A Curse of the Heart
Walking up to the door, he took a deep breath and rapped three times.
She opened it immediately, her radiant expression suggesting someone eagerly awaiting the arrival of a friend. Not a man set on disproving her theory, ready to leave her looking like a naive fool.
“Mr. Stone,” she said stepping back to bid him entry, “please, come in.” As her gaze drifted over his attire, she smiled. “Black suits you.”
He ran his hand down the front of his coat, intrigued by the obvious compliment and handing her his hat and gloves decided to offer one of his own.
“And I find white much prettier than brown.”
She blushed as she glanced down at the pale muslin dress, the silver-green bodice complementing the vibrancy of her copper curls.
“Well, it is more appropriate for an unmarried lady, as opposed to the dress I wore to Lord Banbury’s ball. That one was my mother’s as I do not own a ball gown of my own.”
The memory of how exquisite she looked in emerald green, how the material clung to her soft curves, made his mouth feel so parched he feared his top lip had stuck to his gum.
“White is very fetching, Miss Linwood,” he heard himself say and then wanted to kick himself in the shin for sounding so pathetic.
“Have you eaten, Mr. Stone?”
The answer was yes but for some reason, he said, “No, Miss Linwood, I have not.”
“Excellent,” she beamed. “I took the trouble of having Mrs. James prepare a light supper. Under the guise that I was so ravenous this evening, I would need a much larger portion. I’m sure there will be something amongst the assortment that will appeal to your appetite.”
While his face presented an affable smile, the voice in his head screamed for him to run, screamed for him to banish all the lustful thoughts clawing away at his needy body. He should be at home, reading or studying, or doing anything other than spending more time in the company of a flame-haired temptress.
“You should not have gone to any trouble,” he muttered, his gaze locked on the tempting sight of shapely ankles as he followed her up to the top floor.
“I’m afraid I have no formal dining room, so we shall have to eat in here.”
As she led him into the room, he sucked in a breath.
It was as though he had spent years roaming the darkness only to stumble upon a dazzling celestial palace. The room sparkled with light and vitality, and his eyes drank in the sight. The marble and gilt furniture, the white walls, and the abundance of mirrors made the room feel alive. As if it had a life beyond what the eye could see.
Miss Linwood noticed his open mouth. “My mother was an actress. Most of what you see belonged to her.” She waved her hand around the room. “She had a certain way about her, an illuminating presence that is reflected in this room. I have her hair, but that is where the likeness ends.”
She was wrong.
She had an illuminating presence too; he could see it and feel it. She had an undeniable sensual appeal more potent than any opiate. He glanced at the painting above the fireplace, at the face of an angel in the guise of Cleopatra.
“Is that your mother?”
Miss Linwood smiled, her face revealing genuine affection. “Yes. She was renowned for her performance of Cleopatra, which as you can imagine pleased my father no end.”
He stared at the painting, his thoughts drawn to Lord Wellford, to the man who had lived a double life. The man he obviously did not know very well at all.
Perhaps sensing an element of disquiet, she said, “My mother and father were in love, Mr. Stone. While I cannot approve of the circumstance they found themselves in, I cannot condemn them for following their hearts.”
“No.” The word was but a whisper. Now was not the time to drag up painful memories of his childhood.
“Come, let us eat,” she said, and he was grateful for the distraction.
They sat at a small mahogany table, talked of their love for the ancient world, nibbled on cold beef and drank too much claret. There were no awkward silences, no reprisals for breaches of etiquette and he almost forgot he’d only come to chase away the rats.
“Would you care for another drink, Mr. Stone?”
“No, thank you, Miss Linwood,” he said putting his hand over the glass to curb the temptation. Besides, he needed a clear head if he was going to convince her nothing sinister was going on here.
She glanced up at the clock on the mantel. “Well, it is after eleven. Perhaps we should take our places as I think it best I follow my usual routine.”