The smell of ink and oil was thick in the air. The massive iron press stood silent. Lacey, a stout, bald man with a florid face full of overgrown whiskers, was in the corner. He was examining a bundle of paper. He wore a leather apron over his ink-stained clothes. A bottle of gin was poking out of one of the apron pockets.
“Lacey, there is something I wish to discuss with you,” Gabriel said, closing the door.
“What’s that?” Lacey turned his head and glared at Gabriel with rheumy eyes. “Oh, it’s you, m’lord. Now, see here, if you’ve come to complain about not getting paid enough for your last book, you’re wasting your time. I told you my partner has put all that sort of thing into the hands of a solicitor. I don’t worry about the damned money anymore.”
Gabriel smiled coldly. “It’s not the money that concerns me, Lacey.”
“Well, now, that’s a relief.” Lacey straightened and pulled the bottle out of his apron pocket. He scowled at Gabriel as he took a healthy swig of gin. “You wouldn’t believe how many authors get difficult when it comes to money.”
“What interests me is the name of your partner.”
Lacey choked on his mouthful of gin. He swallowed frantically and then burst out in a fit of coughing. “Afraid I cannot discuss it, m’lord. Anonymous. Just like you.”
“I want the name, Lacey.”
“Now, see here, what gives you the right to pry into my private business?”
“If you don’t give me the name of your partner, I shall see to it that my new manuscript, which is almost completed, is delivered to another publisher.”
Lacey stared at him in horror. “You wouldn’t do that, my lord. After all we’ve done for you?”
“I don’t want to take A Reckless Venture elsewhere, but if you force me to do so, I shall.”
Lacey sat down hard in a wooden chair. “You’re a hard man, m’lord.”
“I’m a cautious man, Lacey. I like to know who I’m dealing with when I do business.”
Lacey squinted at him and wiped his nose on the back of his stained sleeve. “You won’t tell her I told ye? She’s real insistent on keeping her name a secret. Her family wouldn’t approve of her getting involved in trade.”
“Trust me,” Gabriel said grimly. “I can keep a secret.”
Thursday morning Gabriel sat at his desk and worked on the last scenes of A Reckless Venture. He was rather pleased with the story. In a few days he would have it delivered to his publisher.
He would then await the letter of acceptance or rejection. It would certainly be interesting to see what Lacey’s partner had to say about the manuscript.
Gabriel reluctantly looked up from his work when his new butler, Shelton, opened the door.
“Two ladies to see you, sir.” Shelton did not look as though he approved of the visitors. “They would not give me their names.”
“Show them in, Shelton.” Gabriel put down his pen and got to his feet.
He smiled to himself. The only woman he knew who would be bold enough to pay a call on a man was Phoebe. She no doubt wanted to give him more orders, directions and suggestions. He wondered whom she had brought with her. Her maid, no doubt.
He was aware of a sense of anticipation, just as he had been on Tuesday when he had met her at Hammond’s Bookshop. The feeling was a decidedly sensual one. He had a sudden vision of himself making love to Phoebe right here in his library. It just might be possible, he concluded.
If the little fool was silly enough to risk her reputation by coming here today, he certainly had no qualms about putting her reputation even more at risk.
After all, the lady was a born deceiver. She had been weaving her illusions right from the start.
At that moment the door opened again and two elegantly gowned and heavily veiled women appeared in the doorway. Gabriel experienced a sharp stab of disappointment. Although he could not see their faces, he knew immediately that neither of them was Phoebe.
He would know Phoebe anywhere now, veiled or unveiled. It was not just her slight limp that marked her. There was something about the way she held her head, something about the way her colorful, high-waisted gowns framed her breasts and skimmed the contours of her hips that he would always recognize.
He slanted a wistful glance at the green velvet sofa near the hearth. So much for his budding plans to spend the next hour seducing his outrageous lady.
“Good morning, ladies.” Gabriel quirked a brow as his two visitors took seats in front of the desk. “I see that a taste for the veil runs in your family. Perhaps all the Clarington females have a heretofore unacknowledged religious vocation.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Wylde.” Lady Clarington lifted her veil with gloved fingers and secured it on top of her clever little blue hat. “I have no more interest in the religious life than you do.”
Meredith raised her veil also and fastened it atop her fashionable flower-trimmed bonnet. She gazed at Gabriel with reproachful blue eyes. “You always did have an odd sense of humor, Wylde.”
“Thank you, Lady Trowbridge.” Gabriel inclined his head. “I have always thought that some sense of humor was better than none at all.”
Meredith blinked uncertainly. “I never did understand you.”
“No, I am aware of that fact.” Gabriel sat down and clasped his hands together on his desk. “Shall we continue to exchange amusing jests, or will you two ladies condescend to tell me the reason for this visit.”
“I would have thought the reason for our visit was obvious,” Lydia said with a sigh. “We’re here about Phoebe, of course. Meredith insisted.”
Meredith cast her mother a chiding glance and then turned her attention back to Gabriel. “We have come to plead with you, Wylde. We are here to throw ourselves at your mercy and beg you not to ruin Phoebe’s life.”
“Assuming that is your intention, of course,” Lydia murmured. She peered intently around the library, unconsciously squinting. “Don’t suppose you managed to pick up a fortune out in the South Seas, did you?”
Gabriel gave her a deliberately bland look of inquiry. “Why do you ask, Lady Clarington?”
“Would have made things so much simpler,” Lydia said. “That way you could marry Phoebe and no one would bat an eye. We wouldn’t be going through all this nonsense.”
“Mama, please try to comprehend what is happening here,” Meredith said tightly. “His lordship does not love Phoebe. He is plotting to use her.”
“Doubt that will work,” Lydia said bluntly. “Very difficult to use Phoebe unless she wants to be used. She’s much too strong-minded for that sort of thing.”
Meredith’s dainty jaw was rigid. She folded her hands together in her lap and faced Gabriel. “Sir, I know that you have struck up this friendship with Phoebe so that you can use her to punish the rest of us. I beg you to consider that she had nothing to do with what happened eight years ago. She was a mere child at the time.”
“You told me that night that she was the one who figured out how to tie the bedsheets together so that you could lower yourself out the window,” Gabriel could not resist saying.
Tears shimmered in Meredith’s lovely eyes. “Surely you would not punish her for that. She did not understand. She thought it was all a grand adventure. She had been reading those books you were forever giving to me and she had some childish notion that you were a modern-day knight of the Round Table. Heavens, I think she saw you as King Arthur himself.”
Lydia looked suddenly alert. “Do you know, I believe you may be on to something, Meredith. Looking back on it, I do believe that was about the time Phoebe developed her lamentable enthusiasm for medieval legends and such. Yes, it all makes sense now.” She frowned at Gabriel. “It is all your fault, Wylde.”
Gabriel gave her a sharp look. “My fault?”
“Yes, of course.” Lydia squinted thoughtfully. “You were the one who got her started on that nonsense. As far as I am concerned, you have already very nearly ruined her life.”
“Now, h
old on one minute here.” It occurred to Gabriel that he was losing control of the situation. “I have done nothing to ruin Phoebe’s life. Not yet, at any rate.”
Meredith’s eyes widened in shock as the implication of his last words sank in.
“Yes, you have,” Lydia said, ignoring the implied threat. “She has never married because of you. I blame her current status as a spinster entirely on you.”
“Me?” Gabriel stared at Lydia, trying to follow her crazed logic. “You can hardly blame me for the fact that you have not been able to marry her off.”
“Yes, I can. Her interest in that medieval nonsense caused her to become far too particular when it came to suitors. None of them could equal the knights in those silly stories she was forever reading.”
“Now, see here,” Gabriel began.
“Furthermore,” Lydia continued, “she has always complained that none of her suitors shared her interest in medieval lore. Except for that dreadful Neil Baxter, of course. Is that not right, Meredith?”
“Quite correct, Mama,” Meredith agreed grimly. “But I do not think that is what we wish to discuss with his lordship. There are more pressing problems.”
“Good heavens.” Lydia frowned. “I cannot imagine anything more pressing than getting Phoebe married off to a suitable husband.” She gave Gabriel a conspiratorial look. “In spite of the damage you have done, we still have great hopes for bringing Kilbourne up to scratch, you know.”
“Do you, indeed?” Gabriel found the information irritating. Phoebe had not mentioned that Kilbourne was on the verge of making an offer. He discovered he did not care for the notion.
Meredith gave her mother a repressive look. “Mama, if Wylde ruins Phoebe, we shall never get her married off to anyone at all, let alone to Kilbourne.”
“Oh, dear.” Lydia squinted at Gabriel. “See here, you’re not actually planning to ruin my daughter, are you?”
Meredith jerked a lace hankie out of her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. “Of course he is, Mama. That is what this is all about. It is his notion of revenge.” She looked up at Gabriel, eyes brimming with crystal tears. “I beg you to give it up, my lord.”
“Why should I?” Gabriel asked politely.
“For the sake of what we once had,” Meredith cried.
“We did not have all that much, as I recall.” Gabriel studied her beautiful, tear-filled eyes and wondered offhandedly what he had ever seen in Meredith. He reflected briefly on the narrow escape he’d had eight years ago and sent up a small prayer of gratitude to whichever saint watched over naive young men.
“Please, my lord. Think of Phoebe.”
“It is difficult not to,” Gabriel admitted. “She is a very interesting female.”
“And an innocent one,” Meredith put in quickly.
Gabriel shrugged. “If you say so.”
Meredith stared at him in shocked outrage. “Are you implying otherwise, sir?”
“No.” Gabriel thought about Neil Baxter, wondering not for the first time just how deeply Phoebe had cared for the man. “Phoebe and I have never discussed the matter in detail.”
“I should hope not,” Lydia said sternly. “My daughter may be a trifle eccentric, sir, but she is a perfectly respectable young female. Her reputation is unstained.”
“Eccentric? I would suggest she is more than a trifle eccentric,” Gabriel retorted.
Lydia shrugged elegantly. “Very well. She has a few unusual interests, the blame for which I lay at your door. But I am certain those can be overlooked by the right man.”
“It is not just her unusual interests that would concern me if I were responsible for her,” Gabriel said.
“Oh, all right. I will admit she is a bit strong-minded on occasion,” Lydia conceded. “Perhaps even a shade willful. And she does have a certain independent attitude that some might find objectionable, but there is nothing significant in that.”
“Good lord.” Gabriel realized Phoebe’s family had no notion of just how outrageous she had become. He wondered what Lady Clarington would say were he to inform her that her youngest daughter had taken to meeting men at midnight and setting out on quests to find murderers.
Meredith gave Gabriel a piteous glance. “Sir, will you please give us your word that you will not continue to encourage this friendship with my sister? We both know you are not sincere in it.”
“Is that right?” Gabriel asked.
Meredith sniffed into her hankie. “I am not a fool, sir. And neither are the other members of my family. We all know you have revenge in mind. I beg you on bended knee to reconsider that notion. Phoebe does not deserve to suffer for what happened.”
“Perhaps not, but one must work with the material that is available,” Gabriel said.
At ten-thirty that evening Gabriel propped one shoulder against the wall of the Brantleys’ magnificent ballroom and sipped champagne. He was wearing a simple black mask and a black cloak over his evening clothes. Many of the guests, however, were dressed in amazingly elaborate costumes.
He had spotted Phoebe a few minutes ago, shortly after he had arrived. Given what he knew of her interests and her taste in colors, it had not been difficult to find her in the crowd.
She was wearing a high, wide medieval headdress and a gold half mask. Her sleek, dark hair was bound up in a net that glittered with gold thread. Her brilliant turquoise and gold gown was also medieval in style. Her gold satin dancing slippers sparkled as she moved through the crowd on the arm of a man in a brown domino.
Gabriel recognized her companion at once. The brown half mask and matching cloak did not do much to conceal Kilbourne’s fair hair or the painfully polite expression on his face.
Gabriel smiled to himself. Phoebe was obviously having a good time, but it was apparent that Kilbourne was merely enduring the masquerade.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he watched Kilbourne attempt to pull Phoebe closer to his side. The sight of Phoebe’s fingers resting on the earl’s sleeve annoyed him. He recalled what Lady Clarington had said about the prospects of Kilbourne making an offer.
Gabriel put down his champagne glass and walked across the crowded room to where Kilbourne and Phoebe stood talking.
Phoebe looked up as he approached. He saw her topaz eyes flash with recognition behind her half mask. Her soft mouth curved into a delighted smile.
“Good evening, Lord Wylde,” Phoebe said. “Are you acquainted with Kilbourne?”
“We’ve met.” Kilbourne nodded brusquely. “Same clubs, I believe.”
“Good evening, Kilbourne,” Gabriel said. He turned to Phoebe. “I wonder if I might have the next dance, Lady Phoebe?”
“Now, see here, sir,” Kilbourne sputtered. “Lady Phoebe is not entirely comfortable on the dance floor.”
“Rubbish,” Phoebe declared. “I would love to dance.” She smiled cheerfully at Kilbourne. “Perhaps I shall see you later, sir.”
Kilbourne’s irritation was obvious as he inclined his head politely over her hand. “I shall be eagerly awaiting another opportunity to converse with you, Lady Phoebe. As I was saying a moment ago, I would like to speak to you in private later this evening.”
“We shall see,” Phoebe said noncommittally as she accepted Gabriel’s arm.
Gabriel felt a surge of satisfaction at having successfully removed Phoebe from Kilbourne’s vicinity. He swung her into the first turn of the waltz, sensed her momentary awkwardness, and steadied her instantly. It was an easy task. She was as light as thistledown.
Phoebe glowed up at him. “I am pleased to see you here, my lord. Have you any news for me of our quest?”
Gabriel’s hand tightened on her waist. “Is your quest all you can think about, Phoebe?”
“What else would you have me think about?”
“How about Kilbourne’s impending offer? I should think that would be a subject of some interest to you.”
Phoebe blinked behind her golden mask. “What do you know of Lord Kilbourne’s intentions?”
“Your mother informed me today that she is hoping he can be brought up to scratch.”
“Good heavens. My mother came to see you?”
“And your sister.”
Phoebe chewed anxiously on her lower lip. “I do hope you were not put off the quest by anything they had to say, sir. I assured you I would manage my family. You must not let them intimidate you.”
“Believe me, Phoebe, I am not intimidated by your family. But I was interested to hear that you are on the point of marriage.”
Phoebe chuckled. “I am nowhere near the point of marriage, my lord. I can assure you that if and when Kilbourne gets around to making an offer, I shall politely refuse.”
“Why?” Gabriel demanded. He realized he suddenly had to discover all he could about Phoebe’s relationship with Kilbourne.
Phoebe rolled her eyes behind her mask. “If you have known Kilbourne for any length of time at all, you must see that he would make me an abominable husband.”
Gabriel scowled. “He’s a marquess and, from all accounts, an extremely wealthy one at that.”
“The man is a prig. Believe me, I recognize the species and I have no intention of marrying one, I cannot imagine being tied to such a pompous, unbending creature for the rest of my life. It would be hell on earth.”
“In other words,” Gabriel said, “you fear he will not allow you to continue in your reckless ways, is that it? No more midnight meetings with strangers and no more quests.”
“Kilbourne would not stop there. He is a very straitlaced, very disapproving sort of man. He tries to hide it now, because he is courting me, but I know-that if we were to marry, he would try to choose my friends and dictate the cut of my gowns. I would have no freedom whatsoever.”
“And you value your freedom?”
“Very much. Mama assures me that it is possible for an intelligent woman to manage a man such as Kilbourne, but I am not taking any chances.” Phoebe smiled. “Do you know, my lord, that Kilbourne does not even approve of books such as yours? I believe he would actually try to prohibit me from reading them.”
Something inside Gabriel untwisted. Pie smiled slowly. “In that case I must agree with you. Kilbourne would make you an abominable husband.”
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