A Curse of the Heart

She shook her head, dismissing the shiver running up her spine as she remembered the lecherous looks. “No, not at all.”

She caught his troubled gaze in the mirror, saw the cogs turning and wondered what he was thinking.

“You’re probably right,” he said, “I’ll wager Freddie had something to do with it. No doubt guilt will plague him until he feels forced to confess.”

“I’m certain of it,” she lied. The look of panic in his eyes was unmistakable. She would do more than try to load her pistol; she would carry it with her wherever she went.

Gabriel strode over to her and placed a chaste kiss to her temple. “I’ll see you later, around six. Will you have any more surprises for me?”

Only one, she thought, knowing he was not going to like it. “You mean you’re hoping I will seduce you again.”

Gabriel laughed, although it failed to reach his eyes. “Hoping, no. Praying, yes.”

“Then I shall rummage through the crate of erotic etchings in the hope of finding inspiration,” she said with a coy smile.

As she watched him walk out of the door, she hoped he would still desire her when she told him what she had done, or more precisely, where she had been.

Rebecca took a hackney to Bedford Square, relieved to find George Wellford at home and, after a brief absence, Winters returned to escort her into the study.

George stood to greet her but did not walk around the desk. “Rebecca. What a pleasant surprise.” He looked beyond her shoulder. “Are you alone?”

It was an odd question. No doubt he assumed Gabriel accompanied her everywhere. “Of course,” she said glancing at the oak cabinets lined with books and imagining her father rifling through them. “Who else were you expecting?”

“No one.” George shook his head numerous times and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Only the last few times we’ve met, Mr. Stone is often trailing behind, barking and snapping at your heels like an annoying little terrier.”

Rebecca pulled off her gloves, sat down and feeling rather defensive said, “Mr. Stone has been extremely kind and considerate to me, my lord. Annoying is certainly not a word I would use to describe him.” Indeed, the words handsome and sinful with a wicked tongue sprang to mind.

“You’re right,” George replied with a dismissive wave of the hand, “it was not a very good description. Perhaps a frustrated little terrier is more accurate.”

Rebecca looked down her nose at him and huffed. “I did not come here to discuss the character traits of dogs. But I did come here to talk to you about Mr. Stone.”

George sat up in his chair. “Has he declared his intentions?”

“Of course not.”

He looked disappointed. “Would you like him to?”

“No!” she said, lying for the second time in one day. “Perhaps you should stop asking questions and listen. You’re starting to sound like an old matron desperate to hear the latest gossip.” He accepted her criticism and conceded by gesturing for her to continue. “I was wondering if you knew where I could find Mr. Stone’s sister and her mother. I’m assuming they live in London and thought I would pay them a visit.”

“Does Mr. Stone know you intend to call upon them?”

“You’ve asked another question, George. And no, he does not know I intend to call on them else I would have asked him for their address.”

George opened his mouth, but promptly closed it again and then spent a moment examining her face. “When you talk about Mr. Stone you have a certain twinkle in your eye, a certain look that makes me wonder if the term friends is the appropriate word to define your relationship.”

Rebecca blinked but could not stop the heat rising to her cheeks. If George could read that in her eyes, what else was she giving away? Did he know she was in love with Gabriel, that he made her body tremble simply by speaking her name?

“Mr. Stone is my dearest friend, the only person I am able to trust. I would expect my eyes to twinkle with respect when mentioning the name of the man who has done his utmost to help me.”

The corners of George’s mouth twitched, but he did not smile. “I trust he is proving to be satisfactory?”

Rebecca almost choked on the lump that formed in her throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“As your chaperone. I trust he is proving to be a reliable companion,” he clarified. “I hope you know I had nothing to do with what happened at the museum this time. I would never damage something so precious out of spite or jealousy.”

Had Gabriel told him about her mother’s painting?

Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation in her office, where Gabriel had told her he wanted to stay and implied it had nothing to do with duty or responsibility. She could not help but think it was a lie.