempt. “Love is a term of endearment, of deep affection. What would your father know of that? Thanks to him your lineage is tainted, your reputation tainted. Everyone who associates with you is tainted.”

  Did this have something to do with her father, then?

  “You knew my father?”

  “I hear the surprise in your voice. You ask a question, but you do not want to hear the answer. Yes, I knew your father.”

  Rebecca stared at him. He was older than her by about ten years, which put him in his mid-thirties. She stared at his black eyes, black hair, olive complexion, at a face so opposed to her father’s sunny disposition. Surely this man wasn’t … surely they were not related. The thought caused a gigantic hole to open up in her stomach.

  “Are you — was my father —”

  He snorted. The fake laugh designed to express his contempt. “I am not your brother if that is what you’re thinking. I am not your father’s son. I’m some other lord’s by-blow.”

  Relief flashed through her, but it was short lived. What other possible reason could there be for such a display of vehemence?

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, dreading the answer. “Where are we going?”

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth, although his eyes revealed no pleasure. “We are going to a playhouse. We will just be in time for the performance. The rest, well, it will soon become apparent.”

  Chapter 24

  Gabriel removed the iron key from the drawer of his desk and rolled it over in his hand. The palm of his empty hand twitched, eager for something heavy: for a mallet or a hammer. So he could go down the rickety stairs into his cellar and smash the glass domes, the wooden shelves, the bottles of chemicals, salts and oils.

  In a rampant rage, he would grit his teeth; bite down on the inside of his cheek until the taste of warm metal coated his tongue. The drawing of blood would be like a purge, to purify and cleanse away his shame, to rid himself of the burden that consumed him.

  Since opening his heart to Rebecca, the house no longer felt like a sanctuary. It felt like a prison. The key was a gateway to the past, to a cell that would see him rot away in isolation for the next twenty years, if he so wished.

  Now, he had found sanctuary in the form of a luscious fiery-haired temptress. In the arms of a woman who made him feel alive and free, deep inside a woman who ignited a fire in his soul as well as in his loins.

  “Rebecca.”

  He said the word aloud. As a way of expressing his affection, to prove these experiences were real and not a wonderful dream of fulfilled desires, to banish the fear of waking to gut-wrenching disappointment.

  The clock on the mantel struck one. One solitary chime to mock him, to taunt him, to remind him he needed to get used to being alone again. If Rebecca got her wish, she would soon be far away, riding through the sandy dunes of Egypt on a wild adventure.

  Egypt!

  A weird puffing sound escaped from his lips: contempt for her elevated ideas, for making the unrealistic sound possible.

  What the hell would she do in Egypt?

  The stifling heat crippled the locals, for her it would be unbearable. The beads of sweat would trickle all the way down the curve of her spine, a cool refreshing bath the only way to ease the discomfort. She’d be forced to abandon all clothing and lie naked in bed. The markets would be filled with exotic fruits that left a mouthful of juice, the taste unusual, sweet and delicious. The music would sound different, not precise or rigid, but more carefree, a sensual blend to stimulate and arouse the senses.

  Bloody hell!

  He threw the key back in the drawer and with a frustrated sigh pushed his hand through his hair. If the lure of the Orient sounded so tempting to him, what chance did he have of changing Rebecca’s mind? Of course, in desperation, he could always turn to Lord Wellford, certain he would strictly forbid such a venture.

  As though Gabriel had summoned the man purely by thought alone, Cosgrove knocked the door, holding it ajar and blocking the entrance. “Lord Wellford is here, sir. I am afraid he gave me no option but to invite him in.”

  Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but the door burst open, hitting the wall with all the force of a hurricane as George Wellford barged past Cosgrove, dragging a young man by the arm whom he recognised as Frederick.

  “Go on, tell him,” Wellford said catapulting Frederick into the middle of the room without a greeting or an apology for the intrusion. “Tell him what you’ve done.”

  Frederick lifted his head and threw his hands up in the air. “I do not see what it has to do with him. I do not see why you saw fit to drag me halfway across town on a fool’s errand.”

  “I assume you’re talking about the incident at the museum,” Gabriel said grimly.

  Wellford huffed and shook his head. “It appears Frederick is the one who broke into Rebecca’s house. It appears Frederick is a complete idiot.”

  “You’re the idiot,” Frederick cried. “You were the one who led her to believe in a curse. You were the one who told me you wanted to prove she was not safe on her own.”

  “That was for her own good,” Wellford said. “I did not damage her most treasured possession in the process.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Enough!” Gabriel yelled, anger rising up, ready to boil over into something far more damaging.

  Rebecca would react badly to the news.

  If they were his brothers, he would run as far away as he possibly could. Perhaps that was why Alexander had fled to Italy in the hope of becoming a painter. Indeed, when compared to a life with this sorry pair, Egypt was by far the better option. “Both of you sit down.”

  The men looked at each other, at the empty ch
airs dotted in various locations around the room, neither being the first to move.

  “Good heavens, you’re acting like children,” Gabriel said, stomping around to drag the seats in front of the desk. “Sit.”

  “There’s no need to be so high-handed,” Wellford said, directing his gaze at Gabriel while flopping down into the seat. “You’re not completely innocent yourself.”

  Guilt flared. But the weak had a tendency to clutch at anything if it meant shifting the blame.

  “I am not calculating or manipulative, and I am not too intoxicated to know better,” Gabriel said. “So in comparison, whatever crime you believe me guilty of can’t be all that bad.”

  George gave a satisfied smile. “I’m not sure Rebecca would see it that way. She seemed most upset when I told her I gave permission for you to act as her chaperone.” He smiled again wallowing in his own arrogance, knowing the news caused Gabriel’s throat to constrict. “She called to see me this morning,” he added.

  He was lying. Gabriel had left her wearing nothing but her wrapper. His scent clinging to her skin, her lips swollen and tender, her face flushed from physical exertion.

  Frederick frowned. “What do you mean you gave him permission to act as a chaperone?”

  “I do not need his permission to do anything,” Gabriel countered. “But we are straying from the subject.” He turned his attention to Frederick. “So your brother led you to believe that frightening Miss Linwood would in some way help her. It still doesn’t explain why you destroyed her mother’s painting.”

  Frederick shot to his feet. “How many times must I tell you? I did not touch the damn painting. I knew nothing about it until an hour ago. I didn’t even know there was a painting.” He gave a mocking snort and jerked his head at Gabriel. “Besides, it’s your fault we went there in the first place.”

  “It’s my fault?” Gabriel said prodding himself in the chest with his finger. “Am I to get the blame for every sorry mistake? Will no one accept responsibility for their own stupidity?”

  Frederick threw himself back down in the chair. “We saw you dancing with her at the Chelton’s. I said you had a rakish look in your eye and, by living alone, Rebecca was courting trouble. I said she needed to understand the danger she was putting herself in. We wanted to check you’d not taken advantage of her, and she had gone home alone.”

  Gabriel paused, hearing the word that had never troubled him before, but now drove fear into his heart. “You said we. To whom do you refer?”

  “S-surely you can’t think Pennington had anything to do with it,” Frederick stuttered. “The man’s a decent fellow and was simply helping me out. It was just a bit of drunken foolery.”

  Drunken foolery! Gabriel would never forget the look of sheer terror in Rebecca’s eyes, the wet tendrils of hair stuck to her face, the way she clutched her stomach as she gasped for breath.

  “Whoever damaged the painting has a personal grudge against Rebecca,” he said with vehemence. “Think. Did Pennington say anything to you that sounded odd or strange?”

  “No. He was surprised she was my sister, surprised she used a different name.”

  “He helped you break into our sister’s house,” Wellford said. “He must be a good friend and yet I have never heard of him. Who are his parents?”

  Frederick shrugged. “How should I know? I met him at the card table a couple of months ago. Why should I give a stuff who his parents are? I’m not a chit looking to make a respectable match on the marriage mart.”

  Gabriel sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Did you leave him alone while you were in her house?”

  Frederick glanced up, his eyes vacant while he revisited the memory. “Yes. He was on his own for a time but —”

  The riotous commotion in the hallway caught everyone’s attention; no one was surprised when Cosgrove rapped on the door and entered. “Mrs. Stone is here to see you and has forced her way in.”

  What the hell did she want? If it was money, why did she not just write to him as she always did?

  “Mrs. Stone?” Wellford said, trying to look amused.

  “My stepmother,” Gabriel sighed. “It is not a good time, Cosgrove. Ask her to wait in the parlour or better still ask her to call again tomorrow.” He had enough to deal with without listening to Sarah’s woes.

  “I am afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

  “Gabriel,” Sarah panted, ducking underneath Cosgrove’s arm and rushing over to the desk, leaning on the edge for support. “Quick, you must hurry.”

  All the gentlemen stood, and Gabriel offered the woman his chair. She was trembling, her eyes wild with panic.

  “Is it Ariana?” he asked. “Has something happened?”

  Sarah shook her head and glanced at the two gentlemen opposite as though seeing them for the first time. “Forgive me. I did not know you had company. Gabriel, I didn’t know what else to do.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she sniffed.

  “Allow me,” George said offering his handkerchief. “I am Lord Wellford, and this is my brother Frederick. We can leave the room if this is a private matter.”

  Sarah patted her face and then swallowed. “It’s Miss Linwood,” she blurted.

  “Rebecca!” all three gentlemen cried simultaneously, all stepping closer to surround the hysterical woman.

  “What does it have to do with Rebecca?” Gabriel asked, wondering how his stepmother even knew her name.

  “At first, I thought that Ariana, well, that she was just being dramatic,” Sarah said, putting her hand to her chest, “and in her excitement had simply imagined it.”

  “Imagined what?” Gabriel asked, his blood pumping so quickly through his veins he feared he would lash out.

  “Miss Linwood took tea with us. When she left, Ariana rushed to her room to wave to her from the window. I heard her banging, heard her trying to lift the sash, shouting she’d seen a man watching the house and he had followed Miss Linwood down the street.” Sarah took a gasp of air. “The child was terrified. So I went out onto George Street in the hope of spotting her, in the hope of reassuring the child.”

  “Did you see her?” Wellford asked with some impatience.

  “Oh, Gabriel. I saw the gentleman approach her, saw him guide her to his carriage. I called out to her, and she turned. Her face was white, ashen and then he pushed her inside, jumped in behind her and slammed the door. I ran, Gabriel. I ran as fast I could, but they were gone.”

  The pain was intense, sharp — stabbing him in the stomach, in the heart, robbing him of his breath.

  He rounded the table with lightning speed, his fist clenched and ready to end the life of anyone who got in his way. He grabbed Frederick by his coat and pulled him into his chest until their noses were touching. “You had better start bloody well talking and quick. I want to know everything about this Pennington, who he is, where he lives, what he said to you.”

  “It can’t be him,” Frederick said yanking his lapel free and straightening his coat. “He didn’t know who Rebecca was until I pointed her out at the Chelton’s.”

  Sarah Stone started sobbing, and George went to her side to offer comfort. “I suggest you tell Stone everything he wants to know, Freddie, else I’ll throttle you myself.”

  Gabriel strode to the door and hollered Cosgrove, running out into the hall when he heard the slow click of shoes on the wooden floor. “Tell Higson to ready my carriage and to wait out front. Tell him to hurry.”

  “You can explain everything to me on the way,” Gabriel said returning to the room. He scoured the desk for a weapon, finding an old quill knife, wishing he was as sensible as Rebecca and had a pistol in the top drawer. “We will start by visiting his lodgings or his house or wherever the hell he lives.”

  “What could he possibly want with Miss Linwood?” Sarah asked.

  “I have no idea,” Gabriel said, struggling to keep calm. If he were to lose Rebecca, well, the thought was so painful he could not give it merit.
“But I will bleed Frederick dry until I find out.”

  Chapter 25

  Higson raced through the streets at breakneck speed, the carriage swaying to and fro, the four occupants inside forced to hold on to the straps for fear of tumbling into a giant heap.

  Gabriel turned to Freddie. “You said Chesterfield Street. Do you know what number?”

  “No, but it’s on the corner of Curzon. I’ll know it when I see it.” He glanced out of the window and then turned back. “Look, I still think you’ve got this all wrong. I’m certain Pennington doesn’t even own a carriage. He’s a decent fellow and has helped me out a number of times.” He gave an amused snort. “Perhaps Rebecca has taken a lover, and we’re chasing about London over some silly tiff. I bet they’re cuddled up in his carriage, and that’s why he shoved her in with such gusto.”

  “Rebecca has not taken a lover,” Gabriel snapped, tugging on the leather strap with such force it was in danger of being ripped from its moorings.

  “How do you know?” Freddie asked defensively. “Rebecca always flouts the rules. She’s far too independent for her own good. I wouldn’t be surprised if —”

  “Miss Linwood is not entertaining a lover,” Sarah interjected. Gabriel met her gaze, expecting to feel a sense of awkwardness that would force him to look away. Instead, he was surprised to find a glimmer of affection in her eyes, a look he did not deserve. “Why would she,” Sarah continued, “when she is in love with Gabriel?”

  Freddie scoffed, and Gabriel’s heart slammed against his ribs like a battering ram.

  Weeks ago, the mere mention of love would have incited panic, would have choked the life out of him, caused him to retreat into his tomb and drag the stone lid over his sarcophagus. Yet now he wanted to bask in the warm feeling that filled his chest, let it embrace him, consume him — never let him go.