A Curse of the Heart (3 page)

With an audible gasp, she sucked in a deep breath. His traitorous gaze could not help but glance down at the mounds of soft, creamy flesh, swelling and rising up to meet him in all their wondrous glory.

Bloody hell!

For a moment, he felt deprived of air and had to shake his head to regain focus. These were precisely the sort of temptations he chose to avoid. The sort of distractions that appeased the body but plagued the mind.

This lady was dangerous, and he needed to get rid of her now.

It should not be too difficult to convince her of her error, to prove her fears were a result of her own creation. Once he had examined all the facts, there would be a rational explanation.

“This ancient scroll you mentioned. The one you read from. How did you come by it?”

“I found it in a wooden crate,” she said, her eyes reflecting a level of gratitude that he had bothered to ask the question, “along with the staff. Most of my father’s objects are on display at the museum, but there are still some items in the storeroom that need sorting and recording. I found the crate in there.”

Her father’s objects?

Gabriel knew the location of all the genuine Egyptian relics. He scoured the recesses of his mind in a bid to recall someone with the same surname who had an interest in Egyptology. “And your father is —”

“Dead, Mr. Stone. My mother, too.”

He felt an instant tug in his chest. The feeling one gets when meeting someone whose fate had followed a similar path to one’s own.

“As are mine,” he replied for no other reason than to acknowledge the similarity.

Her eyes searched his face as though looking for a sign that the thought still pained him. “I do not recall seeing the scroll on the list of inventory,” she said, returning to the matter. “Indeed, I have never seen it before. Perhaps that’s why I doubted its authenticity. Why I foolishly read from it without fear of reprisal.”

“We are all guilty of foolishness,” he found himself saying, wondering why he felt the need to offer comfort. Particularly, when he was still trying to fathom out why a woman with her intelligence would believe in such a ridiculous notion.

Miss Linwood managed a weak smile. “But I should have known better. I should not have doubted the power of the dead to exact their revenge on the living.”

The rattling of the door handle drew his attention, the sudden noise causing Miss Linwood to jump, her hand flying to her chest as the other grasped his arm.

“There is nothing to fear, Miss Linwood,” he said, trying to determine which thought disturbed him the most. Was it the thought that such an erratic action was a sure sign she truly was suffering from a curse? Or the fact he felt desire shoot through his body at the speed of a lightning bolt.

When the door burst open, even he was relieved to see the curious gazes of a young lady and her male companion. What was he expecting, the towering figure of Anubis dangling a pair of weighing scales?

Witnessing the room was occupied, and with a fit of the giggles, the lady dragged her admirer back out into the corridor.

Miss Linwood breathed a sigh of relief and promptly let go of his sleeve. “Forgive me, Mr. Stone. I’m afraid my wits appear to have abandoned me.”

His wits had all but up and left him, too, and it was imperative he focused on the task. “If you read from the scroll, can I assume it was written in English or Coptic?”

“English,” she nodded. “It was written in English.”

“Was it written on papyrus, parchment, vellum?”

Tiny furrows appeared on her brow and after a brief silence, she said, “No, Mr. Stone. It was not written on papyrus or vellum.”

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands up in the air. “Well, there you have it then. The scroll does not appear to be Egyptian at all. And if it is not Egyptian, then there can be no curse.”

There. Now he had solved the problem he could put this tempting lady far from his mind and continue with his research.

Miss Linwood simply stared at him, her face ghastly pale as though drained of all blood. She blinked a few times, and he noticed her eyes brimming with tears. “Then I am sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Stone. I am sorry to have wasted your time.”

She turned abruptly, picking up her green silk skirt as she hurried towards the door and before he knew what was happening, he caught her by the arm and pulled her back around to face him.

“Surely, you understand the logic in my questioning,” he said, feeling a strange urge to banish those tears, to see her eyes bright and bold once again. “Surely, you understand how the mind can play its tricks. How easy it is in times of fear to believe in the illogical.”

“I do,” she replied, “but you have not heard the cries. You have not felt your bed shake, felt the floor shudder beneath your feet.” She sucked in a breath, and he could see she was shaking. “People almost died, Mr. Stone, and it is all my fault.” Anger surfaced as she yanked her arm free from his grasp, anger mixed with a look of disappointment and she struggled to meet his gaze. “It is not your concern,” she said. “I was mistaken. You are not the man I hoped you would be.”

Gabriel let her go, watched her run through the door and did nothing.

He felt her words like a fresh sting, his body throbbing and sore with his own inadequacy. It was not a new feeling. He had lived with the same pain for years. Had he been any other man, he would have chased after her; he would have pulled her into an embrace, eased her fears, and pledged his help.

Yet even in his melancholic mood, he could not quash the urge to return to his work. He could not abandon the need to fulfill his ambition. And so he wandered over to the parchment and let Becanus be his solace. As studying the ancient world was the only thing he knew how to do.

When the old words failed to rouse his interest, he glanced back over his shoulder and stared at the open door.

Perhaps he should visit Miss Linwood’s museum and try one last time to convince her of her error. Perhaps he would find something of interest amongst the relics, something to nurture his passion, something to feed his obsession. Then he would walk away from her, happy in the knowledge he had done his best.

Chapter 4

Gabriel stood outside Miss Linwood’s museum: an elegant townhouse in Coventry Street, and surveyed the exterior.

His first thought was that her father must have been wealthy, or perhaps she had a gentleman sponsor whose interest extended beyond the preservation of historical objects. Feeling the urge to banish the thought from his mind, he focused on the
facade. The impressive Doric columns supporting the portico reflected the character of its owner perfectly, as they suggested pride, strength and a wealth of wisdom.

Miss Linwood had impressed him with her knowledge of Becanus. If she truly could translate Coptic script, then she may prove to be a valuable asset. This, he decided, was the reason he chose to seek her out. He would help her to see that the curse was something concocted by the imagination. In return, she would make herself available should he find himself in need of a translator.

After paying the entrance fee, he wandered around the downstairs rooms, moving past an array of nautical paintings as he had no interest in them. Then he discovered that the Egyptian antiquities were on the upper floor. So he decided to peruse the objects, in the hope of clarifying whether the lady was a fraud or a person to be admired in their field of expertise.

There were more than twenty people milling about upstairs, browsing the various display cases and plinths supporting masks and statues. In an area separated by a length of red rope, there was an assortment of stone tablets, some of them as tall and as wide as a man.

Without revealing his impatience, he waited to examine the first display, disappointed to find nothing but an old toothpick and ivory combs carved into the shapes of animals. The display of canopic jars proved to be a little more interesting, and he scanned the cards to check for errors.

“Do you have a particular interest in canopic jars, Mr. Stone?”

Her soft, melodic tone caused the hairs on his nape to tingle. When he turned to face her, he was surprised to find her wearing a rather dreary looking dress.

“I have an interest in anything Egyptian, Miss Linwood,” he said trying to remain emotionless while scanning the brown ensemble that did nothing to enhance the shape of her figure.

Her gaze followed his, falling to the plain material. “Visitors pay to see the exhibition, Mr. Stone,” she said as though she had the ability to hear his thoughts. “And so I do my utmost to move about here unnoticed.”

The image of her generous bosom encased in green silk flashed into his mind, and he blinked to dismiss it. He glanced into those luscious emerald eyes, moving up to the mass of rich copper curls. A man would have to be blind not to notice her. Even in such dull attire, she had an inherent sensuality that called out to him. It was there in the way she spoke, in the way she walked, in the way her face revealed the emotion behind every word. Then his mind decided to add further weight to his assessment, for he imagined her sweet body welcoming him, imagined the feel of that first delicious thrust.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered in frustration, pushing his hand through his hair by way of a distraction.

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Stone?”

Yes, damn it, everything was wrong. He should have stayed at home, his rampant mind engaged in his books.

“I said you’ve done well, Miss Linwood,” he replied, making a quick recovery. “I particularly like the jars in the shape of the four sons of Horus.”

She smiled. “I’m rather fond of the jackal, although I cannot claim the credit for their discovery. Surely, as a scholar of Egyptology, this is not your first visit to the exhibition?”

What was he supposed to say? That he had sworn never to set foot in the place and expected her to be a dimwit with a crate full of forgeries? He wondered if her question was intended to force him to reveal the reason behind his visit. “Yes, this is my first visit,” he said, deciding to reserve his opinion until he had assessed the evidence.

“Then let me direct you to the stone tablets, they are most impressive.” She hesitated, perhaps waiting for him to offer his arm, but then chose to lead the way while he followed. “As you probably know, this one depicts the weighing of one’s heart against the feather of Ma’at.” She gave him a moment to study it before pointing to the next one. “And here we have servants praying to Osiris and Imentet.”

He froze at the sight of the second tablet as a cold chill swept over him. He had seen these tablets before. He had studied them and had lengthy discussions with their owner, who most certainly was not Miss Linwood.

Feeling a surge of anger fused with the sour taste of disappointment, he jumped over the rope, ran his palm over the ancient stone and pressed the tips of his fingers into the powdery indentations.

“Mr. Stone,” Miss Linwood gasped. She glanced over her shoulder and stamped her foot. “Visitors are not allowed to touch the objects, surely you know that.”

Gabriel sneered, revealing his resentment that she had thought him a fool. “But these are not your objects, are they Miss Linwood?” He sounded like a snake spitting its venom, warning its prey to consider its next move carefully as his bite was known to be deadly.

She looked shocked and a little confused. “What on earth are you talking about?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Come out of there at once, before someone sees you.”

“I would like to speak to you in private.” Arrogance dripped from every word, his tone conveying his disdain for liars and cheats. “Now, if you please, Miss Linwood.”

Miss Linwood put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Stone. I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to the ramblings of a madman. Now get out of there.”

Gabriel stepped back over the rope and came to stand in front of her. “Oh, you will listen to me or else I shall tell everyone here that these tablets do not belong to you. I shall tell everyone that I believe them to be stolen.”

She took a step closer, so the tops of their toes were touching, and with a confident smile said, “Then you had better follow me.”

Rebecca should have thrown the gentleman out, but she knew how one’s passion often manifested in the strangest of ways.

“This way, Mr. Stone,” she said, marching down the corridor towards her office, aware of the power emanating from the man chasing her heels. She could feel his angry gaze lashing at her back and shoulders, each whip desperate to draw blood, each short, ragged breath mimicking her own erratic heartbeat.

“Sit down, Mr. Stone,” she said, waving her hand at a chair while she took the seat behind the desk, grateful there was a large, solid object between them.

“How did you come to own those tablets?” he demanded, and Rebecca wondered if he was always so blunt and direct. She was of a mind to tell him to go to the devil. But the need to see him grovel, to see those eyes soften when delivering his apology, was far too much of a temptation.

“I have already told you. My father left them to me in his will. He also paid for this house and every item you see in it.” Presenting him with her most dazzling smile, she added, “Would you care to see the papers before you pass sentence or am I to be thrown in the gallows with no hope of reprieve?”