He felt her words like a fresh sting, his body throbbing and sore with his own inadequacy. It was not a new feeling. He had lived with the same pain for years. Had he been any other man, he would have chased after her; he would have pulled her into an embrace, eased her fears, and pledged his help.
Yet even in his melancholic mood, he could not quash the urge to return to his work. He could not abandon the need to fulfill his ambition. And so he wandered over to the parchment and let Becanus be his solace. As studying the ancient world was the only thing he knew how to do.
When the old words failed to rouse his interest, he glanced back over his shoulder and stared at the open door.
Perhaps he should visit Miss Linwood’s museum and try one last time to convince her of her error. Perhaps he would find something of interest amongst the relics, something to nurture his passion, something to feed his obsession. Then he would walk away from her, happy in the knowledge he had done his best.
Chapter 4
Gabriel stood outside Miss Linwood’s museum: an elegant townhouse in Coventry Street, and surveyed the exterior.
His first thought was that her father must have been wealthy, or perhaps she had a gentleman sponsor whose interest extended beyond the preservation of historical objects. Feeling the urge to banish the thought from his mind, he focused on the facade. The impressive Doric columns supporting the portico reflected the character of its owner perfectly, as they suggested pride, strength and a wealth of wisdom.
Miss Linwood had impressed him with her knowledge of Becanus. If she truly could translate Coptic script, then she may prove to be a valuable asset. This, he decided, was the reason he chose to seek her out. He would help her to see that the curse was something concocted by the imagination. In return, she would make herself available should he find himself in need of a translator.
After paying the entrance fee, he wandered around the downstairs rooms, moving past an array of nautical paintings as he had no interest in them. Then he discovered that the Egyptian antiquities were on the upper floor. So he decided to peruse the objects, in the hope of clarifying whether the lady was a fraud or a person to be admired in their field of expertise.
There were more than twenty people milling about upstairs, browsing the various display cases and plinths supporting masks and statues. In an area separated by a length of red rope, there was an assortment of stone tablets, some of them as tall and as wide as a man.
Without revealing his impatience, he waited to examine the first display, disappointed to find nothing but an old toothpick and ivory combs carved into the shapes of animals. The display of canopic jars proved to be a little more interesting, and he scanned the cards to check for errors.
“Do you have a particular interest in canopic jars, Mr. Stone?”
Her soft, melodic tone caused the hairs on his nape to tingle. When he turned to face her, he was surprised to find her wearing a rather dreary looking dress.
“I have an interest in anything Egyptian, Miss Linwood,” he said trying to remain emotionless while scanning the brown ensemble that did nothing to enhance the shape of her figure.
Her gaze followed his, falling to the plain material. “Visitors pay to see the exhibition, Mr. Stone,” she said as though she had the ability to hear his thoughts. “And so I do my utmost to move about here unnoticed.”
The image of her generous bosom encased in green silk flashed into his mind, and he blinked to dism
iss it. He glanced into those luscious emerald eyes, moving up to the mass of rich copper curls. A man would have to be blind not to notice her. Even in such dull attire, she had an inherent sensuality that called out to him. It was there in the way she spoke, in the way she walked, in the way her face revealed the emotion behind every word. Then his mind decided to add further weight to his assessment, for he imagined her sweet body welcoming him, imagined the feel of that first delicious thrust.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered in frustration, pushing his hand through his hair by way of a distraction.
“Is there something wrong, Mr. Stone?”
Yes, damn it, everything was wrong. He should have stayed at home, his rampant mind engaged in his books.
“I said you’ve done well, Miss Linwood,” he replied, making a quick recovery. “I particularly like the jars in the shape of the four sons of Horus.”
She smiled. “I’m rather fond of the jackal, although I cannot claim the credit for their discovery. Surely, as a scholar of Egyptology, this is not your first visit to the exhibition?”
What was he supposed to say? That he had sworn never to set foot in the place and expected her to be a dimwit with a crate full of forgeries? He wondered if her question was intended to force him to reveal the reason behind his visit. “Yes, this is my first visit,” he said, deciding to reserve his opinion until he had assessed the evidence.
“Then let me direct you to the stone tablets, they are most impressive.” She hesitated, perhaps waiting for him to offer his arm, but then chose to lead the way while he followed. “As you probably know, this one depicts the weighing of one’s heart against the feather of Ma’at.” She gave him a moment to study it before pointing to the next one. “And here we have servants praying to Osiris and Imentet.”
He froze at the sight of the second tablet as a cold chill swept over him. He had seen these tablets before. He had studied them and had lengthy discussions with their owner, who most certainly was not Miss Linwood.
Feeling a surge of anger fused with the sour taste of disappointment, he jumped over the rope, ran his palm over the ancient stone and pressed the tips of his fingers into the powdery indentations.
“Mr. Stone,” Miss Linwood gasped. She glanced over her shoulder and stamped her foot. “Visitors are not allowed to touch the objects, surely you know that.”
Gabriel sneered, revealing his resentment that she had thought him a fool. “But these are not your objects, are they Miss Linwood?” He sounded like a snake spitting its venom, warning its prey to consider its next move carefully as his bite was known to be deadly.
She looked shocked and a little confused. “What on earth are you talking about?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Come out of there at once, before someone sees you.”
“I would like to speak to you in private.” Arrogance dripped from every word, his tone conveying his disdain for liars and cheats. “Now, if you please, Miss Linwood.”