“Damme,” Clarington muttered, “I’ll not allow you to talk like that about my daughter.”
“Given that I have just saved her pretty neck, I shall talk about her in any way I like.” Gabriel took a swallow of the claret. “Allow me to tell you, my lords, that I consider this entire debacle to be all your fault.”
“Our fault?” Clarington bridled furiously.
“Yours in particular,” Gabriel said. “As her father, you have allowed her to run wild. The woman is a menace to herself. She corresponds with strange men and arranges to meet them at midnight in remote country lanes. She goes haring off to the worst parts of London whenever she takes a fancy—”
“I say,” Clarington interrupted.
Gabriel ignored him. “She is far too independent in her notions and she routinely courts disaster. One of these days she will almost certainly find it.”
“Now, see here,” Clarington growled. “This is my daughter we arc discussing. What is this about corresponding with strange men and meeting them at midnight?”
“How the hell do you think I met her?” Gabriel asked.
Anthony stared at him, astounded. “Are you saying she struck up a correspondence with you? Arranged to meet with you?”
“Damn right,” Gabriel said. “And it was pure luck that it was me she arranged to meet in Sussex. What if it had been some other man?”
Clarington stiffened. “What are you suggesting, sir?”
“I am suggesting that neither of you is capable of controlling Phoebe, much less protecting her from her own impulsiveness.” Gabriel took another swallow of the claret. “Therefore I shall have to take on the task. There is obviously no other option.”
“You.” Clarington glowered down the length of his beaked nose.
“Me.” Gabriel put the empty glass on the table. “I shall call on you tomorrow afternoon at three to discuss the matter. I want this settled at once.”
“A moment, if you please.” Anthony held up a hand. “Are you saying you intend to offer for Phoebe?”
Gabriel looked at him. “Would you prefer to wait until Kilbourne or some other fortune hunter makes another attempt to carry her off?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we don’t want her carried off.” Clarington sighed heavily. “But it’s damn difficult to protect Phoebe. More spirit than sense. Won’t listen to sound advice. Thinks she can deal with the world on her own. Always been like that, ever since she was a little girl.”
“It’s true,” Anthony said glumly. “She was forever exploring and getting into mischief. The more we tried to restrain her, the more adventurous she got.” He looked at Clarington. “Remember how it was the day of the accident?”
“I shall never forget it as long as I live,” Clarington declared. “Thought we’d lost her. Dashed out into the lane to save a damn hound that had darted in front of a phaeton. The hound made it safely across the road. Phoebe did not.”
Anthony shook his head. “It was typical of Phoebe. She’s been reckless all of her life. But that time the results were nearly tragic. The doctors told us she would never walk again.”
“Did they tell Phoebe?” Gabriel asked dryly.
Clarington nodded. “Certainly they told Phoebe. Told her she would have to take care not to exert herself. Told her she would spend the rest of her life as an invalid. Told her she must live a quiet life.”
Gabriel smiled fleetingly. “But Phoebe, being Phoebe, refused to listen, I suppose.”
Anthony looked at him. “1 walked into her bedchamber one day three months after the accident and found her on her feet, clutching the bedpost. After that, there was no stopping her.”
“Nevertheless,” Gabriel said grimly, “you should have done a better job of protecting her. Devil take it, Oaksley. Do you realise she almost got kidnapped by a man who intended to force her into marriage in order to acquire her fortune? Her life would have been ruined if the ruse had worked.”
Anthony raised his brows. “Now you know how it feels.”
Gabriel stared at him.
“It’s enough to make a man want to commit murder.” Clarington was clearly still shaken by the news of the near-disaster. “God knows it’s a terrible feeling to discover one has failed to protect one’s own daughter.”
Gabriel could think of nothing to say. It struck him quite forcibly that the anger and fear he was experiencing at that moment were undoubtedly the very same emotions Clarington and his son had felt eight years ago on the night he had attempted to run off with Meredith.
For the first time he looked at the situation from their point of view. He acknowledged with grim honesty that he would probably have reacted in the same fashion as they had if he had been in their place. Clarington and his family had had no way of knowing that Gabriel had not been after Meredith’s inheritance. To them he had looked as evil as Kilbournc now appeared.
“I take your meaning, Clarington,” Gabriel finally said.
Clarington’s eyes met Gabriel’s. Understanding and a curious expression that might have been approval gleamed for a moment in the earl’s piercing gaze.
“I believe you finally do comprehend my feelings at the time, sir.” Clarington nodded, as if satisfied. “I also begin to believe you have some genuine affection for my daughter.”
“I must confess my affection for her is somewhat tempered by the overriding fear that she will one day drive me mad,” Gabriel said.
“A fate I have barely escaped myself.” Clarington smiled slowly. “I gladly turn the responsibility of looking after her over to you, sir. I wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you.” Gabriel looked at Anthony. “I shall need seconds.”
Anthony studied him for a moment in silence. “You’ve challenged Kilbourne?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Phoebe’s brother. It is my place to handle this.”
Gabriel smiled wryly. “You have already done your duty by one sister. I’ll deal with this.”
Anthony hesitated. “I’m not certain I should allow you to do so.”
“As her future husband, it is most definitely my right,” Gabriel said.
“Very well, I’ll be one of your seconds,” Anthony said. “I can arrange to find another. But you must be careful. If Kilbourne dies, you will be obliged to leave England and, knowing Phoebe, she would probably insist on going with you.”
“I have no wish to leave England again,” Gabriel said. “Kilbourne will live. Barely.”
Anthony eyed him closely. Then his mouth curved ruefully. “Just as I did?”
“No,” Gabriel said. “Not quite. I fully intend to put a bullet into the man. He will remember in future not to kidnap young ladies.”
Three hours later, Anthony returned to the club to report back to Gabriel on the arrangements for the duel.
“You’re out of luck,” Anthony said. “Kilbourne has left London.”
“Damn.” Gabriel slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair in sheer frustration. “Are you certain?”
“His butler says he has gone north and no one knows when he will return. It certainly won’t be anytime soon. The servants have instructions to close Kilbourne’s town house. The word is all over Town that he is virtually penniless. Lost everything in a series of bad investments.”
“Hell and damnation.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best.” Anthony sprawled in a nearby chair. “It’s over. There will be no duel and Kilbourne is out of the way. I, for one, am grateful.”
“I am not.”
“Trust me, you’re luckier than you know.” Anthony grinned. “If Phoebe had ever discovered that you intended to fight a duel in her honor, she would have been furious. I don’t believe you have ever dealt with Phoebe when she is very angry. It’s not pleasant.”
Gabriel looked at him, aware that he and Anthony were forming a bond based on their mutual concern for Phoebe. “Thank you for agreeing to act as my second. I only regret you will not have the opportunity to per
form your duties.”
Anthony inclined his head. “As I said, it’s over. Kilbourne has been well and truly humiliated. Let it go at that.”
“I suppose I shall be obliged to do so.” Gabriel was silent for a moment. “I know now how you felt eight years ago, Oaksley.”
“Yes. I can see that you do. But I will tell you something, Wylde. I like Trowbridge, and Meredith seems quite happy with him. But I will admit that if I knew then what I know now about you, I would not have chased after you that night. I would trust either of my sisters in your care.”
Gabriel raised his brows. “Because you have learned I am not penniless?”
“No,” Anthony said. “My reasons have nothing to do with your financial status.”
There was silence for a moment between the two men. Then Gabriel smiled. “Allow me to tell you that I am exceedingly grateful you did come after Meredith and me that night. The match would have been a mistake. It’s Phoebe I want.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Quite certain.”
At three the following afternoon, Phoebe sat uneasily upstairs in her bedchamber and waited to be summoned to the library. The household had been so subdued since yesterday’s events that one would have thought there had been a death in the family.
Phoebe knew full well what was happening. Her mother had told her earlier that Gabriel was going to offer for her and that Clarington would accept. It was clear her family’s objections to Gabriel had been dropped.
Phoebe was grateful for that, but she could not seem to sort out her own conflicting emotions. A part of her rejoiced at the thought of being married to the man she loved. She longed to seize the opportunity. She wanted him as she had never wanted anyone or anything in her life.
But another part of her was extremely uneasy. She had no indication yet that Gabriel truly loved her. She was very much afraid he was making his offer out of a desire to protect her from the sort of incident that had occurred yesterday.
It was highly probable that Gabriel was marrying her out of a misguided sense of chivalry.
True, he was rather fond of her, she was certain of that much. He gave every indication of being physically attracted to her. And they did have interests in common.
But there had been no talk of love.
Phoebe glanced at the clock. It was almost three-thirty, What on earth was there to talk about that took half an hour? she wondered.
She got to her feet and began pacing the room. This was ridiculous. A woman had the right to be present when her future was being discussed.
This business of waiting meekly upstairs in her bedchamber while the men dealt with something as important as marriage was aggravating in the extreme. Men did not have a good grasp of such things.
They would not understand, for example, that she had no wish to be married because Gabriel’s lofty notions of chivalry demanded it.
She had vowed long ago that she would only marry for true love, the sort of love that guided the knights and ladies of medieval legends. Nothing less would do for her.
At three forty-five, Phoebe decided she had had enough of playing the dutiful daughter. She marched out of her bedchamber and went downstairs to the library.
The door of the library was closed. The butler stood firmly planted in front of it. When he saw Phoebe, his expression turned wary, but determined.
“Step aside, please,” she said to the butler. “I wish to join my father.”
The butler drew himself up bravely. “Forgive me, madam, but your father left explicit instructions that he did not wish to be disturbed while in conference with Lord Wylde.”
“Pssst, Phoebe.” Lydia stuck her head around the corner of the drawing room and waved frantically to get Phoebe’s attention. “Don’t go in there. Men like to handle this kind of thing all b themselves. It makes them feel as if they are carrying out their responsibilities.”
Meredith, hovering behind her mother, frowned delicately at Phoebe. “Wait until you are summoned, Phoebe, Papa will be most upset if you interrupt.”
“I am already upset.” Phoebe strode forward.
The butler wavered. It was all the opportunity Phoebe needed. She opened the door herself and walked into the library.
Gabriel and her father were seated near the fireplace. They each held a glass of brandy. Both men looked up with forbidding expressions as she entered.
“You may wait outside, my dear. I shall summon you in a few minutes,” Clarington said firmly.
“I am tired of waiting.” Phoebe came to a halt and glanced at Gabriel. She could tell nothing from his expression. “I want to know what is going on.”
“Wylde is making an offer of marriage,” Clarington said. “We are discussing the details. You need not concern yourself.”
“You mean you have already accepted the offer on my behalf?” Phoebe demanded.
“Yes, I have.” Clarington took a swallow of brandy.
Phoebe shot Gabriel a questioning look. He arched one brow in response. Her gaze went back to her father. “Papa, I wish to speak to Gabriel before any announcements are made.”
“You may speak to him when I have finished settling matters.”
“But Papa—”
“Leave us, Phoebe,” Gabriel ordered quietly. “We will talk later.”
“I want to discuss this now.” Her hands tightened into small fists. “It is my future that is being bandied about in here. I have a few thoughts on the subject. If the two of you think you are going to tie all the details into a neat little package and expect me to accept it without comment, you are quite wrong.”
Clarington peered at her. “Very well, my dear, what is your chief objection to all this?”
Phoebe took a deep breath, opened her clenched fists, and dried her damp palms on the skirts of her gown. “I have always made it very clear chat I will only marry for love. To be perfectly blunt, Papa, Wylde has never once mentioned love to me. I will not be rushed into marriage until I am certain there is true love on both sides. I will not be married simply because Wylde’s sense of chivalry demands it.”
“Phoebe,” Clarington said wearily, “you are behaving like a romantical schoolgirl. Wylde is quite right. After what happened yesterday, you can no longer be allowed to continue in your rash, impulsive ways.”
“He said that?” Phoebe glared at Gabriel.
“Yes, he did, and I agree with him,” Clarington declared. “He claims he is willing to take on the task of managing you and I must say, I am grateful to be able to turn the responsibility over to him.”
Phoebe was outraged. “What if I do not wish to be ‘managed’ by a husband?”
“I know of no better way to settle you down and rein in your eccentric manners than to marry you off,” Clarington retorted. “It is time you were married, young lady. For God’s sake, you are nearly five and twenty. The fact that you are an heiress puts you at terrible risk. Only think of what happened yesterday.”
“Papa, what happened yesterday was not my fault.”
“It most certainly was,” Clatington shot back. “Who knows how many others of Kilbourne’s sort are lurking out there? Wylde is correct when he says that sooner or later your impulsive ways will land you in serious trouble. I want you safely established under the guidance and protection of a husband.”
A sense of desperation welled up in Phoebe. “Papa, please. I must have time to think about this. Wylde and I must discuss it.”
Gabriel gave her a cool glance over the rim of his brandy glass. “As far as I am concerned, there is nothing that needs to be discussed at this moment. Go on upstairs to your bedchamber. We shall send for you presently.”
Phoebe was speechless. To be banished upstairs to her bedchamber by the man whom she had considered a gallant knight, the man she had secretly viewed as a soul mate, the man she loved. It was too much.
“My lord,” she whispered, “you are no better than Kilbourne.”
There was a short, awful silence.
“Phoebe,” her father thundered. “You will apologize at once. Wylde is no fortune hunter.”
She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes to get rid of the moisture. “I did not mean to imply that he was. But he is certainK just as much of a pompous, overbearing prig as Kilbourne ever was.” She gave Gabriel one last anguished glance. “I thought you were my friend. I thought you understood how I felt about matters of love and marriage.”
Before either man could respond, she whirled and tied from the room.
Out in the hall she dashed past the concerned faces of her mother and sister. She picked up her skirts and raced up the stairs. When she reached the privacy of her bedchamber, she threw herself down on the bed and surrendered to the tears.
Fifteen minutes later the storm had passed, leaving in its place an unnatural calm. She dried her eyes, washed her face, and sat down to wait.
Twenty minutes later, when she was finally summoned to the library, she was composed and solemn. She walked sedately down the stairs, waited politely for the butler to open the door, and then stepped inside.
Her father was still seated in his chair. He appeared to have started on another glass of brandy. Gabriel was standing near the fireplace, one arm resting along the mantel. He watched her intently as she came gravely into the room.
“You sent for me, Papa?” Phoebe asked with excruciating civility.
Clarington cast her a suspicious glance. “It’s settled, my dear. You and Wylde will be married at the end of the Season.”
Phoebe’s stomach lurched, but she managed to keep her expression serene. “I see. Well, then, if that is all, I shall return to my room. I am not feeling very well.”
Gabriel’s black brows drew together in a severe line. “Phoebe, are you all right?”
“I believe I have a slight headache, my lord.” She turned and walked back out of the room.
Shortly before dawn the next morning Phoebe dressed in her best traveling gown and tossed two large bags out her bedroom window. Then she threw a rope composed of knotted bedsheets over the sill.
She descended via the makeshift rope into the garden, collected her two bags, and walked around the front of the big house.
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