A Curse of the Heart (4 page)

Gabriel Stone narrowed his gaze and shuffled to the edge of the chair. “Those tablets belong to the estate of Lord Wellford. They do not belong to you. If they had been sold, I would have known about it.”

Rebecca pursed her lips. He looked devilishly handsome when he was annoyed, and her stomach started doing little flips as she knew what was coming next. “Yes. You are quite right, Mr. Stone. The tablets did belong to the Wellford estate, but now they belong to me.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “That is not possible. I know the family personally. I do not think —”

“Frankly, Mr. Stone, I do not care what you think. Everything you see belongs to me. I have proof of it. So let that be an end to the matter.”

Mr. Stone threw himself back in the chair with a deep sigh. Despite his rude manner, a part of her felt sad that they could not converse more civilly. They had lost their parents, they shared an interest in the ancient world, and as much as she tried to suppress it, she felt oddly drawn to him.

“Lord Wellford was my mentor, Miss Linwood,” he said, as though it was the only explanation needed. “He would never have permitted the sale of his most treasured possessions.”

“Lord Wellford was my father, Mr. Stone. And I agree. He would never have permitted them to be sold.”

He sat up straight in the chair. “Your father? I recall there being three sons and a wife but —”

Unable to stop the surge of emotion, Rebecca jumped from the chair. “Please do not tell me I am wrong about that. I think I know my own father. You have come to my museum and accused me of being a thief and a fraud. You have intimated I am some feather-brained fool who has convinced herself she is cursed. Had my father been your friend and mentor, as you claim, then he would have been thoroughly ashamed of you, sir.”

She sat back down in the chair, her legs giving way under the strain.

Mr. Stone gripped the arms of his chair and swallowed audibly as he stared off into the distance. After a brief moment, he blinked and said, “Forgive me, Miss Linwood. You are right. Lord Wellford would have called me out for such disgraceful conduct.” He took a deep breath and looked at her directly. “You must understand, the study of the ancient world … well, it is all I know.”

His voice brimmed with emotion, the tone revealing a level of tenderness she had not seen in him before. Once again, she felt a tug in her chest. She wondered what it would feel like to have those muscular arms wrapped around her, to have those strong hands caress her body, to feel safe, warm and protected.

“I understand,” she said, the need to placate him now stronger than the need for self-preservation. “It is all I know, too.”

They sat there in silence, neither knowing what to say next. The overriding thought in her head was that she did not want him to go. It did not make any sense. Mere minutes ago she would have pushed him down the stairs with her boot attached to his behind.

“Perhaps we should start again, Mr. Stone,” she said, feeling rather magnanimous. “It would be nice to have someone to call upon should I have a problem with one of the relics. To be able to speak to someone who understands my father’s work.”

His lips thinned. “I was not very helpful when you asked for advice last night, Miss Linwood.”

“Linwood is my grandmother’s name,” she clarified, noting the inflection in his tone when he spoke her name. “I prefer to use it for reasons I do not care to go into and no, you were not very helpful at all. I am grateful, however, that we had a chance to speak.” When a frown marred his brow, she added, “In arriving home late last night I appear to have missed the haunting. It was the first proper night’s sleep I’ve had in over a week.”

His gaze drifted over her hair and face, lingered on her lips and when it skimmed the outline of her breasts, she suddenly felt a little warmer inside.

“If you still need my help with the curse,” he began, his tone soft and rich, just the way she liked it, “then I will gladly assist in any way I can.”

Relief shot through her. She clasped her hands to her chest feeling a renewed sense of optimism in his abilities. “Thank you, Mr. Stone. You do not know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

His mouth curved into the beginnings of a smile, and she thought it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. “Would you like to see the scroll or perhaps the staff in the crate?”

He steepled his fingers and held them to his lips, his brows drawn together in concentration. “I would like to consider all the facts without prejudice. When you say hauntings, what do you mean?”

“It is as I mentioned last night. I hear noises coming from the storeroom —”

“You live here?” he said with some surprise.

Rebecca nodded. “Yes. My rooms are on the third floor.”

“I see. Forgive me. Please continue.”

When she smiled at him, he sucked in a breath. “It is the same every night,” she explained. “I hear whispers, scratching and moaning and then the bed shakes.”

He looked at her a little dubiously. “And this all began when you read from the scroll?”

She nodded.

“This is highly inappropriate, I know, but if I may be so bold as to ask, are you alone when you experience the bed shaking?”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Of course I am alone! What are you suggesting? That I am plagued by a phantom lover?”

Mr. Stone coughed into his fist, and she could not decide if he had something stuck in his throat of if he was laughing. “Please disregard the question. And I am correct in saying that every night you experience the same thing,” he reaffirmed. When she nodded again, he asked, “Do you think I would be able to hear these strange noises?”

“Oh, yes. I am certain you would. If you were to hear them, too, then I would know I am not losing my mind. If you are free, you may call this evening and then you will be sure to hear them. My housekeeper leaves at nine, and I am on my own all night until eight.”

Rebecca noticed him swallow deeply. Now she thought of it, she did sound more than a little desperate.

“When you say you are on your own, I assume you have a maid. Has she heard a similar thing, too?”

“No, Mr. Stone. When I say I am on my own, I mean I am alone.”

He muttered a curse and looked at everything in the room except her, and then he scratched his head and sighed. “Very well, I shall come this evening. The sooner the matter is finished with, the better. Well, what I mean is, only then will you be able to sleep again at night.”

“Wonderful. Mrs. James leaves through the front door. As I said, she is always the last to leave and has never stayed past nine thirty. I trust by your response there is no one to object to you spending the evening here?”

He stood abruptly, as though the question caused him discomfort. “I live alone, Miss Linwood, and I work alone. So no, there is no one to offer any objection.” He gave her a respectful bow. “Until tonight.”

“Until tonight,” she repeated, feeling a flutter in her stomach at the prospect of having company this evening.

He walked to the door but then turned back to face her. “If you could provide a list of all those who work here, at what times they have access and anything else you might think pertinent.”

Rebecca had no idea why he was interested in that information but thought it best to say nothing. “I shall provide you with everything you need.”

He managed a smile. “And I trust there is no one to object to my presence here this evening.”

She looked up at his handsome face, into eyes that made her forget to breathe. “Like you, there is no one to object. Like you, I am alone.”

Chapter 5

Gabriel was not the sort of gentleman to hover on a street corner at night, or hide behind a bush spying on the home of an unmarried lady. That sort of licentious conduct was reserved for bucks and rakes, not respectable scholars of the ancient world. Yet here he was dressed in black, waiting to partake in a late night rendezvous.

But this was not a rendezvous, he reminded himself.

This was penance, to atone for the disgraceful way he’d behaved.

Lord Wellford had been a man of patience, a man sympathetic to the needs of his students; he bought Gabriel books, paid for dinner, listened to his theories on the mummification process. And now he would repay the kindness of his mentor by coming to the aid of his daughter.

Thirty minutes had passed since the housekeeper let herself out through the front door, waddling off down the street with her wicker basket swinging on her arm. Gabriel had decided to hang back in the shadows, to wait and ensure no one else entered the house without Miss Linwood’s knowledge. To wait until he could enter the building unnoticed.

He still found the thought of her living alone rather unsettling. Why employ a housekeeper who leaves at nine? Why not hire a maid or paid companion? Once he’d dealt with the curse, which probably amounted to nothing more than an infestation of rats, he would convince Miss Linwood of the need to be chaperoned at night.

Walking up to the door, he took a deep breath and rapped three times.

She opened it immediately, her radiant expression suggesting someone eagerly awaiting the arrival of a friend. Not a man set on disproving her theory, ready to leave her looking like a naive fool.

“Mr. Stone,” she said stepping back to bid him entry, “please, come in.” As her gaze drifted over his attire, she smiled. “Black suits you.”

He ran his hand down the front of his coat, intrigued by the obvious compliment and handing her his hat and gloves decided to offer one of his own.

“And I find white much prettier than brown.”

She blushed as she glanced down at the pale muslin dress, the silver-green bodice complementing the vibrancy of her copper curls.

“Well, it is more appropriate for an unmarried lady, as opposed to the dress I wore to Lord Banbury’s ball. That one was my mother’s as I do not own a ball gown of my own.”

The memory of how exquisite she looked in emerald green, how the material clung to her soft curves, made his mouth feel so parched he feared his top lip had stuck to his gum.

“White is very fetching, Miss Linwood,” he heard himself say and then wanted to kick himself in the shin for sounding so pathetic.

“Have you eaten, Mr. Stone?”

The answer was yes but for some reason, he said, “No, Miss Linwood, I have not.”

“Excellent,” she beamed. “I took the trouble of having Mrs. James prepare a light supper. Under the guise that I was so ravenous this evening, I would need a much larger portion. I’m sure there will be something amongst the assortment that will appeal to your appetite.”

While his face presented an affable smile, the voice in his head screamed for him to run, screamed for him to banish all the lustful thoughts clawing away at his needy body. He should be at home, reading or studying, or doing anything other than spending more time in the company of a flame-haired temptress.

“You should not have gone to any trouble,” he muttered, his gaze locked on the tempting sight of shapely ankles as he followed her up to the top floor.

“I’m afraid I have no formal dining room, so we shall have to eat in here.”

As she led him into the room, he sucked in a breath.

It was as though he had spent years roaming the darkness only to stumble upon a dazzling celestial palace. The room sparkled with light and vitality, and his eyes drank in the sight. The marble and gilt furniture, the white walls, and the abundance of mirrors made the room feel alive. As if it had a life beyond what the eye could see.

Miss Linwood noticed his open mouth. “My mother was an actress. Most of what you see belonged to her.” She waved her hand around the room. “She had a certain way about her, an illuminating presence that is reflected in this room. I have her hair, but that is where the likeness ends.”

She was wrong.

She had an illuminating presence too; he could see it and feel it. She had an undeniable sensual appeal more potent than any opiate. He glanced at the painting above the fireplace, at the face of an angel in the guise of Cleopatra.

“Is that your mother?”

Miss Linwood smiled, her face revealing genuine affection. “Yes. She was renowned for her performance of Cleopatra, which as you can imagine pleased my father no end.”

He stared at the painting, his thoughts drawn to Lord Wellford, to the man who had lived a double life. The man he obviously did not know very well at all.

Perhaps sensing an element of disquiet, she said, “My mother and father were in love, Mr. Stone. While I cannot approve of the circumstance they found themselves in, I cannot condemn them for following their hearts.”

“No.” The word was but a whisper. Now was not the time to drag up painful memories of his childhood.

“Come, let us eat,” she said, and he was grateful for the distraction.

They sat at a small mahogany table, talked of their love for the ancient world, nibbled on cold beef and drank too much claret. There were no awkward silences, no reprisals for breaches of etiquette and he almost forgot he’d only come to chase away the rats.

“Would you care for another drink, Mr. Stone?”

“No, thank you, Miss Linwood,” he said putting his hand over the glass to curb the temptation. Besides, he needed a clear head if he was going to convince her nothing sinister was going on here.