A Curse of the Heart

“She also married a man more than twice her age,” Rebecca added.

“Yes, but he truly loved her. Is that not what is important? Is that not what you wish for yourself?”

A hard lump formed in her throat. The words were another reminder she was alone in the world. No one truly cared for her, and it didn’t matter how many times she swallowed, it would not go away.

“I am not the sort to indulge in whimsical fantasies, Mr. Stone,” she said, aware her voice sounded strained.

“Yet another thing we seem to have in common.”

Why did he persist in sayings things that made her body react in a multitude of different ways? One minute she felt as though she had a stone tablet stuck in her throat, the next her stomach was overrun with an infestation of butterflies. It wasn’t just what he said. It was the way the words fell from his lips, the rich drawl that teased and stroked her senses.

“I think we seem to have drifted from the point,” she said, mentally shaking herself. “As my curator, I must assume that Mr. Pearce is innocent of any wrongdoing until such a time he proves otherwise.”

He placed the list on her desk. When their eyes met, his arched brow suggested she was extremely naive. “In my book, it is always best to assume a person is guilty until they prove otherwise.”

Rebecca could not help but wonder what had happened in his life for him to have such a cynical view of the world. Indeed, cynicism was a principal he applied to most things, including love and marriage.

“Well, in some things we are different,” she sighed. “Shall we go and see what damage has been done to the storeroom?”

He nodded and waved his hand for her to lead the way.

The storeroom door was still open. Various boxes and crates were scattered about the floor, and the untidy spectacle caused her to draw a deep breath.

Gabriel put his arm out to prevent her from dashing in. “Mind where you walk. There is glass on the floor from the cabinet.” He pointed to the display case on the far wall. “It is my fault. I swung the candlestick at the intruder but misjudged the space. I shall, of course, pay to have it replaced.”

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, you have done more than enough to compensate.” It wasn’t until he raised a sinful brow that she was aware of what she’d said. “I was referring to your help with the intruder,” she clarified.

“Oh, there’s no need to be shy, Miss Linwood. It’s gratifying to know one’s efforts have not gone unnoticed.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I shall go and get a broom.

He was busy inspecting the room when she returned: rummaging around in crates and moving boxes and so she brushed the floor to clear a walkway.

“You know, you really should have this on display,” he said, removing a bronze spoon from one of the boxes. “It’s Eighteenth Dynasty, and I have yet to see a finer specimen.”

“Put it back,” she groaned. “I know where everything is, or at least I did.”

He put it back in the box and covered it with straw. “Then you should look around to see if anything is missing. Perhaps theft was the motive. Perhaps the culprit hoped the noises would prevent you from venturing down here.”

“I think you forget, the noises started after I read from the scroll,” she said, propping the broom up against the wall before opening one of the boxes. “Are you not the least bit intrigued to see what it says?”

“No. Not yet. We have already established there is no such thing as a curse. Someone is doing their utmost to scare you. The operative word being someone and not something.” He glanced up at the ceiling and then moved to stand at the side of the cabinet. “Step back a few paces.”

Rebecca obeyed his command.

“But it cannot all be a coincidence. I mean, there is the matter of the bed shaking and the wind rattling my shutters. Why are you moving the cabinet?”

He peered behind the tall wooden structure and then plastered his body flat against the wall, stretching his hand behind until his arm was lost from view. “There is something hanging from the wall,” he said. “It’s probably nothing, but — wait a moment — it’s a rope.”

The sound of her bed creaking above stairs caught Rebecca’s attent

ion. “Did you hear that? It’s coming from my room.”

“Would you mind passing me the broom?”

Rebecca handed him the broom, his fingers brushing against hers as he grasped the handle. She watched him poke at the ceiling and heard a crackle as the plaster crumbled away.

“The rope goes up through a hole in the ceiling,” he said, pulling out his arm and brushing the sleeve of his coat. “We should go upstairs and inspect your room.”