A Curse of the Heart

Miss Linwood put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Stone. I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to the ramblings of a madman. Now get out of there.”

Gabriel stepped back over the rope and came to stand in front of her. “Oh, you will listen to me or else I shall tell everyone here that these tablets do not belong to you. I shall tell everyone that I believe them to be stolen.”

She took a step closer, so the tops of their toes were touching, and with a confident smile said, “Then you had better follow me.”

Rebecca should have thrown the gentleman out, but she knew how one’s passion often manifested in the strangest of ways.

“This way, Mr. Stone,” she said, marching down the corridor towards her office, aware of the power emanating from the man chasing her heels. She could feel his angry gaze lashing at her back and shoulders, each whip desperate to draw blood, each short, ragged breath mimicking her own erratic heartbeat.

“Sit down, Mr. Stone,” she said, waving her hand at a chair while she took the seat behind the desk, grateful there was a large, solid object between them.

“How did you come to own those tablets?” he demanded, and Rebecca wondered if he was always so blunt and direct. She was of a mind to tell him to go to the devil. But the need to see him grovel, to see those eyes soften when delivering his apology, was far too much of a temptation.

“I have already told you. My father left them to me in his will. He also paid for this house and every item you see in it.” Presenting him with her most dazzling smile, she added, “Would you care to see the papers before you pass sentence or am I to be thrown in the gallows with no hope of reprieve?”

Gabriel Stone narrowed his gaze and shuffled to the edge of the chair. “Those tablets belong to the estate of Lord Wellford. They do not belong to you. If they had been sold, I would have known about it.”

Rebecca pursed her lips. He looked devilishly handsome when he was annoyed, and her stomach started doing little flips as she knew what was coming next. “Yes. You are quite right, Mr. Stone. The tablets did belong to the Wellford estate, but now they belong to me.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “That is not possible. I know the family personally. I do not think —”

“Frankly, Mr. Stone, I do not care what you think. Everything you see belongs to me. I have proof of it. So let that be an end to the matter.”

Mr. Stone threw himself back in the chair with a deep sigh. Despite his rude manner, a part of her felt sad that they could not converse more civilly. They had lost their parents, they shared an interest in the ancient world, and as much as she tried to suppress it, she felt oddly drawn to him.

“Lord Wellford was my mentor, Miss Linwood,” he said, as though it was the only explanation needed. “He would never have permitted the sale of his most treasured possessions.”

“Lord Wellford was my father, Mr. Stone. And I agree. He would never have permitted them to be sold.”

He sat up straight in the chair. “Your father? I recall there being three sons and a wife but —”

Unable to stop the surge of emotion, Rebecca jumped from the chair. “Please do not tell me I am wrong about that. I think I know my own father. You have come to my museum and accused me of being a thief and a fraud. You have intimated I am some feather-brained fool who has convinced herself she is cursed. Had my father been your friend and mentor, as you claim, then he would have been thoroughly ashamed of you, sir.”

She sat back down in the chair, her legs giving way under the strain.

Mr. Stone gripped the arms of his chair and swallowed audibly as he stared off into the distance. After a brief moment, he blinked and said, “Forgive me, Miss Linwood. You are right. Lord Wellford would have called me out for such disgraceful conduct.” He took a deep breath and looked at her directly. “You must understand, the study of the ancient world … well, it is all I know.”

His voice brimmed with emotion, the tone revealing a level of tenderness she had not seen in him before. Once again, she felt a tug in her chest. She wondered what it would feel like to have those muscular arms wrapped around her, to have those strong hands caress her body, to feel safe, warm and protected.

“I understand,” she said, the need to placate him now stronger than the need for self-preservation. “It is all I know, too.”

They sat there in silence, neither knowing what to say next. The overriding thought in her head was that she did not want him to go. It did not make any sense. Mere minutes ago she would have pushed him down the stairs with her boot attached to his behind.

“Perhaps we should start again, Mr. Stone,” she said, feeling rather magnanimous. “It would be nice to have someone to call upon should I have a problem with one of the relics. To be able to speak to someone who understands my father’s work.”

His lips thinned. “I was not very helpful when you asked for advice last night, Miss Linwood.”

“Linwood is my grandmother’s name,” she clarified, noting the inflection in his tone when he spoke her name. “I prefer to use it for reasons I do not care to go into and no, you were not very helpful at all. I am grateful, however, that we had a chance to speak.” When a frown marred his brow, she added, “In arriving home late last night I appear to have missed the haunting. It was the first proper night’s sleep I’ve had in over a week.”

His gaze drifted over her hair and face, lingered on her lips and when it skimmed the outline of her breasts, she suddenly felt a little warmer inside.

“If you still need my help with the curse,” he began, his tone soft and rich, just the way she liked it, “then I will gladly assist in any way I can.”

Relief shot through her. She clasped her hands to her chest feeling a renewed sense of optimism in his abilities. “Thank you, Mr. Stone. You do not know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

His mouth curved into the beginnings of a smile, and she thought it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. “Would you like to see the scroll or perhaps the staff in the crate?”

He steepled his fingers and held them to his lips, his brows drawn together in concentration. “I would like to consider all the facts without prejudice. When you say hauntings, what do you mean?”