A Curse of the Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

prepare a light supper. Under the guise that I was so ravenous this evening, I would need a much larger portion. I’m sure there will be something amongst the assortment that will appeal to your appetite.”
    While his face presented an affable smile, the voice in his head screamed for him to run, screamed for him to banish all the lustful thoughts clawing away at his needy body. He should be at home, reading or studying, or doing anything other than spending more time in the company of a flame-haired temptress.
    “You should not have gone to any trouble,” he muttered, his gaze locked on the tempting sight of shapely ankles as he followed her up to the top floor.
    “I’m afraid I have no formal dining room, so we shall have to eat in here.”
    As she led him into the room, he sucked in a breath.
    It was as though he had spent years roaming the darkness only to stumble upon a dazzling celestial palace. The room sparkled with light and vitality, and his eyes drank in the sight. The marble and gilt furniture, the white walls, and the abundance of mirrors made the room feel alive. As if it had a life beyond what the eye could see.
    Miss Linwood noticed his open mouth. “My mother was an actress. Most of what you see belonged to her.” She waved her hand around the room. “She had a certain way about her, an illuminating presence that is reflected in this room. I have her hair, but that is where the likeness ends.”
    She was wrong.
    She had an illuminating presence too; he could see it and feel it. She had an undeniable sensual appeal more potent than any opiate. He glanced at the painting above the fireplace, at the face of an angel in the guise of Cleopatra.
    “Is that your mother?”
    Miss Linwood smiled, her face revealing genuine affection. “Yes. She was renowned for her performance of Cleopatra, which as you can imagine pleased my father no end.”
    He stared at the painting, his thoughts drawn to Lord Wellford, to the man who had lived a double life. The man he obviously did not know very well at all.
    Perhaps sensing an element of disquiet, she said, “My mother and father were in love, Mr. Stone. While I cannot approve of the circumstance they found themselves in, I cannot condemn them for following their hearts.”
    “No.” The word was but a whisper. Now was not the time to drag up painful memories of his childhood.
    “Come, let us eat,” she said, and he was grateful for the distraction.
    They sat at a small mahogany table, talked of their love for the ancient world, nibbled on cold beef and drank too much claret. There were no awkward silences, no reprisals for breaches of etiquette and he almost forgot he’d only come to chase away the rats.
    “Would you care for another drink, Mr. Stone?”
    “No, thank you, Miss Linwood,” he said putting his hand over the glass to curb the temptation. Besides, he needed a clear head if he was going to convince her nothing sinister was going on here.
    She glanced up at the clock on the mantel. “Well, it is after eleven. Perhaps we should take our places as I think it best I follow my usual routine.”
    “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