A Curse of the Heart (10 page)

Her mind and body were fraught with anguish and pain: for the loss of her parents, for the fear of being hurt by the Wellfords, for thinking Gabriel Stone would walk away and she would never see him again.

Knots formed in her stomach, and she wanted to jump up and beg him to stay, beg him not to leave her.

“Before you leave, Stone. Can you not persuade Rebecca to accompany me to Lord Chelton’s ball this evening?”

“I am not the sort of gentleman to express excitement for such activities,” he replied coldly. “Besides, Miss Linwood is quite capable of making up her own mind.” He stood and offered her a respectful bow as her fear turned to anger for his indifference.

“Yes, I will come with you tonight,” she suddenly said, brandishing the words like a weapon with the intention of hurting Gabriel Stone.

He turned to face her, his stern countenance reminding her of the time she sat on his steps and watched him draw the curtains. The first time he’d shut her out. “Goodbye, Miss Linwood,” he said, not good day or good afternoon. “I trust you will have an enjoyable evening.”

Chapter 10

Gabriel strode from the house and jumped into his carriage, anger and disappointment escaping in the form of a loud exasperated sigh.

The hard lump still pulsed in his throat, a lump that threatened to explode in a burst of uncontrollable fury at the sight of Lord Wellford playing the doting brother. He’d fought to suppress it, tried to swallow it down. Then Miss Linwood’s firm stance faltered, and he felt her betrayal like strong hands around his neck, squeezing tightly until he could no longer breathe.

He’d not expected her to be fooled by her brother’s soppy blue eyes and soft words. He’d assumed her sharp tongue would leave Wellford sore and bruised. With steely determination, she would demand an apology. Yet like a naive debutante, she had fallen prey to his flowery charms.

Gabriel struggled to understand why he even cared. Why could he not shake the feeling she had sided against him? Why was his mind so fraught with jealousy that all rational thought was lost to him?

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact Wellford might prove to be the caring brother he could not be to his own sister — to the daughter of the woman who had taken his mother’s place.
There was no denying the irony of his situation. He could show Miss Linwood compassion but could not feel the same way about his own kin.

He threw his head back against the cushioned squab and inhaled deeply, only to find the sweet smell of lavender teasing his nostrils, drawing his thoughts back to the moment he first tasted Rebecca Linwood’s lips.

Something had happened to him that night.

Her enchanting essence had penetrated his mind and body, igniting something deep inside that could not be extinguished.

In the past, he’d dabbled in the odd liaison, purely to sate a physical desire, purely to appease an appetite. Yet he had never felt a soul-deep connection before, never felt a blissful form of torture, an overwhelming need burning inside with such ferocious intensity.

Even now, as the muscles in his shoulders relaxed and he welcomed the silence and solitude of his carriage, his vivid imagination refused to be tempered.
Instead, he imagined her sitting astride him, moaning with pleasure as her hot body moulded around the length of him.

Good God!

What had happened to the man content to spend his days idling in his study with just a mound of old books for company?

By the time his carriage pulled into Hanover Square, he could feel the tension pounding behind his eyes, which was slightly less torturous than the pulsating of his heavy loins.

“Welcome home, sir,” Cosgrove said in his usual lofty tone as his gaze lingered on Gabriel’s furrowed brow. “I trust you’ve had an enjoyable afternoon.”

If titles were given for sarcasm, his butler would be a duke.

“I believe my expression says it all,” he replied shrugging out of his coat.

“There is a package on your desk. I am certain it will improve your mood.”

Gabriel walked into the study and surveyed the cluttered desk like an eager father, expecting a rush of excitement when his children looked up and noticed he was home. However, the feeling of pleasant familiarity did not evolve into anything deeper.

In frustration, he strode over and picked up the package, ripping off the paper in a bid to rouse something more than a faint flicker of interest. He opened the top drawer, removed a pair of spectacles and put them on before scanning the leather cover for marks and flicking through the musty pages.

Terrasson’s
The Life of Sethos
was a fictional works examining the private memoirs of the ancient Egyptians. With
a glass of brandy in one hand and his book in the other, he moved to the sofa. It would take him hours to read through Terrasson’s work, and with his mind preoccupied he would forget all about Rebecca Linwood delighting the guests at Lord Chelton’s ball with her dazzling smile and generous bosom.

Gabriel managed to read eight pages of the preface before his lids grew heavy and he became conscious of the fact he was struggling to stay awake. Eight pages became ten and then twelve and then — nothing.

Somewhere in a dark recess of his mind, he heard the faint strains of a waltz. The triple beat called to him, forced him to concentrate, forced him to focus his gaze. At first, he imagined himself outside, as a hazy mist floated up to obscure his view, only clearing when he willed it to do so.

He saw her then, his bewitching temptress, shining like a bright star in a black sky, illuminating the ballroom with all the power of a hundred-candle chandelier.

He pushed himself away from the door jamb and tried to take a step forward. But the chain around his ankle pulled him back, tearing into his flesh as a reminder of his folly.

“Let me go,” he cried. But he could only stand and stare as some other gentleman kissed her hand, as some other gentleman danced with her and pressed too close to her luscious body. “Rebecca,” he yelled, punching the air with clenched fists.

But she could not hear him.

“Wake up, sir.”

Cosgrove’s voice penetrated his addled brain, and he opened his eyes, blinking a few times and shaking his head until his butler had two eyes and not four.

“Thank goodness,” Cosgrove said. “I thought you’d been taken by a fever.”

Gabriel sat up, removed his spectacles and glanced around the room. “What time is it?” he asked noticing the solitary candle on the side table.

“It is almost nine. I know how you hate to be disturbed when you’re reading, but I heard shouting.”

“Thank you, Cosgrove,” he said scanning the sofa for his book and locating it on the floor next to the glassful of brandy. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Shall I ask Mrs. Hudson to prepare some supper, sir?”

Gabriel sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and let his head fall into his hands. “Yes. Just a light repast will suffice,” he muttered, wondering why he still felt so detached from reality.

The dream had been vivid. So much so, he knew if he closed his eyes he would still be there, still watching other men fawn over his prize. With a deep sigh, he picked up the book and flicked to the first chapter. Usually, his hunger for knowledge would have him devouring every page. Now, another passion consumed him: an eagerness to discover everything there was to know about Rebecca Linwood. An intense craving to educate himself in the needs of her body.

Without another thought, he jumped up and made for the door. “Cosgrove,” he shouted, the word echoing through the oak-lined hallway.

The butler stopped at the end of the corridor and walked slowly back towards him as though he had missed the urgency in his master’s voice. “You called, sir?”

“Have the tray sent up to my room. I shall eat while I dress.”

Cosgrove glanced dubiously at his master’s attire. “Dress, sir?”

“Yes, Cosgrove,” Gabriel replied, taking the stairs two at a time. “I am going out.”

“Where on earth have you been hiding this beauty?” Mr. Ingram said, lifting his monocle to his left eye and squinting with his right.

Rebecca flinched, as though ice-cold fingers were creeping slowly up her spine. Mr. Ingram was not the first gentleman to compliment her this evening. He was not the first gentleman to ogle her like a prized bit of beef. Thankfully, the man’s portly stomach prevented him from stepping any closer.

“My sister has been rusticating in the country,” Lord Wellford said quickly, no doubt fearing she would tell another man she actually worked for a living.

Mr. Ingram’s gaze followed the line of her throat, down to the plunging neckline of her mother’s only white gown, where he proceeded to move the eyeglass back and forth in an attempt to determine the best view.

Rebecca thought to inform him that market day was on a Thursday, but George coughed into his fist to wake the gentleman from his musings.

“I trust you have a place left on your dance card for me?” Ingram asked.

Rebecca shook her head. Even if she’d wanted to be friendly, she refused to dance with a man who wore rouge.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Ingram,” she said ignoring George’s frustrated sigh.

George put his hand on her elbow and turned her away from a disappointed Mr. Ingram. “You must dance with someone,” he whispered.

Rebecca ignored him.

Her father was the only gentleman she had ever danced with. As soon as she turned sixteen, he insisted on hiring a dance tutor. But feeling awkward and clumsy, Rebecca had begged and pleaded with him to tutor her himself. She loved those moments alone with him. She loved the attention, loved his devotion and often feigned ignorance in learning the steps in the hope of extending the lesson.

When Mr. Ingram finally departed, Rebecca felt the rush of relief quickly turn to anger. “I did not agree to accompany you so you could parade me about like a debutante desperate for a place on the marriage mart.”

In truth, she did not really know why she’d agreed to accompany him. The words had just tumbled out of her mouth. Her thoughts had been jumbled, plagued with guilt, her nerves teetering on a precipice and George reminded her so much of her father. When she’d sensed Gabriel Stone step behind his wall of indifference, she felt an overwhelming urge to prove that her life was perfectly fine without him in it.

“Rebecca, you need to start living in the real world, instead of being stuck in some stuffy room surrounded by objects belonging to the dead.”

It was rather sad he felt that way. Perhaps there was no room for passion in his life; perhaps the chains of duty and responsibility hung too heavily around his neck. The Egyptian museum was as much a part of her as her heart or her lungs. And nothing would ever change that.

“I am beginning to distrust your motives for asking me here,” she said, deciding his burden of duty included seeing her wed. “Mr. Ingram is the fifth unmarried gentleman you have introduced me to this evening. Does living in the real world not extend to meeting other young ladies, too?”

George sneered. “Your future is all that is important to me, Rebecca. Despite being beautiful you have no fortune, and there are some men who will shy away from the circumstance of your birth. Marriage is not a curse. It is an aspiration shared by all ladies living in the real world.”

What a fool she was. George was only concerned with marrying her off. Her brother professed to have her interests at heart, yet he managed to say and do the wrong thing at every turn. Indeed, she had made another mistake in trusting him.

“My museum is the real world to me,” she said, determined to make it clear she wasn’t some pawn to be sacrificed for the greater good. “This … this place is just a cesspit of inequity. Perhaps I should pin a tag to my gown that says —
one hundred and fifty guineas, but beware of minor defaults
.”

George waved his hand in the air. “You’re being ridiculous. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“Happy?” she mocked. “Can you not hear the hypocrisy in your own words? You wish me to marry a man I do not love, so long as he can provide material comforts and overlook the nature of my birth. To you, that is an admirable choice: to sell one’s soul for wealth and respectability. Well, I would rather join the urchins scouring the streets, begging for scraps.”

“You cannot condemn me for trying to legitimise your position.”

Rebecca sucked in a breath.

There was no reasoning with this man, she thought. “I am suddenly relieved I am illegitimate. The irony of legitimacy is that it appears to be defined by a lack of morals and a severe lack of integrity.”

Without another word, she pushed past him and stormed out through the open doors onto to the terrace, pacing back and forth until her breathing slowed to its usual rate.

Thankfully, George chose not to follow and so she took a moment to look out over the garden, placing the palms of her hands on the stone wall and relishing the feel of the cool breeze.

She should never have agreed to come.

Her thoughts drifted back to earlier in the day, to the way Gabriel Stone had devoured her with his sinful eyes, to the way her body responded so eagerly to him. Tonight, numerous gentlemen had looked at her in a similar way. Yet it felt different, unnatural.