Quick, Amanda

by Reckless (lit)

  Gabriel bent his head and took the firm fruit into his mouth. Phoebe's reaction was immediate. She cried out softly and clung to him as if he were rescuing her from drowning.

  Gabriel thought that he was the one who was drowning. He was lost in Phoebe's warmth and softness. Her scent filled his head, claiming his senses. He wanted to know the taste of her, the feel of her lying naked beside him. He ached to know what it would be like to be deep inside her. He longed to feel her shiver with release.

  He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Phoebe.

  In the grip of a passion that he refused to deny, Gabriel pulled Phoebe deeper into the exotic greenery. He stopped, shrugged out of his cloak, and spread it on the grass.

  Phoebe trembled, but she did not protest as he lowered her onto the cloak and came down beside her. She touched his face. His mask, like hers, concealed only his eyes. Her fingers were achingly gentle on his cheek.

  "Gabriel, I think I must be dreaming."

  "So am I. We will dream this dream together." He lowered his head and took her nipple gently between his teeth.

  She arched herself against him, moaning softly. He stroked his hand down the length of her, reveling in the curve of her hip and thigh.

  Gabriel found the hem of the turquoise and gold gown and raised it slowly. He moved his palm up the length of her leg, over her stockings, past the garter which was tied just above the knee. Then he explored farther, letting his fingers drift up the warm skin of her inner thigh. He could feel the heat of her and it nearly drove him mad.

  Phoebe gave a small, muffled gasp when he closed his hand around the hot, damp place between her legs.

  "Gabriel."

  "Hush, love." He kissed her throat and then her breast again. "Let me touch you. You're already wet. I can feel your honey on my fingers."

  "Oh, my God," she whispered. Her eyes were very wide in the moonlight and her lips were parted in wonder.

  Gabriel raised his head to watch her masked face as he slowly and carefully opened the soft, plump folds that guarded her secrets. He saw her touch the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth. She clutched nervously at his shoulders.

  When he gently eased one finger inside her, he almost lost what was left of his self-control. She was so tight. So hot. So ready for him.

  Phoebe froze, her mouth open, her eyes glazed. "Gabriel?"

  Gabriel knew for certain then that she had never been this intimate with a man. He felt a glorious thrill at the knowledge. Whatever Neil Baxter had meant to her, she had not allowed him to make love to her. He suddenly felt a fierce need to protect her even as he introduced her to her own passion.

  "Calm yourself, sweet. I will be very careful with you." Gabriel sealed the solemn vow with a shower of small kisses across her breasts. "I won't hurt you. You're going to want me as much as I want you."

  He moved his finger gently within her, easing it slowly out of her tight passage. She flinched in reaction, but she did not pull away from him. He entered her slowly again with his finger. Then he touched the tiny mound of sensitive flesh that was concealed within the soft thatch of hair. Phoebe stiffened and cried out against his jacket. He stroked her again.

  "Gabriel, I do not … I cannot think … "

  "This is not a time to think. This is a time to feel. Shall I tell you how you feel to me? You feel sweet. So sweet and soft and so responsive. My God, it's like touching liquid fire."

  "I, oh, Gabriel, this is so strange … "

  He felt her body gradually begin to tighten demandingly around his finger. He continued to stroke her, enthralled by her response. When she began to lift herself against his hand, silently asking for more, he felt as if he had been handed a priceless treasure.

  Phoebe was breathing more quickly now. Gabriel could feel her untutored body striving toward a release it did not yet recognize. He wanted to shout his own satisfaction from the rooftops. After tonight she would look at him as she had never looked at him before.

  After tonight she would not dream of Neil Baxter.

  Gabriel heard the soft crunch of shoes on gravel an instant before Phoebe went up in flames in his arms. He reacted instinctively, aware that Phoebe had heard nothing. She was too deeply enmeshed in the coils of the passionate spell he had woven for her. It was too late to call her back to the real world.

  Gabriel did the only thing he could. He crushed Phoebe's mouth with his own just as she shuddered and convulsed in his arms. He barely managed to swallow her soft scream of release.

  Then he swiftly pulled her close and wrapped the black cloak around her, holding her tightly as the small tremors rippled through her.

  There was a moment of screaming silence and then Phoebe went limp.

  Gravel crunched on the other side of the hedge. Phoebe tensed in Gabriel's arms. He realized she must have heard the sound. She stilled abruptly and huddled against him.

  "Lady Phoebe?" Kilbourne's voice called loudly in the darkness. "I say, are you out here?"

  Gabriel felt Phoebe's stunned reaction. He leaned his head down and whispered soundlessly into her ear. "Hush."

  She nodded frantically to indicate she understood.

  Kilbourne's shoes came closer. Gabriel continued to hold Phoebe pressed against him. He glanced around and realized that they were surrounded by the green walls formed by the high hedges. With any luck, Kilbourne would not come this way.

  The sound of footsteps on gravel drew closer. Gabriel held his breath, willing Kilbourne to move on. There was a muttered oath on the other side of one hedge. Then Kilbourne's footfalls receded into the distance. Gabriel relaxed as he realized Kilbourne was returning to the house.

  Gabriel waited a moment longer until he was certain the marquess was out of hearing range. Then he unwrapped Phoebe from the folds of his black cloak.

  She sat up looking delightfully bedraggled. Her elaborate headdress was askew and a lock of her hair had escaped the golden net that had bound it. Her mask had slipped down over her nose.

  "Gracious, that was a close thing," Phoebe muttered as she attempted to adjust her headdress. "I shudder to think what a disaster it would have been if Kilbourne had seen us."

  Gabriel, his body still throbbing with desire and the battle-ready tension inspired by Kilbourne's approach, was inexplicably annoyed by the comment. "It's a bit late to be worrying about your reputation, madam."

  Phoebe paused, her hands resting on the rim of the headdress. "I suppose you are right. It was a very narrow escape. Just think, if Kilbourne had seen us in that extremely compromising situation, you would have had to announce our engagement tomorrow."

  Gabriel got to his feet and pulled her up beside him. "The thought of me announcing our engagement alarms you so much, madam?"

  "Certainly it does." She looked up at him as she straightened her mask.

  "Because your family would be outraged?"

  "My family's reaction is not the issue. I am twenty-four years old and I do as I please. For the most part. The thing is, Gabriel, I have no overwhelming interest in marriage, although I see now that there are some benefits I had not fully comprehended."

  "Hell and damnation."

  "But if I were to marry," she continued relentlessly, "I would want to do so for love, not because I had been caught rolling about in the Brantleys' hedges."

  Gabriel's outrage increased tenfold. He took a step forward and deliberately loomed over her. "It was a hell of a lot more than a matter of rolling about in the hedges, madam. And what, may I ask, makes you think I would have felt it necessary to announce our intention to marry if we had been caught?"

  "Oh, you would have done the honorable thing, Gabriel. It's your nature."

  "Your faith in me is sadly misplaced, madam. Once and for all, I am not the knight of your dreams. I am no King Arthur."

  Phoebe smiled slightly at that. She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth across his. "Your armor may be slightly tarnished, but underneath I believe you are still the same man you wer
e eight years ago. You would not be helping me in my quest if that were not so."

  "Damn it, Phoebe—"

  "I know that eight years ago you loved my sister, and I know that I am not in the least like her, so it is very unlikely you will ever love me."

  "Phoebe, you don't know what you're talking about," Gabriel said.

  "Yes, I do. I always know what I am talking about. Now, as I do not wish to marry a man who does not love me, and as I am well aware that a man of your nature would not wish to marry without love, either, we must have no more adventures together such as the one we shared tonight."

  Gabriel stared at her, thunderstruck. "You expect me to just agree to that?"

  "Do not misunderstand me, my lord," she said quickly. "It was all really quite pleasant."

  "Pleasant.

  "Well, perhaps even better than pleasant. But I am certain you can comprehend the danger involved. Surely you do not wish to find yourself tied to me for the rest of your life because of a fleeting indiscretion."

  "I don't believe this is the same woman who met me on that road in Sussex at midnight."

  "Yes, well, it is. I know you find me reckless, but I am not a complete idiot."

  "It strikes me that your mother has a sound point," Gabriel said. "She complained that you have been entirely too particular when it comes to your suitors. You don't want to marry a man like Kilbourne who will try to guide you—"

  "Bully me is more like it. And no, I most certainly do not want to marry a man like him." Phoebe shuddered delicately.

  Gabriel glowered at her. "And you don't want to marry any man who will not get down on his knees to vow his undying love—"

  "Of course not."

  "Your mother believes you're looking for a goddamned knight straight out of a legend."

  She smiled brilliantly up at him. "Why should I settle for less?"

  "You, madam, are too damn choosy for a woman of your advanced years. Good God. Why am I standing here talking to you of marriage?"

  "I don't know. Why are you talking to me about it, my lord?"

  "Never mind. We shall discuss this matter at another time. Rest assured that sooner or later we shall both repeat the experience we shared tonight. And a bit more into the bargain." Gabriel grabbed her hand and started down the narrow aisle shaped by the hedges.

  "There is really nothing to discuss, Gabriel. I fear I must be quite firm about this matter. W7e must not take such risks in the future."

  "There damn well is more to discuss. A great deal more. If you think that I am going to keep my hands off you after this, you're mad." He scowled as he realized he had come to the end of the hedge aisle and was facing another hedge. "What the devil?"

  "Oh, dear." Phoebe glanced around at the looming walls of green. "I believe we have wandered into Lord Brantley's maze. He is quite proud of it. No one has ever found his way out on his own. Only Brantley knows the secret route."

  Gabriel slammed his hand against the hedge in disgust. "Christ. This is all it needed."

  "I fail to see the problem here, Gabriel." Phoebe smiled encouragingly at him in the moonlight. "I believe the hero of your book found himself trapped in a maze on page three hundred and four."

  "So he did. What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

  "He found his way out through some very clever reasoning, as I recall," Phoebe said. "I have complete faith that you can get us out of here using the same process. You had best hurry, however. We must return to the ball before someone else besides Kilbourne misses me."

  Chapter 9

  Later that night Gabriel stalked up the steps of the town house he had rented for the Season. He was not in a cheerful frame of mind. In fact, he was in a very strange mood.

  The fact that Phoebe was now more convinced than ever that he was hero material only served to deepen his odd sense of gloom.

  So what if he had been able to find his way out of Brantley's idiotic maze? It had not been all that difficult. He had simply put one hand on one wall of green and had not lifted his palm until he and Phoebe had arrived back at the entrance of the maze.

  It was the same technique the hero of The Quest had used. Gabriel had read the advice for solving the puzzle of a maze years ago in some ancient medieval manuscript. He had never expected to have to apply the information in real life.

  He had secretly been both exceedingly relieved and quite surprised that the method had worked.

  Phoebe, of course, had taken the outcome for granted. There, you see? I knew you could do it, Wylde. This sort of thing is stock-in-trade for a man of your sort.

  Gabriel had been tempted to put her over his knee. Her blithe assumption that he was interchangeable with the hero of his novel was beginning to eat at him.

  "Go back to bed, Shelton," he said to his sleepy-eyed butler when the town house door was opened. "I'm going to work for a while."

  "Yes, my lord." Shelton obediently vanished through the door behind the staircase whence he had come.

  Gabriel walked into the library, tossed his black domino onto a chair, and lit a lamp on the desk. He poured himself a glass of brandy from the crystal decanter on the small table near the hearth. The fiery liquid calmed his sense of frustration. His gaze fell on the folds of the black cloak he had worn earlier.

  Hot memories of how Phoebe had looked in the moonlight as she burned in his arms exploded again in his head.

  Matters were not working out quite as he had planned.

  It was not that his scheme for revenge was going badly, he realized. It was that he was starting to have grave misgivings. What the devil was the matter with him? he wondered.

  It had seemed so simple when he had left Devil's Mist. He would pursue and seduce Phoebe and in the process humiliate and outrage Clarington. In the end, when the reckless little wench had been well and truly bedded, Clarington would swallow his pride and beg Gabriel to marry her.

  Gabriel had planned to look Clarington straight in the eye and decline the offer of his ruined daughter's hand in marriage. Only then would Clarington learn that Gabriel was no fortune hunter, and there was nothing he could do to force the marriage.

  As for Phoebe, she would deserve what she got. She was an ungovernable hoyden, an impulsive, headstrong female who would learn the hard way that she had taken one too many chances, played one too many dangerous games.

  Gabriel had consoled his uneasy conscience b telling himself that Phoebe was no green girl fresh out of the schoolroom. She was twenty-four years old and not averse to making arrangements to meet strangers at midnight on lonely country lanes.

  He certainly did not intend to boast about his conquest once the deed was done. He had no intention of ruining the lady's reputation in Society. His only goal was to trample on the overweening pride of the Earl of Clarington.

  A simple, straightforward sort of vengeance.

  Gabriel stared at the black cloak and recalled the feel of Phoebe as she responded to his touch. So sweet, so passionate. Bringing her to her first climax had made him feel like the all-conquering knight she believed him to be. When he had heard Kilbourne's approach outside the maze, his first instinct had been to protect her.

  Gabriel took another sip of the brandy and thought about the glow of admiration that had lit Phoebe's eyes when he had found his way back to the entrance of the maze. He shook his head over her unwavering confidence that he would help her find Neil Baxter's killer.

  It was all beginning to seem bloody damn complicated.

  Hell, maybe he should just marry the little baggage and be done with it.

  That thought shook him to the core.

  "Damnation." Surely he was not going to weaken at this juncture, there was no point. He could have it all: the lad and the vengeance.

  He thought of Phoebe's laughing eyes and innocent recklessness.

  Gabriel went to the window and cautiously allowed himself to consider the outrageous notion of making Phoebe his countess.

  It would mean he would have
to abandon his revenge against her family.

  True, he could torment them for a while longer, but sooner or later they would learn that he was not the fortune hunter they believed him to be. They might not ever learn to like him, but they could not disapprove of him. He was, after all, everything they wanted in a husband for Phoebe.

  It would mean he would have to find a way to handle a bold, adventurous wife who would no doubt lead him a merry dance for the rest of his days.

  It would mean having Phoebe in his bed.

  Gabriel realized he was smiling slightly at his own reflection in the window.

  Bloody hell. He could do worse. She certainly lived up to the newly invented Wylde motto: dare. She had courage. She would make a good mother for his sons.

  Furthermore, Phoebe was the only woman he had ever met who might actually enjoy living at Devil's Mist. Any other respectable female of the ton would probably refuse to step foot inside the ancient, drafty castle.

  Yes, he could do worse.

  The realization that he was on the point of abandoning his revenge staggered him. He would have to give the matter a great deal more thought before he made his decision.

  Gabriel turned and walked over to his desk. He put down the brandy glass and reached toward the lamp. He hesitated as he glanced down at his desk.

  Something was wrong. One of the drawers was partially open, as if someone had been in a hurry and forgotten to close it completely.

  He had left the drawers closed. And locked.

  Someone had gone through his desk.

  The writer in him nearly succumbed to panic. He yanked open the drawer that contained A Reckless Venture and hurriedly checked page numbers. He lowered himself slowly into his chair and swore in profound relief when he realized there were no missing pages.

  Then common sense took over. Gabriel stood up again and calmly checked the contents of his small library. On close inspection it was clear several books had been moved about on their shelves, but nothing appeared to be missing. He glanced around the room, noting the furnishings. He wondered why the intruder had not taken the silver candlesticks or the handsome basalt ware urn. Either could have brought the thief a nice price.