A Curse of the Heart

“And what is that? What is your usual routine?”

“Well, I wash and change out of my clothes. I lock the door to my chamber and wear the key on a ribbon around my neck.” She put her hand to her throat, her delicate fingers tracing the line of the imagined ribbon and suddenly the tips of her fingers became the tip of his tongue. “Then I climb into bed and wait.”

He needed another glass of claret, a large one, preferably a bottle.

In a bid to focus his attention, he jumped out of his chair and picked up the candlestick from the middle of the table.

“Very well, let us go to your chamber and take our places.”

With a spring in her step, Miss Linwood led him towards the door but then stopped abruptly, forcing him to cover the flame with his hand.

“Of course, you cannot come inside my chamber,” she said, by way of clarification, her face flushing a pretty shade of pink. “I do not think it would be appropriate.”

Gabriel suppressed a grin. If he wanted to ravish her, he did not need to be in her bedchamber to do it. Just to prove his theory, his mind concocted the perfect image of a naked Miss Linwood stretched out on the chaise.

“You do not need to un-undress,” he said, stumbling over the word. “But I do need to be with you when you hear the noises.” By way of reinforcing his point, he added, “It is the only way to be certain we hear the same things.”

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned him from head to toe.

“May I remind you that you asked me here this evening,” he continued. “You asked me to help you solve the mystery of the ancient curse.” He was being a little dramatic but did not want to admit it had taken no effort at all to persuade him to come this evening.

“You’re right,” she said lifting her chin. “Come, Mr. Stone. You may follow me.”

Miss Linwood took the candlestick from his hand and with a swish of her skirt went out into the hallway.

The shabby corridor felt dark and oppressive as opposed to the feeling of pure decadence created in the drawing room. Gabriel wondered what the decor in her bedchamber would reveal about her character.

As she opened the door, he noticed her hand tremble. Did the room remind her of her nightmares or was it his presence in such an intimate space that affected her most?

Gabriel followed her inside, watched her light the candelabra at her bedside and despite all his pious protestations, thoughts of seduction swamped his mind.

The decor in the room did not help matters: the red walls, the deep-red hangings on the canopy bed, the soft muted light, all excited his senses and fed his ravenous appetite.

What the hell was wrong with him?

As she brushed past him to lock the door, he covered her hand with his own, trying his best to dismiss the fire coursing through his veins.

“You do not need to lock the door tonight,” he said, quickly dropping his hand before he did something he would later regret.

“If you’re sure.”

He simply nodded, fearing his voice would reveal the depth of his desire and so feigned interest in the oak furnishings, in the view from the window, in anything to help cool his heated blood.

“These are an unusual choice,” he finally said, pulling the black shutters closed. They felt cold to the touch, the wood moist, and he could smell a faint hint of soil.

“They were not my choice,” she replied. “The wind rattles the window at night, and they only serve to enhance the sound.”

“I imagine the noise is rather like an echo.” He turned to face her, pulling his watch from his pocket. “It’s eleven thirty. Perhaps we should take our positions.”

The corners of her mouth curved slightly, the weak smile revealing nerves, apprehension, he was not sure. “Where do you want me?” she whispered.

Oh, he could answer that question. He wanted her everywhere and every way he possibly could. “Follow your usual routine,” he said bringing his fist to his mouth to cough, resisting the urge to bite down on his knuckles. “As I said, you do not need to get undressed. I shall pull the chair up to the bed and sit here.”

Picking up the chair from the corner of the room, he positioned it in such a way as to offer a perfect view of the door, before hanging his coat over the back and taking a seat.

“Normally, I undress and then wash here,” she said, pouring water from a pitcher into a floral bowl. She set about washing her hands, rolling the soap between her elegant fingers, and a waft of lavender drifted through the air just to tease him. She was still wearing her muslin dress, but that was not the vision he saw. “Then I lock the door,” she continued as she dried her hands, “fasten the key around my neck and climb into bed.”

“And the candles?”