In a rampant rage, he would grit his teeth; bite down on the inside of his cheek until the taste of warm metal coated his tongue. The drawing of blood would be like a purge, to purify and cleanse away his shame, to rid himself of the burden that consumed him.
Since opening his heart to Rebecca, the house no longer felt like a sanctuary. It felt like a prison. The key was a gateway to the past, to a cell that would see him rot away in isolation for the next twenty years, if he so wished.
Now, he had found sanctuary in the form of a luscious fiery-haired temptress. In the arms of a woman who made him feel alive and free, deep inside a woman who ignited a fire in his soul as well as in his loins.
“Rebecca.”
He said the word aloud. As a way of expressing his affection, to prove these experiences were real and not a wonderful dream of fulfilled desires, to banish the fear of waking to gut-wrenching disappointment.
The clock on the mantel struck one. One solitary chime to mock him, to taunt him, to remind him he needed to get used to being alone again. If Rebecca got her wish, she would soon be far away, riding through the sandy dunes of Egypt on a wild adventure.
Egypt!
A weird puffing sound escaped from his lips: contempt for her elevated ideas, for making the unrealistic sound possible.
What the hell would she do in Egypt?
The stifling heat crippled the locals, for her it would be unbearable. The beads of sweat would trickle all the way down the curve of her spine, a cool refreshing bath the only way to ease the discomfort. She’d be forced to abandon all clothing and lie naked in bed. The markets would be filled with exotic fruits that left a mouthful of juice, the taste unusual, sweet and delicious. The music would sound different, not precise or rigid, but more carefree, a sensual blend to stimulate and arouse the senses.
Bloody hell!
He threw the key back in the drawer and with a frustrated sigh pushed his hand through his hair. If the lure of the Orient sounded so tempting to him, what chance did he have of changing Rebecca’s mind? Of course, in desperation, he could always turn to Lord Wellford, certain he would strictly forbid such a venture.
As though Gabriel had summoned the man purely by thought alone, Cosgrove knocked the door, holding it ajar and blocking the entrance. “Lord Wellford is here, sir. I am afraid he gave me no option but to invite him in.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but the door burst open, hitting the wall with all the force of a hurricane as George Wellford barged past Cosgrove, dragging a young man by the arm whom he recognised as Frederick.
“Go on, tell him,” Wellford said catapulting Frederick into the middle of the room without a greeting or an apology for the intrusion. “Tell him what you’ve done.”
Frederick lifted his head and threw his hands up in the air. “I do not see what it has to do with him. I do not see why you saw fit to drag me halfway across town on a fool’s errand.”
“I assume you’re talking about the incident at the museum,” Gabriel said grimly.
Wellford huffed and shook his head. “It appears Frederick is the one who broke into Rebecca’s house. It appears Frederick is a complete idiot.”
“You’re the idiot,” Frederick cried. “You were the one who led her to believe in a curse. You were the one who told me you wanted to prove she was not safe on her own.”
“That was for her own good,” Wellford said. “I did not damage her most treasured possession in the process.”
“Neither did I.”
“Enough!” Gabriel yelled, anger rising up, ready to boil over into something far more damaging.
Rebecca would react badly to the news.
If they were his brothers, he would run as far away as he possibly could. Perhaps that was why Alexander had fled to Italy in the hope of becoming a painter. Indeed, when compared to a life with this sorry pair, Egypt was by far the better option. “Both of you sit down.”
The men looked at each other, at the empty ch
airs dotted in various locations around the room, neither being the first to move.
“Good heavens, you’re acting like children,” Gabriel said, stomping around to drag the seats in front of the desk. “Sit.”
“There’s no need to be so high-handed,” Wellford said, directing his gaze at Gabriel while flopping down into the seat. “You’re not completely innocent yourself.”
Guilt flared. But the weak had a tendency to clutch at anything if it meant shifting the blame.
“I am not calculating or manipulative, and I am not too intoxicated to know better,” Gabriel said. “So in comparison, whatever crime you believe me guilty of can’t be all that bad.”