Gabriel had shrugged. “It was all part of the lesson I learned at the time. The bullet your brother lodged in my shoulder and the manner in which your father crushed my investment ventures concluded my instruction. I have never again allowed my emotions to rule my head.”
Phoebe sighed as she recalled the conversation, ‘leaching Gabriel to love was going to be a more formidable task than she had first imagined. She stared out the library window into the gray mist and wondered if there was any hope at all of convincing Gabriel to trust his emotions again.
After a moment she got up and went to sit behind Gabriel’s desk. It was time she sent a note off to Mr. Lacey. He would no doubt be wondering what had happened to her. Left to his own devices, Lacey would quickly drive the flourishing little publishing business back into oblivion. The man was interested only in gin and the craft of running his beloved printing press.
Lacey could be difficult at times, but Phoebe had known the instant she met him that he was the perfect business partner for her. In exchange for her financial support and editorial expertise he was content to keep silent about their association. There were other printers and publishers she could have approached when she decided to go into business for herself. Most had far greater literary pretensions than Lacey did. But Phoebe was afraid that most of them would not have been able to resist the urge to gossip. Being in business with the youngest daughter of the Earl of Clarington was simply too choice a tidbit for most people to conceal. Lacey, on the other hand, hated to waste his precious time talking, let alone gossiping.
A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. She closed a desk drawer and looked up to see a maid whom she did not recognize. A new member of the staff, Phoebe supposed. The woman was surprisingly pretty with her blond hair and lush figure, but she looked rather old to still be a housemaid.
“Who are you?” Phoebe asked curiously.
The maid blinked as if she had not expected such a question. “I’m Alice, ma’am. I’ve been sent with a message.”
“What is the message, Alice?”
“His lordship would like to show ye an interestin’ part of the castle, ma’am. He says he’ll meet you down in the catacombs. I’m to show ye the way.”
“Wylde has sent for me?” Phoebe leaped to her feet. “I’ll come at once.”
“This way, ma’am. We’ll need candles. It’s very dark down there. And filthy dirty, too. Would ye like to change yer clothes first?”
“No,” Phoebe said hastily. “I do not wish to keep his lordship waiting.”
Gabriel had sent for her. Phoebe was overjoyed. He was going to show her the mysterious passages below the castle. In his own awkward way he was attempting to break down the icy wall that he had erected between them.
Alice led the way down a dark stone staircase at the rear of the huge hall. At the bottom of the dusty steps she removed a key from a hook on the wall and unlocked a heavy timbered door.
A dank, musty odor wafted upward from the darkness. Phoebe sneezed. She plucked a handkerchief from her pocket.
“Good grief,” Phoebe muttered as she blew her nose. “When was the last time these passages were cleaned?”
Alice struck a match and lit the candles she and Phoebe held. The weak light flickered on the gray stone walls. “His lordship said there weren’t no point in cleaning the catacombs.”
“Well, I suppose he’s right about that.” Phoebe stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket and looked eagerly around. “My goodness, how fascinating.”
They were standing in a narrow, windowless tunnel that appeared to run the length of the castle. In the frail, wavering light Phoebe could see dark openings in the tunnel walls that marked doorways and passages. The air was fetid and motionless with an underlying tang from the sea.
“They says in the kitchens that in the old days the lord of the castle used some of these rooms as dungeons.” Alice started forward, moving warily down the subterranean passage. She looked nervous as she led Phoebe past a yawning black opening. “They says if ye go into some of these horrid little cells, ye can still find the bones of some of the poor wretches who was chained down here.”
Phoebe shivered and shielded her candle with her palm. This was more atmosphere than she had envisioned. “Where is his lordship planning to meet us?”
“He said to bring ye to the end of this passageway and he’d show ye the rest. I don’t mind tellin’ ye that I’ll be glad to get back upstairs.”
“This is amazing.” Phoebe raised her candle to peer into one of the dark passages that led away from the main tunnel. A handful of what appeared to be ivory-colored sticks gleamed in the shadows of a small cell. She swallowed heavily and told herself they could not possibly be bones. “Just think of the history that this castle has witnessed.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but I don’t think that history, whatever it was, would make pleasant listenin’. Here we are.”
Phoebe gazed ahead into the shadows and saw nothing except more of the stone passage. She thought she could hear the distant roar of the sea reverberating through the stone. “Where is Wylde?”
“I don’t rightly know, ma’am.” Alice stared at her with a strange expression in her eyes. She retreated a step. The candle in her hand flickered ominously. “He said to bring ye to this spot and he would meet us. I’ve done as I was told, I have. I want to go back upstairs now.”
“Run along, then,” Phoebe said, impatient to get on with the adventure. “I can wait for his lordship by myself.” She stepped forward into the darkness, holding the candle aloft. “Wylde? Are you here, my lord?”
The sudden and terrible shriek of metal on stone behind her caused Phoebe to nearly drop the candle. The shriek was followed by a clanging thud. A scream formed on Phoebe’s lips as she whirled around.
She saw to her horror that a solid iron gate now-barred the passageway from floor to ceiling. She was trapped on the far side.
Phoebe realized the gate must have been hidden in the wall. Something had triggered the mechanism that activated it. She ran forward and pounded on the thick metal wall.
“Alice. Alice, can you hear me?”
There was no answer. Phoebe thought she heard the faint sound of fleeing footsteps in the distance, but she could not be certain.
She took a calming breath. Alice had no doubt gone for help. Phoebe studied the stone walls, looking for some evidence of a concealed mechanism that might open the gate. She saw nothing.
She took a few more steps into the darkness of the stone passage. The distant roar of the sea was louder now.
“Wylde? Are you here? If you are, kindly answer me at once. Do not tease me, sir. I know I have offended you, but I swear I do not deserve to be tormented like this.”
Her voice echoed down the stone passage. There was no response. Phoebe looked back at the iron gate. Surely it would not take Alice long to get help.
Fifteen minutes later there was still no sign of rescue. Phoebe glanced down at her candle and saw that it was burning quickly. When it went out, she would be in pitch darkness.
It occurred to her that there was only one thing she could do to help herself. She must explore the remainder of the passage in hopes of finding an exit. Surely this long tunnel had been constructed with some other door than the one that led up into the main part of the castle.
Phoebe nervously started down the corridor. There were no more doorways cut into the stone walls. That seemed odd.
Aware that the candle was burning precariously low, she quickened her pace. The smell of the sea was stronger and it seemed to Phoebe that the air was not quite so dank now. Her spirits rose. She would find her own way out of the catacombs.
She heard the soft lapping sound of water a moment later. Encouraged, she rounded a bend in the stone passageway and found herself in a cavernous room. A narrow wedge of daylight shone in the distance.
Phoebe held the candle higher and looked around. She was standing on the stone quay of what appeared
to be a tiny subterranean dock. Seawater lapped at the stone. Rusted iron rings embedded in the quay gave evidence that this cavern had once been used to moor boats.
She had found a secret escape route from the castle. It had no doubt been designed by the original owner for use during a siege. The tiny slit of daylight at the far end of the cavern was the exit.
The only problem was that there was no longer an escape boat tied up at the dock. A large volume of black water stood between Phoebe and daylight.
The candle sputtered. Phoebe glanced down at it. She saw that she had no more than a few minutes of light left. Soon she would be trapped in this dark tomb.
She looked back over her shoulder. There was no sound behind her. She had to assume that her rescuers were unable to move the heavy iron gate. It occurred to her that perhaps it had been designed to seal the passageway permanently shut. If the lord of the castle and his family were attempting to escape via this route, they would want to be certain they were not followed.
The candle hissed and wavered. Phoebe made up her mind. She could not bear to wait here in the darkness in hopes of a rescue that might not come.
She would have to swim for it.
Phoebe set the candle carefully down on the edge of the quay. Then she unfastened the tapes of her gown and removed her ruffled chemisette.
Dressed in only her chemise, she sat down and slid her legs cautiously into the dark, cold water. For an instant raw terror gripped her as her feet disappeared into the black depths. She had no way of knowing what creatures made their home beneath the surface.
It took more courage than she had known she possessed to drop down into the water. The last flicker of the candle was a definite inspiration. When the frail light vanished, Phoebe’s only thought was to get to the wedge of daylight that awaited her up ahead.
She struck out, swimming strongly at first toward the beacon in the distance.
She was horrified at how quickly her energy diminished in the cold water. By the time she was halfway to her goal, she was gasping for air and praying for strength. Her weak left leg was tiring rapidly.
It seemed to take forever to reach the cavern entrance. It was as if the water were deliberately trying to pull her down beneath the surface. Phoebe began to swim mechanically, like a clockwork toy. She dragged air into her lungs with every other stroke and used her fear of the invisible depths to propel her legs.
When her fingers scrabbled painfully against barnacle-encrusted rock, she nearly collapsed with relief. Gasping for air, she clutched fiercely at the rock and gazed eagerly out into the sunlight, hoping for a glimpse of the nearby shore.
It was then she realized that she had only completed a portion of her journey. The hidden cavern entrance jutted several yards out from the shoreline. No one would see her from the cliffs if she stayed where she was. Her cries for help would not be audible above the roar of the waves.
She would have to swim to the rocky beach.
Phoebe clung to her perch a moment longer, telling herself that at least she was in the sun now. It was not quite so cold. And there was only a short distance to go.
If only she were not so exhausted. If only she could rest longer.
But she did not dare hesitate. The water seemed to be getting colder in spite of the sunlight pouring down on her. She could only pray she had enough strength to swim the rest of the way.
“Gabriel,” she whispered as she struck out toward shore, “where the devil are you when I need you?”
Chapter 14
“Where the devil is she?” Gabriel roared.
Rollins, the butler, wavered under fire but did not collapse. “I regret to inform you, sir, that I do not know where Lady Wylde is at the moment. The last I knew, she was in the library, as is her custom at this hour.”
“And at every other hour,” Gabriel muttered. Lately Phoebe seemed to spend every spare minute hiding from him in the damned library. “Assemble the staff immediately.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Within minutes the staff was clustered in the main hall. No one knew where Phoebe was. Everyone agreed that she had most recently been ensconced in the library. The last time anyone had actually seen her had been nearly two hours earlier.
Gabriel fought down his rising uneasiness and the fear that lay beneath it. Nothing was ever accomplished by giving way to strong emotion, he reminded himself. “I want every inch of the castle and the grounds searched at once. Rollins, you will direct the staff. I will take the cliffs. We will meet back here in an hour.”
“Yes, my lord.” Rollins hesitated. “Forgive me, sir, but do you believe that something dreadful has happened?”
“She has probably gone for a stroll and gotten lost,” Gabriel said, not believing his own words for a minute. “She does not know the countryside around here. Start the search at once.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Gabriel headed out the front door and down the steps. Driven by a terrible restlessness, he strode through the courtyard and out through the castle gates.
She had promised she would not run from him again.
Gabriel reached the cliffs and stood gazing down at the rocks and driftwood that cluttered the narrow strip of beach. Surely if she had gone for a walk she would have stayed up here on the cliffs. She would not have tried to climb down to the water’s edge.
But Phoebe was unpredictable. She was also capable of taking great risks. He still shuddered whenever he recalled how and where he had first met her. At midnight on a lonely country lane, for God’s sake. The woman was a menace to herself.
When he found her, he was going to put her on a very short rein. He had had enough of this nonsense.
Enough of this gut-wrenching fear.
He forced himself to calm down and recall the color of the gown Phoebe had been wearing that morning. It had been a rather glaring shade of citron yellow. With a ruffled chemisette. She had looked very bright and cheerful in it.
Not at all like a woman who was plotting to run away from her husband.
Gabriel started walking along the cliff edge. He would not allow himself to believe she had run off until he had exhausted every other possibility.
He frowned as he caught a glimpse of white on the water-lashed rocks. For a moment he thought it was the reflection of sunlight on sea foam. Then the patch of white moved, heaving itself higher up onto the rocks. Pale legs and arms and a tangle of wet, dark hair spilled over the stone.
Phoebe.
Gabriel’s stomach went cold. For an instant he wondered if the little fool had gone swimming. Then he realized she was fighting for her life in the churning surf.
“Phoebe. Hold on. I’m coming for you,” he shouted, plunging down the cliff path, heedless of skittering pebbles and shifting sand. He jumped the last few feet, landed on the beach, and splashed into the thigh-deep water.
“Phoebe. For God’s sake.”
The tangle of drenched hair moved as he waded toward her. Phoebe turned her head, her cheek pillowed against the barnacles. She clung to the rock, half in and half out of the water. Her eyes opened partway and she smiled with a soul-deep weariness.
“I knew you would come eventually, Gabriel.”
“Hell and damnation, what are you doing down here?” Gabriel lifted her off the rock and cradled her in his arms. Her wet chemise was virtually transparent. He could see the dusky flowers of her nipples as clearly as if she were nude. “Where are your clothes? What in bloody hell has happened?”
“Went looking for you.” Her voice was frighten-ingly weak. She lolled in his arms like a rag doll. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“Phoebe, open your eyes.” Gabriel heard the rough edge of fear in his voice. “Open your eyes at once and look at me.”
Obediently she lifted her lashes. “Why? I am safe now, am I not?”
“Yes,” he whispered as he carried her up onto the tiny beach. “You are safe.”
She had not run from him.
An hour later Phoebe l
ay propped up against the pillows in her bed. Under Gabriel’s supervision she had been immersed in a warm bath and fed endless cups of hot tea. He had not been satisfied until the color had returned to her lips and cheeks.
When she had started to resist the tea and complain about the fussing that was going on around her, he knew she was all right. He sent the last of the maids from the room with a curt command.
He had almost lost her. The terrible weight of that fact gnawed at his insides, making him short-tempered and edgy. He had almost lost Phoebe.
He forced his seething emotions back under control. It was an almost impossible task. He used a blanket of anger to contain everything else he was feeling, including the fear.
“Now, then, madam wife,” he said as the door closed behind the last maid, “perhaps you would care to explain what the devil happened to you today? What was all that nonsense about looking for me?”
She patted away a tiny yawn. “Alice said you had sent for me.”
“Who is Alice?”
“One of the maids.”
“Which maid?”
Phoebe stared at him from beneath drooping lashes. “Well, I really don’t know. I thought I was acquainted with all the staff by now, but this is such a huge place and there are so many names and faces to learn.”
“Describe her,” Gabriel said abruptly.
“She had pale blond hair and a rather pretty face. I remember thinking she seemed a little old to still be a housemaid. One would have thought she would be at least a chambermaid by now.”
Gabriel was very still. “What did this Alice tell you?”
“That you wished to meet me downstairs in the lower part of the castle. She said you were waiting down there to show me the catacombs.” Phoebe paused. “I was very excited.”
“She took you down there? Showed you the way?”
Phoebe nodded. “But we could not find you. Alice was getting nervous, so I sent her back and continued along the passageway on my own. Then the most awful accident occurred.”
“What accident?”
“A massive iron gate slid out of the wall and sealed the passageway. I was trapped on the other side. I could hear no sounds of rescue and assumed no one could get the gate open. So I looked for another exit.”
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