A Curse of the Heart (9 page)

“I shall never forget it, Mr. Stone,” she said, a little surprised that her own voice sounded deeper than usual.

He sucked in a breath as his gaze lingered on her lips. When he exhaled slowly, she felt a ripple of pleasure flow through her body and all she could think of was how wonderful it felt to be lost in his sinful mouth.

“Morality is a peculiar thing,” he said with a sigh, throwing himself back in his seat. “At times, it feels like a thick iron rod running through me, one that refuses to bend to my will.”

Every logical part of her mind told her to ignore his comment, told her to look out of the window and feign interest in anything other than those ravenous brown eyes.

“Are you suggesting you wish to be immoral, Mr. Stone?” she said, feeling a strange thrum of excitement course through her as she waited for his answer.

He looked at her beneath hooded lids. “What do you think, Miss Linwood? Do you think me a gentleman capable of suppressing immoral thoughts?”

“I believe you are a gentleman capable of doing anything you set your mind to.”

“Your faith in me is flattering,” he said covering his heart with his hand. “However, it does not stop me from wanting to do a whole host of unseemly things.”

The fluttering sensation in her stomach began to rise up to her throat. The very topic of conversation was immoral, but she was not the least bit offended. On the contrary, it was a testament to their friendship — if that was how one would define their relationship — that he could speak openly and honestly and so she chose to do the same.

“Do you think I do not feel the same temptations, Mr. Stone? Do you think me cold to your heated gaze? Do you think desire only flows through your veins?”

When his open mouth finally closed, he gave an amused chuckle. “I doubt it is the same,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

As a novice to the skill of seduction, she should have been drowning in the depths of her own innocence. Yet she wanted to excite him, to prove she could match him stroke for stroke.

“Well, Mr. Stone. Perhaps one day you may get the opportunity to find out.”

With his mouth curved into a lascivious grin, he replied, “Now it is not only my interest that is piqued, Miss Linwood.”

The carriage jolted to a halt, and the spell was broken.

Mr. Stone opened the door and jumped to the pavement. “Don’t get down, Higson. I shall help Miss Linwood out.” He did not bother to lower the step and, despite her gasp, wrapped his strong hands around her waist and lifted her down. “Perhaps you are my Achilles’ heel, Miss Linwood,” he said as she brushed the creases out of her dress. “The more time I spend in your company, the more all respectable intentions are lost to me.”

Rebecca patted him on the chest with her gloved hand. “Don’t lose heart, Mr. Stone. I never said I wanted you to be respectable,” she whispered before sauntering past him to knock on Lord Wellford’s door.

Thankfully, Rebecca did not have to throw herself across the threshold or bang loudly demanding to be heard. Winters, Lord Wellford’s butler, instructed them to wait in the hall, and after a few minutes returned to escort them into the parlour.

“Lord Wellford will be with you shortly,” he said with a solemn bow before making a silent retreat.

Rebecca set about untying her bonnet before sitting on the sofa, and then nodded to Mr. Stone when he gestured to the space next to her.

“George will wonder why we are here together,” she said, rooting around in her reticule in search of the ancient scroll.

“That did occur to me. Perhaps I should be grateful he is not party to my immoral thoughts,” he said. When she plucked out the offending article, he asked, “Would you mind if I had a look at that?”

“Of course not. I’m surprised your innate sense of curiosity has not insisted on making a thorough examination.”

She handed it to him, and he unwound the tiny piece of paper, muttering the words as he scanned the elegant script.

“Coupled with the strange noises at night, I can see why you thought this might be genuine.
I shall cast fear unto him,
” he read, his voice as emotive as a preacher delivering a sermon to a crowd full of sinners, “
and
the wind will howl your sins —
”

“Don’t read it!” she cried, making a feeble attempt to snatch it out of his hand.

“
And the dead will rise again!
”

“Mr. Stone!”

“I’ve already told you,” he said in a humorous tone. “There is no such thing as a curse. Until recently, we had no way of deciphering hieroglyphics let alone place a more in-depth meaning to them. This scroll is just an attempt to frighten you.” He thrust his arm in the air and read some more. “
Let crocodiles chase her through water. Let —
”

“It does not say that,” she said trying to snatch it from his hand.

The sound of someone clearing his throat caught her attention and Rebecca turned to see George Wellford standing in the doorway.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he said as he walked into the room. “One does not often get the chance to see two people fighting over a piece of paper.”

“We were not fighting, my lord,” Rebecca said as they both stood to greet him.

With his golden hair and warm smile, she found it almost impossible to be angry with him. Perhaps it was the soft timbre of his voice or his bright blue eyes that made her heart forgive all of his sins. Perhaps that was why she chose not to spend time in his company: out of fear she might actually grow to like him.

“Rebecca,” he said with a respectful bow. “You do not have to greet me so formally. Are we not kin?” When she didn’t answer, he looked past her. “Stone. It has been a while.”

“Four years, Lord Wellford.”

George raised a brow. “Has it been so long? My father, or should I say our father, was extremely fond of you. I think he always hoped I would share your enthusiasm for his work, but I’m afraid I was a constant disappointment.” He glanced briefly at Rebecca. “I hope his faith in you as a gentleman was not misplaced.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Stone replied. “It is out of respect and concern for Miss Linwood that I have accompanied her here today.”

George waved his hand at the sofa. “Then please take a seat. I did not imagine you were here to gossip and drink tea.” He waited for them to sit and then sat in the chair opposite, his gaze firm as he steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “But first, I should like to know the nature of your involvement, Mr. Stone.”

Rebecca decided to chirp in. “Mr. Stone is my closest friend and my business partner.” He was her only friend and her partner in the most sinful kiss of her life. “He intends to display some pieces at the museum.”

“Is it wise for an unmarried lady to name a gentleman amongst her friends, Rebecca?” he asked, his disapproving gaze drifting back and forth between them.

Rebecca felt her chest tighten. If she were a cat, she would hiss, arch her back and splay her claws. Why did George make a simple observation sound like a scathing reprimand?

“Thankfully, I do not have to concern myself with what is considered appropriate in Society,” she informed coldly. “As you know, my parents are dead, Lord Wellford. So I may choose my friends and my business associates as I please.”

“As the daughter of a respected peer, your reputation should be important to you.”

The sweeping statement caused her heart to thump against her chest. “I may be the daughter of a peer but I was born out of wedlock, or have you forgotten. Besides, it is hardly an appropriate topic of conversation to have in front of guests.”

The room fell silent. The only sound she was aware of was her own ragged breath.

“Miss Linwood came to me because she believed she had brought a dreadful curse upon herself,” Mr. Stone finally said. The words sounded measured and controlled, yet Rebecca could feel the tension emanating from him. “She was hearing voices at night, scratching and moaning while the wind rattled her shutters, and a mysterious force shook her bed. As a lady living alone, you can imagine how terrifying that would be.”

George did not even attempt to look shocked or embarrassed but just sat there as though listening to yet another report of the day’s weather.

Rebecca heard the sound of grinding teeth and glanced at Mr. Stone to witness the muscles twitch in his rigid jaw.

“The noises were made by an intruder,” he continued, “and frightened her out of her wits.”

The mere mention of the intruder brought the memory of the haunting flooding back. On the first night, she had thought rats were scurrying about the boxes, thought she had imagined the bed move. It was on the second night that she heard the moaning, that she imagined a figure floating up the stairs and held her breath while she waited for it to burst through the door.

“We know it was you,” she suddenly blurted, releasing the fear she had held on to for more than a week. “We know you arranged it all.”

“I take it Mr. Pearce confessed,” George said with a hapless shrug. “What do you want me to say, Rebecca? That I’m sorry. Because I’m not.” He ignored Mr. Stone’s sudden intake of breath. “You were never in any danger, and it is only a matter of time before something untoward happens to you.”

Mr. Stone thrust himself forward. “You’re wrong,” he said. “She was in danger, in danger of losing her sanity. In her desperation, she could have fled the house in the dead of night. Do you know how many unpleasant characters wander the streets at such an ungodly hour?”

His words appeared to have some effect and for the first time, George’s cobalt-blue eyes flashed with remorse.

“What else was I to do?” George asked, pushing his hand through his golden locks. “She refuses to heed my advice, insists on calling herself Miss Linwood when it is clearly not the name of her birth. She needs the protection of her family.”

No matter what George said, Rebecca would never be a Wellford. He could plead, protest and dress it all up in a fancy ribbon, but it would not change the fact she was not part of his family.

Mr. Stone sighed. “What do you want from her?”

“I know what he wants,” she said. “He wants to chase me out of my home so he can claim it for himself.”

“You know that is not true, Rebecca,” George said softly. “What need do I have for a house full of dusty old relics? I want you to accept you have a place here, with your family, that is all.” He turned his attention to Mr. Stone. “You have kin. I recall there being a younger sister. Tell me you do not want what is best for her.”

Rebecca turned sharply. Why had he not mentioned he had a sister? When her eyes met his, the pain she saw there made her heart ache.

“My sister is only ten,” he said, with a hint of sadness in his voice, “and while I can understand your motives, I cannot condone your methods. Miss Linwood shares your father’s passion for the ancient world. Her home is a place filled with magic and wonder. It is a place where she feels connected to her parents.”

Rebecca continued to stare at him, her surprise at discovering he had a sister overshadowed by his insightful response.

She had not considered it before, but there
were
times when the house felt alive with memories of the past. She often imagined hearing her father’s enthusiastic cries upon discovering a new Egyptian piece. Or seeing her mother’s emotive expressions as she rehearsed her lines whilst looking in the mirror. The house was like a shrine to their memory, a reminder she was once part of a loving family, and she would never forsake them.

Tears threatened to fall.

“I just want to be left alone,” she whispered looking down into her lap.

She just wanted to be at home with her precious memories.

Mr. Stone placed his hand on the seat between them and edged a little closer to her. Suddenly, she wished she was alone with him in his carriage, wished to hear his salacious banter, wished he could ease the crippling feeling of loneliness that took hold of her in moments of weakness.

George shuffled to the edge of his chair and sat forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Perhaps I have gone about things in the wrong way,” he confessed. “Is there nothing I can do or say to make you reconsider your place there?” When she shook her head, he gave a deep sigh. “Will you not, at least, agree to meet with me on occasion? It is what father would have wanted.”

Rebecca looked up at his angelic face, a stab of guilt hitting her squarely in the chest. There was a softness to his features that reminded her so much of her father and some part of her wanted to reach out to him, desperate for the comfort that comes with familiarity.

“You may call on me at the museum,” she heard herself say and was quick to add, “but no one else, only you and only on occasion.”

“I should leave,” Mr. Stone said standing abruptly, and she could not determine whether his tone held a hint of sadness or hostility. “I shall leave you to talk privately. Will you arrange to see Miss Linwood home?”

George nodded. “Of course.”

Mr. Stone seemed distant now, and she could feel him drifting further away from her, as though retreating to his private sanctuary and barring the door.