A Curse of the Heart

“What is the matter, Miss Linwood?” Miss Ecclestone asked. Her companion was betrothed to Lucas Dempsey and had also escaped being hit by the flying bust of Nefertiti.

“The gentleman standing in the doorway is Mr. Stone.”

Miss Ecclestone turned and followed her gaze. “Good heavens. He is waving his hand at you like a master summoning a disobedient dog. I suggest you stay here, Miss Linwood, and wait for him to find his manners.”

If an hour sitting on a cold step was anything to go by, Mr. Stone did not have any manners.

Rebecca met his hard, assessing gaze, her instincts telling her that if she missed this opportunity, he would not make the offer again.

“It is imperative I speak with him,” she said, the sense of urgency in her voice unmistakable, as she imagined being woken again by the torturous groans and rattling bed. “I would not expect you to understand, Miss Ecclestone, but I have no choice. I must go to him.”

Ignoring her companion’s wide eyes, Rebecca pushed her way through the crowd, pulled along by an invisible rope, her mind oblivious to any noise or distraction. Her steps only faltered when she was within a foot of Mr. Stone.

If there was a man in the world whose name perfectly portrayed his character, it was Gabriel Stone. He was tall and broad, his body as strong and as hard as granite, his muscular arms carved to perfection, his jaw rigid and unrelenting. Her gaze swept over him from head to toe, but he did not yield under such scrutiny. With a whip-like flick of the wrist, he brushed his black hair from his brow as an act of defiance. As she stared into those sinful brown eyes, she bit down on her bottom lip — and then she saw the veil fall, saw his gaze soften, if only for a moment.

Excellent, she thought, watching him blink rapidly to replace it.

“Mr. Stone,” she began, her tone conveying an inner confidence. “I am Miss Linwood. I called on you this morning. You shooed me away from your steps with the threat of being washed to the Thames in a stream of soapy suds.”

Gabriel Stone did not reply. He did not even have the decency to look embarrassed. But as his gaze drifted over her face, she felt a sudden jolt of awareness that forced her to swallow.

“Come with me, Miss Linwood,” he said, taking her by the elbow and guiding her along the busy corridor.

Rebecca ignored the raised brows and gaping glances. In an attempt to keep up with his long strides, she had no choice but to totter along behind him. In his impatience, she imagined him throwing her over his shoulder or waving a crude club as he grabbed her hair and dragged her off to his cave.

“Where are we going?” she asked, wondering if she had pinned all her hopes on a man who was quite clearly insane.

“To talk.”

His reply was cold and blunt and suddenly the noises at night didn’t seem quite so terrifying.

Mr. Stone strode into the library. Seeing it was empty, he let go of her elbow and closed the door. He retrieved a pair of spectacles from the inside pocket of his coat, fiddled with the wire and put them on.

“Do you mind telling me what this is?” he said, pointing to a lectern.

Rebecca couldn’t concentrate on the piece of wooden furniture, as her heart started pounding in her chest. In his spectacles, Gabriel Stone looked wise and scholarly while his firm jaw and full lips presented a perfectly wicked contradiction.

Dismissing the odd feeling the vision roused, she walked towards him. “I think you’ll find it is some sort of display case in the shape of a lectern. I imagine it is used for —”

“Not the lectern,” he said with mild irritation. “Can you tell me what’s inside it?”

Rebecca stepped closer and peered into the glass case. “Why? Don’t you know?”

“Of course I know,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I want to know if you do.”

Did he think her some sort of fool? How could someone with an interest in Egyptian antiquities not know of Becanus?

“Oh, that. It is a sixteenth-century parchment detailing the transcription of the pictorial language of the ancient Egyptians.”

Gabriel Stone raised an arrogant brow. “Lord Banbury could have told you that.”

“Becanus dedicated his life to deciphering their language,” she added.

“A textbook answer, Miss Linwood.”

Ignoring his tempting countenance, she thrust her hands on her hips. “What exactly is the problem here, Mr. Stone? What is it that disturbs you? That I am a woman or that I possess a modicum of intelligence.” When his mouth fell open, she added, “Of course, you must know Becanus’ theory is flawed.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched and his lips thinned. “I am aware of Becanus’ interpretation, Miss Linwood. But I am interested to hear your opinion.”