A Curse of the Heart

The butler eventually opened the door, but only wide enough to fit a boot between it and the jamb. When his disapproving gaze scanned her from head to toe, she knew he was not going to let her in.

With all the strength she could muster, she barged past him. “Gabriel!” she cried, running into all the rooms off the hall. “Gabriel.”

The butler tried to grab her arm, but she shirked out of his hold and ran up the stairs, banging on every closed door. “Gabriel.”

Eventually, a door opened at the end of the landing and Gabriel hurried out. His breeches hanging loosely from his waist as he threw a shirt over his head.

“Rebecca,” he said with some surprise. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He turned to face the irate butler, whose ragged breathing sounded more like hoarse grunts. “All is well, Cosgrove. I am acquainted with Miss Linwood. You may go back to bed.”

The butler’s horrified gaze fell to the puddle of water beneath her feet.

“It’s the museum,” she panted, wishing she could run into Gabriel’s arms, wishing he could soothe away all her troubles. “There are men … there are men in the museum.”

Gabriel rushed over and took her hands in his. “My God, your hands are freezing cold and your lips are blue.”

“I ran … I ran all the way here.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “You’re wet through. Cosgrove, find some towels and wake Mrs. Hudson. Miss Linwood will need a bath and some dry clothes.”

Rebecca gripped Gabriel’s forearm, the hard muscle flexing beneath her touch. “If they damage anything,” she said holding back the tears. “I cannot lose my father’s relics.”

Gabriel raised his hand and brushed the wet tendrils of hair from her face, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “How many men were there?”

“Two. I think there were two.”

“Come, you can sit in my room. The fire is still burning in the grate. You may take your bath in there.” He swung back around to his butler. “Wake Higson and tell him to have the horses ready in five minutes. He is to accompany me to Miss Linwood’s house.”

Cosgrove glanced at his master, and Rebecca could have sworn the beginnings of a smile threatened to play on his grim lips. “Very well, sir,” he said, before trudging back down the stairs.

Gabriel led her into his room, the intimacy of the gesture causing her desperate need for him to resurface. He led her over to the fire and removed the wet cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“Come and sit here,” he said, pulling the chair closer to the fire before guiding her to the seat. “I must get dressed, but we will talk when I return.”

Rebecca nodded and turned her attention to the fiery flickers, rubbing her hands together in front of them in a bid to stop her from turning around.

“Do you think they will still be there?” she said, scanning what she could see of the forest-green walls and dark furniture. The room had an inherently masculine feel, a heavy brooding intensity that mirrored its owner. The potent smell of wood and spice brought back memories of their illicit kiss.

“I hope so,” he growled, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him pulling on his boots. He came to stand at her side, and she felt a large reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Hudson will provide anything you need. I shall be back shortly.”

She looked up into sinful brown eyes. “If they have damaged anything. If they have —”

When he placed his finger on her lips, she felt a tremor shake her body and had a sudden urge to kiss it, to feel it trace the outline of her mouth. “Do not talk of it until we know for sure.”

Gabriel planted a chaste kiss on her forehead and hurried from the room with purposeful strides. It occurred to her, that since her father’s death, she had been living a lie.

Despite her independence, despite her ability to provide for herself, she was weak and useless without the protection of a man. The thought brought memories of lonely suppers, of having no one to talk to about her hopes and dreams, of lying cold and unloved in her bed.

Thankfully, her melancholic mood was broken by the sound of the door opening as a tall, slim woman came in. Her tired eyes caused her features to look even more severe than her hollow cheeks suggested. “I’m Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper,” she said, her soft voice contradicting her countenance. “Let’s get you behind the screen and out of those wet clothes. Cosgrove will stoke the fire while the footman fills the tub.”

The intimate space suddenly thrummed with activity as the staff busied about, coming to the aid of a stranger.

Although Rebecca noticed the curious glances darting between them, no one asked any questions or gave the impression there was anything untoward in a young lady turning up half-dressed in the middle of the night. Indeed, they almost looked pleased at the prospect.

When it came to getting into the tub, her toes were so cold the water pained her. It took three attempts until they grew accustomed to the temperature. Rebecca bent her knees so she could rest her head on the back of the copper bath. The warm water lapped over her aching bones, and she cupped it in her hands and swished it over her shoulders.

This was where he bathed, she thought, knowing this obsession she had for him was like a living thing growing inside of her. She could almost feel him in the room. His exotic smell fed her addiction, and she closed her eyes and let the essence of the man she had grown so attached to, calm her restless soul.

Chapter 13