A Curse of the Heart

“Thank goodness,” Cosgrove said. “I thought you’d been taken by a fever.”

Gabriel sat up, removed his spectacles and glanced around the room. “What time is it?” he asked noticing the solitary candle on the side table.

“It is almost nine. I know how you hate to be disturbed when you’re reading, but I heard shouting.”

“Thank you, Cosgrove,” he said scanning the sofa for his book and locating it on the floor next to the glassful of brandy. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Shall I ask Mrs. Hudson to prepare some supper, sir?”

Gabriel sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and let his head fall into his hands. “Yes. Just a light repast will suffice,” he muttered, wondering why he still felt so detached from reality.

The dream had been vivid. So much so, he knew if he closed his eyes he would still be there, still watching other men fawn over his prize. With a deep sigh, he picked up the book and flicked to the first chapter. Usually, his hunger for knowledge would have him devouring every page. Now, another passion consumed him: an eagerness to discover everything there was to know about Rebecca Linwood. An intense craving to educate himself in the needs of her body.

Without another thought, he jumped up and made for the door. “Cosgrove,” he shouted, the word echoing through the oak-lined hallway.

The butler stopped at the end of the corridor and walked slowly back towards him as though he had missed the urgency in his master’s voice. “You called, sir?”

“Have the tray sent up to my room. I shall eat while I dress.”

Cosgrove glanced dubiously at his master’s attire. “Dress, sir?”

“Yes, Cosgrove,” Gabriel replied, taking the stairs two at a time. “I am going out.”

“Where on earth have you been hiding this beauty?” Mr. Ingram said, lifting his monocle to his left eye and squinting with his right.

Rebecca flinched, as though ice-cold fingers were creeping slowly up her spine. Mr. Ingram was not the first gentleman to compliment her this evening. He was not the first gentleman to ogle her like a prized bit of beef. Thankfully, the man’s portly stomach prevented him from stepping any closer.

“My sister has been rusticating in the country,” Lord Wellford said quickly, no doubt fearing she would tell another man she actually worked for a living.

Mr. Ingram’s gaze followed the line of her throat, down to the plunging neckline of her mother’s only white gown, where he proceeded to move the eyeglass back and forth in an attempt to determine the best view.

Rebecca thought to inform him that market day was on a Thursday, but George coughed into his fist to wake the gentleman from his musings.

“I trust you have a place left on your dance card for me?” Ingram asked.

Rebecca shook her head. Even if she’d wanted to be friendly, she refused to dance with a man who wore rouge.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Ingram,” she said ignoring George’s frustrated sigh.

George put his hand on her elbow and turned her away from a disappointed Mr. Ingram. “You must dance with someone,” he whispered.

Rebecca ignored him.

Her father was the only gentleman she had ever danced with. As soon as she turned sixteen, he insisted on hiring a dance tutor. But feeling awkward and clumsy, Rebecca had begged and pleaded with him to tutor her himself. She loved those moments alone with him. She loved the attention, loved his devotion and often feigned ignorance in learning the steps in the hope of extending the lesson.

When Mr. Ingram finally departed, Rebecca felt the rush of relief quickly turn to anger. “I did not agree to accompany you so you could parade me about like a debutante desperate for a place on the marriage mart.”

In truth, she did not really know why she’d agreed to accompany him. The words had just tumbled out of her mouth. Her thoughts had been jumbled, plagued with guilt, her nerves teetering on a precipice and George reminded her so much of her father. When she’d sensed Gabriel Stone step behind his wall of indifference, she felt an overwhelming urge to prove that her life was perfectly fine without him in it.

“Rebecca, you need to start living in the real world, instead of being stuck in some stuffy room surrounded by objects belonging to the dead.”

It was rather sad he felt that way. Perhaps there was no room for passion in his life; perhaps the chains of duty and responsibility hung too heavily around his neck. The Egyptian museum was as much a part of her as her heart or her lungs. And nothing would ever change that.

“I am beginning to distrust your motives for asking me here,” she said, deciding his burden of duty included seeing her wed. “Mr. Ingram is the fifth unmarried gentleman you have introduced me to this evening. Does living in the real world not extend to meeting other young ladies, too?”

George sneered. “Your future is all that is important to me, Rebecca. Despite being beautiful you have no fortune, and there are some men who will shy away from the circumstance of your birth. Marriage is not a curse. It is an aspiration shared by all ladies living in the real world.”

What a fool she was. George was only concerned with marrying her off. Her brother professed to have her interests at heart, yet he managed to say and do the wrong thing at every turn. Indeed, she had made another mistake in trusting him.