A Curse of the Heart

Tears filled her eyes, her hands trembling at the thought, her airway closing as she sucked in a breath. She tried to concentrate on something tangible; on all the things she should be grateful for — Gabriel, her antiquities, even her brothers. The memory of all those who’d come to her rescue overriding all negative thoughts. The feeling that she should use the experience to her advantage, to forge ahead with her plans for the future, suddenly pushing to the fore.

Only one question remained: should she plan for a future that included Gabriel?

Part of her wanted to tell him she would stay at home and not travel to Egypt. She would be here whenever he needed her; the lure of the exotic, nothing compared the lure of being with him. But what if he struggled to commit? What if this was just a fleeting dalliance?

Feeling a deep ache in her chest, she slapped her hand over her heart, lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The pain of even contemplating a life without him was beyond anything she’d ever felt before.

Her mind began to wander, began to imagine a life where they lived together, an erotic fantasy of amorous frolicking, of gratifying indulgence, of love, of a home and family. They were together always, forever, and as her breathing slowed, she sank deeper into the blissful world, got lost in the beautiful dream.

With a heavy heart, Gabriel climbed the stairs to find no sign of Rebecca. Plate in hand, he walked down to her bedchamber and knocked gently. When she failed to answer, he eased the door away from the jamb and peered inside the dimly lit room.

Rebecca lay on the bed dressed in nothing but her chemise, the soft rise and fall of her chest suggesting she’d fallen asleep.

He entered the room and closed the door, put his cold platter on the small table and walked around the bed to stand at her side.

She looked ethereal, magical, her vibrant copper tresses spilling onto the coverlet in soft waves. Even in sleep, she appeared happy and content, the soothing sound of her breathing calling out to him like a siren’s song.

Good God, he’d never loved anything more in his entire life.

He was a bloody fool!

He should have told her how he felt when he had the chance, but an upsurge of raw emotion had hit the back of his throat, all coherent words lost to him.

Moving to the opposite side of the bed, he pulled down the coverlet and then returned to Rebecca, scooping her up in his arms with the intention of putting her into bed.

As he lowered her down, she gave a pleasurable hum. “I love you,” she whispered before turning on her side and cuddling into the pillow.

With a lump in his t

hroat, he pulled the covers up around her shoulders and stroked her hair. “And I love you,” he whispered in reply.

It felt good to say the words aloud, to acknowledge the depth of his feelings. Indeed, it took a tremendous amount of effort not to wake her and declare it a hundred times over.

He’d often wondered if such an intense physical desire would naturally progress into love. He’d wondered if the ache in his loins would become an ache in his heart, as though the two things were separate. Now, he knew the two were woven together. His body throbbed at the thought of joining with her while his heart rejoiced at the prospect.

After finishing his meal, he stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed, his manhood stirring in response to the intimacy of the action. When her hand fluttered over his chest, she snuggled into him, and he clenched his teeth as he fought back the demands of his body.

Suffice to say, he struggled to sleep, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of the future, thoughts that did little to dampen his desire. When dawn came, he climbed out of bed, dressed quickly and went in search of paper and an inkwell.

Scrawling a note for Rebecca to meet him in Hanover Square at noon, Gabriel waited for Mrs. James to return, giving her the letter and specific instructions before leaving.

It was ten o’clock by the time he left George Wellford’s house. On his return to Hanover Square, Cosgrove gave no indication that his master’s absence was anything out of the ordinary.

“When Miss Linwood arrives you’re to escort her down into the cellar.”

For a second, Cosgrove’s eyes widened, and then he blinked, the hooded lids falling back into place. “To the cellar, sir,” he reiterated his tone absent of any inflection.

“I don’t have much time,” Gabriel said, shrugging out of his coat. “But I’ll need some boxes or old crates, anything you can lay your hands on. Bring them down to me.” Gabriel raced past Cosgrove and shouted over his shoulder. “And tell Higson I’ll need his help.”

He set about clearing out the cellar, packaged up all his notes and put them in a box. “Put this one in my study,” he said as Higson came plodding back into the room. “Leave the equipment in the crate and I’ll donate it to one of the scientific societies at the University.”

Higson nodded. “Miss Linwood’s arrived. She’s waiting upstairs.”

Gabriel brushed the dust from his waistcoat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Ask her to come down, would you, Higson.”

Taking a deep breath to calm the pounding in his chest, he stood next to the long table. Deciding his stance was similar to a dignitary posing for a portrait, he moved to the door, just as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

He felt awkward, nervous, but then she smiled.