A Curse of the Heart

Sitting in such close quarters, Rebecca struggled to breathe let alone rouse a coherent response.

He sat opposite, his muscular thighs straining against pale buckskin breeches. Their knees were but an inch apart and despite all the bumps and rumbles, he managed to maintain the distance.

It was odd how she craved his company.

She should have told him she could deal with George on her own. But for some strange reason, the thought of being near him for a few more hours seemed far too tempting to resist. Even now, in the dark confines of his carriage, the air pulsed with some undefinable emotion: a feeling of need, of longing, of desperation. She could feel the energy sparking between them, heating her blood, and it took all her efforts to try to focus on the conversation.

“If he refuses to see me, I shall sit outside his front door until he has no choice but to open it,” she said. Her gaze drifted over his broad shoulders encased in a dark blue coat, and she imagined bronzed skin stretched smoothly over each bulging contour. “I do not think he is as stubborn as you, Mr. Stone.”

His eyes glinted with mischief, and he did not look the least bit studious. He looked like a devilish rogue.

“So you think me stubborn, Miss Linwood?” He sat forward and the exotic scent of spice and something utterly masculine filled her head. “Do you remember what happened the last time you drew attention to the flaws in my character?”

There was something different about him now. Something so opposed to the man she first met at Lord Banbury’s ball. He appeared more relaxed, his voice smooth and warm, his gaze firm and focused. Rebecca could feel the blush rising in her cheeks as she recalled their passionate encounter. Under such scrutiny, a lady should look to her lap to convey her modesty. Instead, she found the courage to look him in the eye.

“I shall never forget it, Mr. Stone,” she said, a little surprised that her own voice sounded deeper than usual.

He sucked in a breath as his gaze lingered on her lips. When he exhaled slowly, she felt a ripple of pleasure flow through her body and all she could think of was how wonderful it felt to be lost in his sinful mouth.

“Morality is a peculiar thing,” he said with a sigh, throwing himself back in his seat. “At times, it feels like a thick iron rod running through me, one that refuses to bend to my will.”

Every logical part of her mind told her to ignore his comment, told her to look out of the window and feign interest in anything other than those ravenous brown eyes.

“Are you suggesting you wish to be immoral, Mr. Stone?” she said, feeling a strange thrum of excitement course through her as she waited for his answer.

He looked at her beneath hooded lids. “What do you think, Miss Linwood? Do you think me a gentleman capable of suppressing immoral thoughts?”

“I believe you are a gentleman capable of doing anything you set your mind to.”

“Your faith in me is flattering,” he said c

overing his heart with his hand. “However, it does not stop me from wanting to do a whole host of unseemly things.”

The fluttering sensation in her stomach began to rise up to her throat. The very topic of conversation was immoral, but she was not the least bit offended. On the contrary, it was a testament to their friendship — if that was how one would define their relationship — that he could speak openly and honestly and so she chose to do the same.

“Do you think I do not feel the same temptations, Mr. Stone? Do you think me cold to your heated gaze? Do you think desire only flows through your veins?”

When his open mouth finally closed, he gave an amused chuckle. “I doubt it is the same,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

As a novice to the skill of seduction, she should have been drowning in the depths of her own innocence. Yet she wanted to excite him, to prove she could match him stroke for stroke.

“Well, Mr. Stone. Perhaps one day you may get the opportunity to find out.”

With his mouth curved into a lascivious grin, he replied, “Now it is not only my interest that is piqued, Miss Linwood.”

The carriage jolted to a halt, and the spell was broken.

Mr. Stone opened the door and jumped to the pavement. “Don’t get down, Higson. I shall help Miss Linwood out.” He did not bother to lower the step and, despite her gasp, wrapped his strong hands around her waist and lifted her down. “Perhaps you are my Achilles’ heel, Miss Linwood,” he said as she brushed the creases out of her dress. “The more time I spend in your company, the more all respectable intentions are lost to me.”

Rebecca patted him on the chest with her gloved hand. “Don’t lose heart, Mr. Stone. I never said I wanted you to be respectable,” she whispered before sauntering past him to knock on Lord Wellford’s door.

Thankfully, Rebecca did not have to throw herself across the threshold or bang loudly demanding to be heard. Winters, Lord Wellford’s butler, instructed them to wait in the hall, and after a few minutes returned to escort them into the parlour.

“Lord Wellford will be with you shortly,” he said with a solemn bow before making a silent retreat.

Rebecca set about untying her bonnet before sitting on the sofa, and then nodded to Mr. Stone when he gestured to the space next to her.

“George will wonder why we are here together,” she said, rooting around in her reticule in search of the ancient scroll.