The Cursed One by Ronda Thompson

I do. I don’t know what is going on, but it isn’t your fault.”
    The girl shyly touched Lady Collingsworth’s hand. “Bless you for saying so, my lady.” The servant looked as surprised by Lady Collingsworth’s show of kindness as Gabriel felt.
    He hadn’t expected kindness toward a servant from Lady Collingsworth. He hadn’t expected the passion she’d shown upstairs. She became more intriguing to him by the moment. She turned from offering the girl comfort and looked at Gabriel.
    â€œI need to see him,” she said softly. “I cannot believe Robert is gone if I do not see him.”

    The lady had acted as if she believed Robert was gone easily enough upstairs, but that was not her fault. Gabriel was the guilty party. His scent had been what attracted Lady Collingsworth—what had made her act irrationally with him. His younger brother Jackson had once told him of this particular “gift” all Wulf brothers possessed.
    Gabriel had never to his knowledge used it upon a woman. Perhaps he couldn’t help it upstairs. Perhaps the scent simply seeped from him when he was unreasonably attracted to a woman.
    â€œI need to bury Robert,” Gabriel said. “Him and the other two in the stable.”
    Lady Collingsworth took a steadying breath. “Robert deserves a proper burial. One with his friends around him to mourn his passing. And how will I explain … I mean, if he was murdered …”
    â€œThere is no proof that he was murdered,” Gabriel reminded her. “I told you, there was not a scratch upon him. It was as if he’d been frightened to death.”
    The lady shuddered and he realized he had not taken care with her sensibilities. Gabriel wasn’t a stranger to women, but he preferred them as jaded and world-wise as he was himself. He had no idea how to deal with a delicate butterfly pleasing enough to look at but rather useless when it came to the harsh realities of life.
    â€œWe cannot leave Robert and the others as they are,” he said. “They deserve to be laid to rest.”
    The lady had steadied herself with a hand placed upon the back of Mora’s chair. She put a brave face forward, but Gabriel noted that her hand shook. “I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. “But please at least bury Lord
Collingsworth in the family cemetery. I know it must be somewhere on the property close to the house.”
    â€œNot far from here,” Gabriel said. When she lifted a brow, he explained, “We used to play there sometimes when we were boys. We’d hide behind the stones and jump out at one another.”
    Lady Collingsworth nodded. “Please, I’d like to see him now.”
    â€œBut your breakfast, my lady,” Mora said. “You need your strength.”
    The lady shook her head. “I find my appetite seems to diminish the moment food is placed before me. I’d rather get this behind me.”
    â€œThen I’ll come along and offer you my support,” the girl said.
    Lady Collingsworth pressed a hand to the girl’s shoulder gratefully. Gabriel placed his napkin aside and rose. He paused to pull Mora’s chair out for her, a gesture that seemed to surprise the servant almost as much as Lady Collingsworth’s comfort had earlier. Gabriel reasoned it probably was for the best that Lady Collingsworth viewed her husband’s body. She needed some type of closure regarding what had happened last night.
    Although Gabriel still wasn’t certain what was going on at Collingsworth Manor, he could at least allow the lady to grieve. His leg throbbed, but the wound felt better than it had for the past two weeks. Gabriel tried not to limp as he led the way to the root cellar.
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    The root cellar reminded Amelia of a crypt in itself, with its damp smell and cool, dark confines. Her legs
trembled beneath her gown, but she put one foot in front of the other and followed