A Curse of the Heart (13 page)

“I hope so,” he growled, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him pulling on his boots. He came to stand at her side, and she felt a large reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Hudson will provide anything you need. I shall be back shortly.”

She looked up into sinful brown eyes. “If they have damaged anything. If they have —”

When he placed his finger on her lips, she felt a tremor shake her body and had a sudden urge to kiss it, to feel it trace the outline of her mouth. “Do not talk of it until we know for sure.”

Gabriel planted a chaste kiss on her forehead and hurried from the room with purposeful strides. It occurred to her, that since her father’s death, she had been living a lie.

Despite her independence, despite her ability to provide for herself, she was weak and useless without the protection of a man. The thought brought memories of lonely suppers, of having no one to talk to about her hopes and dreams, of lying cold and unloved in her bed.

Thankfully, her melancholic mood was broken by the sound of the door opening as a tall, slim woman came in. Her tired eyes caused her features to look even more severe than her hollow cheeks suggested. “I’m Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper,” she said, her soft voice contradicting her countenance. “Let’s get you behind the screen and out of those wet clothes. Cosgrove will stoke the fire while the footman fills the tub.”

The intimate space suddenly thrummed with activity as the staff busied about, coming to the aid of a stranger.

Although Rebecca noticed the curious glances darting between them, no one asked any questions or gave the impression there was anything untoward in a young lady turning up half-dressed in the middle of the night. Indeed, they almost looked pleased at the prospect.

When it came to getting into the tub, her toes were so cold the water pained her. It took three attempts until they grew accustomed to the temperature. Rebecca bent her knees so she could rest her head on the back of the copper bath. The warm water lapped over her aching bones, and she cupped it in her hands and swished it over her shoulders.

This was where he bathed, she thought, knowing this obsession she had for him was like a living thing growing inside of her. She could almost feel him in the room. His exotic smell fed her addiction, and she closed her eyes and let the essence of the man she had grown so attached to, calm her restless soul.

Chapter 13

Gabriel rode through the rain as though Lucifer was chasing his tail. Higson said nothing about being woken from his bed or about the nature of their business. But Gabriel saw him slip his homemade cudgel into his coat pocket: the lead filled goat’s horn, heavy enough to render a man unconscious.

After tethering the horses to the railings outside Rebecca’s house, Gabriel tried the front door to find it open.

“We’ll move through the house together,” he whispered casting a dubious eye over Higson’s stocky frame as the man equipped his weapon. “Do try to be quiet.”

Once inside, Gabriel listened out for the sound of voices, for footsteps and creaking floorboards, but heard nothing. And so, by way of numerous hand gestures, he conveyed the order in which they would check the downstairs rooms.

With regimental precision, they moved through the house and once they had established it was empty, Gabriel sent Higson to search the lower floors for signs of theft or damage while he examined the third floor.

He knew why he had chosen to check that particular floor, why he found himself drawn down the dark corridor to Rebecca’s bedchamber. After all, she was currently lying naked in his bathtub, and the thought had him in a state of semi-arousal.

As he ran his fingers over her counterpane and trailed them down the hangings on her bed, he wondered if she was doing a similar thing. The image of her eager hands running over his private things caused another surge of excitement, and he felt a sudden need to hurry home, forcing him to expedite his task with more speed and efficiency.

He found no physical signs of disturbance, not until he reached the parlour, and the sight forced him to stand and stare in frozen silence.

The painting of Rebecca’s mother stood upright on the chair opposite the door; the gilt edges now framing a canvas of diagonal slashes slicing right through the image, severing the angelic face.

Gabriel’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The vision of Rebecca’s tortured expression haunted his thoughts. He imagined her dropping to her knees while he struggled to find the right words of comfort.

“There’s no damage downstairs,” Higson said trudging into the room, taking care not to step on the rug with his dirty boots. “But the door leading to the basement’s been forced.” He came to stand at Gabriel’s side and jerked his head towards the painting. “Looks like what’s happened here is personal.”

It was an insightful comment. Higson had no idea the portrait was of Rebecca’s mother, his assessment based purely on the obvious way the culprit had chosen to display it. Gabriel’s immediate thought was to blame George Wellford, but then he dismissed the idea. Although George’s methods were underhanded and thoughtless, he would never intentionally hurt Rebecca, not like this.

“Do not speak a word of this to anyone, not until I have told Miss Linwood.”

“Is it valuable?”

“Its value is purely sentimental,” Gabriel said as he drew his hand down his face and sighed.

“Then I can’t say as I envy you the task.”

Gabriel cursed loudly, the words filled with anger, fear and frustration. “What the hell am I supposed to say?”

“I’ve always found the truth works well enough.”

“Even when you know the truth will hurt?”

Higson shrugged. “Aye, even then.”

Gabriel strode over, picked up the painting and put it behind the chair, out of view. “I do not want her to see it displayed like a blasted trophy,” he said, feeling the need to explain his actions. He turned back to Higson. “Is the basement door secure?”

Higson scratched his head. “For the time being. But you’ll need to get someone to look at it tomorrow.”

Gabriel nodded. “I’ll check the museum again before we leave, but it may be too difficult to make a proper assessment of the antiquities until daylight.”

They wandered around the Egyptian displays, peering into the cabinets, searching for anything untoward.

“There should be four stone tablets on the plinth,” Gabriel said, shouting commands through the darkness.

“They’re all here, but I noticed an empty plinth in the hallway.”

Gabriel recalled Rebecca mentioning an accident, a bust falling onto the stairs. “I know. There was some sort of incident with a bust of Nefertiti. Everything else seems to be in order,” he said, his mind preoccupied, wondering why the culprit deliberately chose to target the painting of Rebecca’s mother. “We should head back.”

During the ride back to Hanover Square, Gabriel’s mind was plagued by uncertainty and doubt. His head urged him to go back and remove the damaged portrait, to tell Rebecca it had been stolen. His heart reminded him he was not capable of such deceit.

Of course, he also had another problem — Rebecca Linwood would be sleeping in his house.

The thought caused his heart to pound against his ribs. He could not deny that he wanted her with every ounce of his being. He ached at the thought of feeling her warm body curled up next to him in bed. Indeed, knowing temptation would be just a few short feet away was more than his weak body could bear. Yet he could not ask her to go to Lord Wellford’s house, not in the middle of the night, and he could not expect her to return home.

In all the years of studying the dead, he had never encountered such complications. His work always brought him a level of peace and comfort. A feeling he craved. Now, his craving was in the form of a luscious flame-haired beauty. Now, immoral images played havoc with his thoughts, every action controlled by his rampant desire.

This delicious form of torture had given him a renewed optimism for life. And she had given every indication she was just as eager for his companionship, too.

What harm would it do to ease their physical torment?

As an independent woman of means, she had never alluded to love or marriage, which in itself was a blessing. He was not capable of loving anyone, not anymore. That didn’t stop them exploring the realm of carnal pleasures.
Perhaps it was time to be a little more spontaneous, to take Rebecca Linwood to his bed and to hell with the consequences.

Cosgrove’s veiled sarcasm hit him as soon as he came through the door. “Your guest is washed and watered and resting in her room, sir,” he said helping Gabriel out of his wet coat. “If that is all, I shall retire for the remainder of the evening.”

Gabriel raised a curious brow. “In her room?” he repeated, the sense of disappointment that she was not waiting for him in his private chamber, created a hollow feeling in his chest.

“You’re back.” Miss Linwood’s tone conveyed her impatience, and as she rushed down the stairs to greet him, his gaze fell to her bare feet.

If he had to make a list of all the attributes he found desirable in a woman, feet would not be amongst them. Yet he found the sight of her pretty toes oddly arousing.

As she came to stand in front of him, wearing nothing more than a nightdress and wrapper, her wide eyes searched his face. “Did you find them? Were they still there?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No. They’d left before we arrived.”

Cosgrove gave a discreet cough and excused himself.

“What about the antiquities?” She paused and swallowed deeply. “Tell me everything is alright. Please tell me nothing is broken.”

“As far as I could tell, everything in the museum is exactly as it should be.” He would wait until morning to tell her about the painting as he suspected she would charge over there to assess the damage.

She placed her hand over her heart and closed her eyes briefly as she tried to regulate her breathing. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that. While I was in the bathtub, I imagined you telling me they had destroyed my father’s things and I … I don’t think I could bear it.”

His stomach churned at the thought of her seeing the tattered image of her mother.

“Perhaps we should call Lord Wellford. You could stay with him for a few days while we try to establish what is going on.” The words sounded solemn. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew it was the appropriate thing to say.

A look of panic flashed across her face. “I can’t. Please, you mustn’t tell him, Gabriel. Can I not stay here, just for tonight, just until I decide what to do?”

“Rebecca, people will talk. While I can guarantee the silence of my staff, I cannot be held accountable for the actions of meddling gossips.”

She stepped closer and placed a hesitant palm on his chest. “Please, Gabriel. You’re the only person I can trust.”

He could not decide if it was the touching words or the warmth radiating from her hand that caused his heated blood to bubble with pleasure. “The choice is yours,” he conceded easily. “I will do whatever makes you happy, Rebecca.”

Even in the muted light, she glowed with a radiance he found irresistible, and he knew he would never be able to say no to her.

“Thank you.” The words were barely a whisper as her hand fell from his chest. “I should go to bed.”

She stood on her toes, pressed her lips to his cheek and he closed his eyes and inhaled the unique scent of her skin, let her brightness penetrate the layers of his clothing until his body tingled in response.

When she turned away from him, he could not find the words to convey the emotion that filled his chest. “Good night, Rebecca,” he whispered as the muscles in his stomach twisted into painful knots of despair.

Despite finding the courage to give Gabriel a chaste kiss, he did not call after her and Rebecca walked up the stairs as though weights were strapped to her ankles, making each step harder to take.

What had she thought would happen? That he would wrap his strong arms around her and pull her into a passionate embrace?

She had felt his body tremble at the touch of her lips, felt the war raging inside him; an inner turmoil she suspected was more than a match for her own. He was hiding something of himself, perhaps the reason he chose not to mention his sister, perhaps the reason he chose to live as a recluse, away from Society.

When she entered her bedchamber, she sighed. It was not a sigh of relief, but one of disappointment. She closed the door and she placed her hands flat against the wood. Pressing her body up against it, she imagined what it would feel like if Gabriel held her against his muscular chest.

She tried to recall the first time she felt her body grow warm just from the sight of him and knew she had felt that way from the very beginning. The feeling had grown in intensity, the first flicker of desire now a blazing inferno, destined to destroy anything that got in its way.

The thud of boots making a slow ascent up the wooden staircase interrupted her reverie. They came to a stop at the far end of the landing and after a brief silence, she heard him walk towards her door.

Her heart hammered in her chest, her stomach fluttering from the thousand butterflies trapped inside. She could feel his presence as he hovered on the other side. Should she open the door? Should she invite him into her room, into her heart, into her bed?