Rebecca was touched by her housekeeper’s words, even though she hoped Mr. Stone had misread her friendly countenance for something far more sinful.
“Thank you for your concern, Mrs. James, but there is no need to worry.”
That was another lie. There was every need to worry, as Rebecca could not stop her heart from beating rapidly in his presence. She could not stop desire unfurling in her stomach at the sound of his voice. She could not stop her body from burning at the slightest touch of his fingers.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Mrs. James said with a nod. “Well, now you’re all settled I’d best be on my way.”
“It must be nearly midnight,” Rebecca replied, trying to distract her mind from thoughts of Gabriel Stone. “Surely you’re not walking home?”
Mrs. James smiled as she opened the door. “No. Our eldest, Tom, came to meet me. He’s been in the kitchen for the last hour, tucking into a bowl of broth. No need to follow me down,” she said. “Mr. Pearce gave me his key, so I’ll lock the door on my way out.”
A tinge of guilt pricked Rebecca’s conscience for feeling so annoyed at the housekeeper’s untimely presence. Although she felt a sense of relief knowing Mr. Pearce could not enter the building without her knowledge.
“Thank you for waiting, Mrs. James. I shall see you in the morning.”
As Rebecca brushed out her hair, she listened to the housekeeper’s heavy gait plodding down the stairs. Being on the third floor, she heard nothing else after that.
Life was so much simpler when she had no one to think of but herself. Being alone had many advantages. There was no pressing need to forge alliances with estranged family. No feelings of guilt hanging around one’s neck like thick links of chain — no feelings of disappointment.
As she climbed into bed, her thoughts drifted back to Gabriel. Being alone also meant no more passionate kisses, no more flirtatious banter to thaw her frozen heart. No heated glances or dreams of love.
Thoughts of love and loneliness drove sleep away from her door. As an hour passed, she did everything she could to clear her muddled mind: closed her eyes and listened to the rain hammer against the window pane, took long deep breaths to calm her restless body.
In the end, she got up, decided to make a pot of tea and read a few pages of her father’s notebook. The floor felt cold beneath her feet, the breeze blowing in from behind the shutters causing her to shiver, and so she shuffled back into her dancing slippers and grabbed the silk cloak off the chair.
There was something about the dark. Even in an empty house, it made one conscious of making the slightest sound. But as she padded quietly across the landing to the top of the stairs, the faint hum of silence was not t
he only thing she heard. This time, the whispering wasn’t coming from the storeroom, but from inside the Egyptian museum and she tried to think of a rational explanation to calm her racing heart.
Perhaps Tom hadn’t finished eating his broth. Perhaps Mrs. James had decided to potter about while waiting. Rebecca thought to call out to her, but the distinctively masculine voices broke the silence.
“I have not come here to look at a pile of dusty old stones.”
“Shh, be quiet, or you’ll wake her up.”
“That is my intention.”
Rebecca gripped the handrail, fear creeping through her veins like a vine, wrapping itself around her throat until she could hardly breathe. She could hear two voices, their eloquent tone suggesting they were not thieves from the rookery, but privileged men of the aristocracy.
“Give me that. You’ve drunk far more than your share.”
“Perhaps we should locate her room and introduce ourselves.”
“I told you. There is something I need to do here.”
“I can wait. I suppose the thrill of anticipation heats the blood.”
Every muscle in her body grew taut, and she struggled to swallow.
She had to get out of the house. Yet the overwhelming need to protect her father’s relics caused an internal war to rage. Images of shattered vases and smashed stone tablets flooded her mind. Perhaps she should confront these men, hoping they were true gentlemen beneath all the bravado and simply up to drunken mischief?
Then she heard her father’s voice in her head telling her to run. Without another thought, she forced her hesitant feet to move quickly down the stairs, before slipping out into the street in the dead of night.
The rain fell hard, lashing off the stone paving, soaking through her dainty slippers in just a few short strides. Blinking away the rivulets trickling down her face, she hurried along Piccadilly. Her legs were aware of the route she wanted to take even though her mind was unable to string together any coherent thoughts.
By the time she reached New Bond Street, she was out of breath. But she continued running, despite the searing pain in her chest and the burning in her throat. The faster she ran, the heavier her garments became, the sodden material sticking to her body like a second skin.
When she finally reached Hanover Square, she threw herself at Gabriel’s door, pounding it with numb fists.