A Curse of the Heart (2 page)

Lucas Dempsey shook his head. “This is a ball, Gabriel. There must be fifty ladies eager to get their hands on such a virile specimen. You should be dancing, not hunched over some ancient scroll.”

“You know I’m not the sort to waste my time on such frivolities.”

Gabriel examined Dempsey’s countenance: his puffed out chest, his chin held high and his determined gaze. This was not a chance meeting of old friends. Lucas Dempsey wanted something, and it was only a matter of time before he asked for it.

“What if I could persuade Banbury to give you more time to study the parchment? What if I could arrange for you to spend a whole day locked away in here?”

Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat at the prospect, but he narrowed his gaze. “And why would you do that? What would you have me do in return?”

As expected, Lucas Dempsey came straight to the point. “I would have you speak with Miss Linwood. She has a problem at her museum and believes you are the only person who can help.”

Were there no depths to how low Miss Linwood would stoop?

“I do not have time for fakes and frauds.”

The fact she had thrown herself on his front steps conveyed a complete disregard for appropriate modes of conduct. It seemed anyone could open a museum and claim to have ancient relics. It took years of study to gain the knowledge needed to identify forgeries. No doubt the lady had been duped into purchasing crates of old junk.

“Everyone knows the lady is a charlatan,” Gabriel continued.

Dempsey was too busy looking at his pocket watch to show any interest in his opinion of Miss Linwood.

“That is a shame,” he said. “Well, as much as I enjoy discussing your interest in antiquities, I have an urgent desire to stroll around the garden. I’m afraid it cannot wait.”

When Dempsey excused himself and walked towards the door, Gabriel’s palms began to itch, and his fingers throbbed. Dempsey only wanted him to talk to the lady. A brief conversation was the only thing required to gain more time to study Becanus’ theory on hieroglyphics. It would also give him an opportunity to confirm his suspicions, a chance to prove that Miss Linwood knew as much about ancient Egypt as he knew about petticoats and pins.

“Very well. I’ll speak to your Miss Linwood, but nothing more. In return, I want two whole days with no disruptions.”

“Done,” Dempsey said and then gave a little chuckle. “Well, there’s no time like the present. I believe you’ll find the lady in the ballroom.”

Gabriel did not want to leave the parchment, the voice in his head telling him it would only take one more glance to commit it to memory. Like an addict in need of opium, he scoured the images: the eye, the vulture, the snake, and then another thought struck him, forcing him to straighten.

What if Lucas Dempsey changed his mind?

Perhaps he should go and find Miss Linwood, hear what she had to say and be done with it. As a gentleman, Dempsey would have no choice but to fulfill his part of the bargain.

The lure of having two days to study in peace dragged him from the room towards the sound of music and laughter. It was not difficult to find her. He had watched her sitting on his front steps and had no problem picking her out.

Miss Linwood shone like a bright beacon in the crowded ballroom. Her figure was tall and lithe, her narrow waist curving up into a generous bosom. Her emerald-green gown highlighted the stark contrast of her fiery copper curls. There was something regal about her countenance, something proud and noble — and he groaned inwardly. He would need to be firm with her. He would listen to her plea, feign interest and then make his apology.

Of course, she would have no choice but to accept it, once he had shamed her with his little test.

She turned to her companion and laughed, her mouth curling into a tempting smile, her eyes shining with amusement. The brilliance of it all hit him so hard in the chest, he was forced to take a breath.

Damn it.

He did not need this sort of distraction.

Thank God the lady was a charlatan and a fraud.

Rebecca noticed him standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space. She had seen the same disapproving stare this morning, the same irritated glare. Only now, it appeared he was trying to attract her attention. The gentleman confirmed her suspicion when he raised his hand and beckoned her to follow him.

“What is the matter, Miss Linwood?” Miss Ecclestone asked. Her companion was betrothed to Lucas Dempsey and had also escaped being hit by the flying bust of Nefertiti.

“The gentleman standing in the doorway is Mr. Stone.”

Miss Ecclestone turned and followed her gaze. “Good heavens. He is waving his hand at you like a master summoning a disobedient dog. I suggest you stay here, Miss Linwood, and wait for him to find his manners.”

If an hour sitting on a cold step was anything to go by, Mr. Stone did not have any manners.

Rebecca met his hard, assessing gaze, her instincts telling her that if she missed this opportunity, he would not make the offer again.

“It is imperative I speak with him,” she said, the sense of urgency in her voice unmistakable, as she imagined being woken again by the torturous groans and rattling bed. “I would not expect you to understand, Miss Ecclestone, but I have no choice. I must go to him.”

Ignoring her companion’s wide eyes, Rebecca pushed her way through the crowd, pulled along by an invisible rope, her mind oblivious to any noise or distraction. Her steps only faltered when she was within a foot of Mr. Stone.

If there was a man in the world whose name perfectly portrayed his character, it was Gabriel Stone. He was tall and broad, his body as strong and as hard as granite, his muscular arms carved to perfection, his jaw rigid and unrelenting. Her gaze swept over him from head to toe, but he did not yield under such scrutiny. With a whip-like flick of the wrist, he brushed his black hair from his brow as an act of defiance. As she stared into those sinful brown eyes, she bit down on her bottom lip — and then she saw the veil fall, saw his gaze soften, if only for a moment.

Excellent, she thought, watching him blink rapidly to replace it.

“Mr. Stone,” she began, her tone conveying an inner confidence. “I am Miss Linwood. I called on you this morning. You shooed me away from your steps with the threat of being washed to the Thames in a stream of soapy suds.”

Gabriel Stone did not reply. He did not even have the decency to look embarrassed. But as his gaze drifted over her face, she felt a sudden jolt of awareness that forced her to swallow.

“Come with me, Miss Linwood,” he said, taking her by the elbow and guiding her along the busy corridor.

Rebecca ignored the raised brows and gaping glances. In an attempt to keep up with his long strides, she had no choice but to totter along behind him. In his impatience, she imagined him throwing her over his shoulder or waving a crude club as he grabbed her hair and dragged her off to his cave.

“Where are we going?” she asked, wondering if she had pinned all her hopes on a man who was quite clearly insane.

“To talk.”

His reply was cold and blunt and suddenly the noises at night didn’t seem quite so terrifying.

Mr. Stone strode into the library. Seeing it was empty, he let go of her elbow and closed the door. He retrieved a pair of spectacles from the inside pocket of his coat, fiddled with the wire and put them on.

“Do you mind telling me what this is?” he said, pointing to a lectern.

Rebecca couldn’t concentrate on the piece of wooden furniture, as her heart started pounding in her chest. In his spectacles, Gabriel Stone looked wise and scholarly while his firm jaw and full lips presented a perfectly wicked contradiction.

Dismissing the odd feeling the vision roused, she walked towards him. “I think you’ll find it is some sort of display case in the shape of a lectern. I imagine it is used for —”

“Not the lectern,” he said with mild irritation. “Can you tell me what’s inside it?”

Rebecca stepped closer and peered into the glass case. “Why? Don’t you know?”

“Of course I know,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I want to know if you do.”

Did he think her some sort of fool? How could someone with an interest in Egyptian antiquities not know of Becanus?

“Oh, that. It is a sixteenth-century parchment detailing the transcription of the pictorial language of the ancient Egyptians.”

Gabriel Stone raised an arrogant brow. “Lord Banbury could have told you that.”

“Becanus dedicated his life to deciphering their language,” she added.

“A textbook answer, Miss Linwood.”

Ignoring his tempting countenance, she thrust her hands on her hips. “What exactly is the problem here, Mr. Stone? What is it that disturbs you? That I am a woman or that I possess a modicum of intelligence.” When his mouth fell open, she added, “Of course, you must know Becanus’ theory is flawed.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched and his lips thinned. “I am aware of Becanus’ interpretation, Miss Linwood. But I am interested to hear your opinion.”

He was not interested in her opinion at all.

This was a test to undermine her position. Gabriel Stone wanted to make her look foolish; he wanted to trample all over her until she knew her place.

She felt her chest grow warm, and it became hard to swallow, but it had nothing to do with the close proximity of his powerful body. Small bubbles were forming in her blood, simmering and popping until she wanted to put her hands around his throat and throttle the man.

“Becanus’ theory is based on a symbolic translation,” she said, slapping him across the face with her gloved opinion. “Whereas, with the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, we now know that the pictographic script is more representative of sound.”

He narrowed his gaze, his brown eyes intense and focused as though he was thirsty to hear more. “Anything else?”

“What do you want me to say, Mr. Stone? That one must consider many facets when studying hieroglyphics: alphabet signs, syllabic signs … must I go on? Must I tell you that I can translate the Coptic language? Must I stand here and provide a detailed list of my credentials in order to appease your warped sense of curiosity?”

Gabriel Stone sucked in a breath. “You can translate Coptic?”

“Of course,” she replied with an arrogant wave.

He closed the gap between them and the air crackled with some undefinable force. Under the scrutiny of his gaze, she felt like an exhibit in her own museum.

“Who are you?” he whispered, his head so close to hers, she could feel his soft breath caress her skin. She could not take her eyes off his lips, as some fanciful notion of being kissed filled her head. The thought melted her ice-cold shield to warm her lonely heart.

When he shook his head and stepped back, she suddenly felt more alone than ever, the few feet feeling as wide as a ravine.

“I am just a stupid woman,” she said, anger and bitterness woven through every word. She had made another mistake in seeking this gentleman out.

“Anyone who can translate Coptic, Miss Linwood, is far from stupid.”

“I am not an expert in the ways of the Egyptians, Mr. Stone. I do not profess to be a scholar. Indeed, I only wish I were, as I have made a terrible, terrible mistake.”

Gabriel Stone removed his spectacles, his gaze sharp. “Why? What have you done?”

“I have read from an ancient scroll, and now I fear I am cursed.”

Chapter 3

“I am cursed, Mr. Stone, and I implore you to find some way to break it.”

Gabriel stared at her, his mouth hanging open while his mind conjured all sorts of strange images involving deadly serpents, thunderbolts of fire and plagues of locusts.

He shook his head.

A curse!

The woman had been reading too many Gothic novels and frightened herself half to death.

“Contrary to what you may have read, Miss Linwood, there is no such thing as a curse. Not an Egyptian one, at any rate.”

She took another step, closing the gap between them as suppressed emotion burst forth. “Do these eyes lie?” she cried. “Do you not see the red lines? Do you not see how they are sore and swollen from lack of sleep?”

Gabriel witnessed nothing other than the most captivating, most vibrant green eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of ripe apples and lush summer meadows, of gaiety and laughter. Indeed, he found it hard to focus on anything else and had to drag his thoughts back to the present, had to force himself to examine her countenance.

She seemed different now, conveying a level of vulnerability so opposed to the confident, defiant lady who’d sat on his front steps. The same lady who had shone with brilliance in the ballroom. And he found the contrast intriguing.

“Look at them, Mr. Stone,” she said thrusting herself forward as she pointed to the offending lines. “Are they not evidence enough?”

“Yes,” he whispered, not really seeing anything at all. Perhaps it was all a figment of her wild imagination. “I do not deny the Egyptians believed in curses. On the contrary, as I am sure you know, they used them on tombs to protect the dead and as a way of preventing looters.” He softened his tone. “But there is no record of such things ever affecting the living, no record of anyone ever suffering from a curse.”