Reckless (34 page)

She was aware that Gabriel had dined at his club. He had been gone for some time before returning home a few minutes ago. She knew he was in his bedchamber now. She had heard him dismiss his valet. Phoebe glanced wistfully at the closed door that connected her room to Gabriel's. Her intuition told her he would not open it tonight. His pride would not allow him to do so.

Phoebe considered her own pride very carefully. It had seemed a very large obstacle earlier in the day, but now it did not appear to be quite so terribly important.

Gabriel was proving to be a perfectly infuriating husband, but there were mitigating circumstances. In his own way he had been trying to protect her. Her reasons for failing to appreciate that protection clearly baffled him.

It was obvious they each had a lot to learn about the other.

Phoebe got up slowly and went to the connecting door. She put her ear to the wood panel and listened carefully. There was no sound from the other room. Gabriel was probably in bed. It would likely never occur to him that he was the one who should apologize. The man could be incredibly dense about some things.

Phoebe drew a deep breath, gathered her courage, and cautiously opened the door. She peeked around the edge and saw Gabriel sitting in a chair. He was wearing his black dressing gown and he had a book open on his lap. He was reading by the light of the candle that sat on the small desk beside him.

He looked up as Phoebe walked slowly into the room. She saw that his shadowed face was marked with a dark, brooding intensity, and a small shiver went through her. Phoebe folded her arms together beneath her breasts and slipped her hands inside the sleeves of her wrapper. She came to a halt a few steps away from him and gently cleared her throat.

"Good evening, my lord," she said politely.

"Good evening, madam. I would have thought you'd be asleep by now."

"Yes, well, I could not seem to sleep."

"I see." Satisfaction gleamed briefly in his eyes. "Have you come to apologize for your loss of temper and several hours of sulking?"

"No, of course not. I had every right to lose my temper and sulk as long as I wished." She took a step closer and glanced down at the book in his hands. Her heart soared when she saw what it was. "I see you are reading Malory's Morte d'Arthur."

"Yes. I am extremely pleased to have it back in my possession." Gabriel smiled slightly. "I do not believe I have thanked you properly."

"Think nothing of it." She was delighted to know he liked the gift. "I am glad I could find it for you."

Gabriel's eyes did not waver. "Rest assured I shall return the favor."

"We are more than even," she said. "After all, in a roundabout way it is because of you that I have The Lady in the Tower back, is it not?"

"One could see it from that point of view." Gabriel continued to eye her intently. "Why were you unable to sleep?"

Phoebe felt herself turning red beneath his burning gaze. She was very glad she stood in shadow. "I've been thinking."

"Have you, indeed? Did you find the exercise interesting?"

"You need not sound so sarcastic, my lord. I am quite serious. I have been thinking about our marriage."

Gabriel's gaze was unreadable. "Wondering if you have made a mistake, perhaps? It is a little too late for such qualms, madam. You know the saying about marrying in haste."

"And repenting at leisure? Yes, I am familiar with it, thank you. That was not what I wanted to discuss."

Gabriel hesitated as if that was not quite the response he had been expecting. "Then what did you want to talk about?"

"Our future, my lord."

"What about it?"

"I am aware that you are distrustful of the emotion of love, Gabriel."

"I have never known that particular emotion to bring anything but trouble to a man."

Phoebe suddenly found the tension intolerable. To break it she began to move, trailing aimlessly around the room. She paused in front of the fireplace and examined the handsome clock that stood on it. "Yes, well, the thing is, Gabriel, I am not so fearful of such emotions as you are."

His mouth curved wryly. "I am aware of that."

"I was thinking about the differences between us in that regard," she persisted. "In the beginning I concluded that your unwillingness to indulge in the emotion of love came about because my sister changed her mind after she ran off with you. I knew you must have been hurt."

"I would have recovered soon enough from the blow," Gabriel said coolly. "Recovering from financial ruin and a bullet in the shoulder took somewhat longer. I admit the incident taught me a lesson about the dangers of allowing oneself to be governed by emotion, however."

"But that was not the only incident that taught you that lesson, was it?" Phoebe asked gently.

"What the devil are you talking about now?"

She moved on to his dressing table and stood looking at the handful of masculine items arrayed there. She picked up a small black lacquer box that was trimmed with silver. "I think you may have learned that lesson earlier in your life. You and I were raised in very different situations, were we not, Gabriel?"

"I think that is a safe assumption," he said. "Your father has a title that goes back several generations, and an enormous fortune. You have lived in luxury all of your life. Money and power make a great difference."

"That is not what I am talking about. I am talking about the fact that my family is very close. It is true that I have been treated as the baby all of my life. My family has always tended to be overprotective of me and in some ways they do not quite understand me. But they have always loved me. And I have always known that. You did not have that advantage."

Gabriel stilled. "What are you trying to say, Phoebe?"

She turned around to face him. "Your mother died when you were very young. You had only your father, and he, I think, preferred the company of his books. Is that not the way it was?"

"My father was a scholarly man." Gabriel closed the volume in his lap. "It was only natural that he devoted himself to his studies."

"I don't think it was so very natural," Phoebe retorted. "I think he should have devoted himself to you. Or at the very least, he should have given you the same degree of attention he gave his books."

"Phoebe, this is a pointless discussion. You have no notion of what you are talking about. I think it would be best if you went back to bed."

"Don't send me away, Gabriel." Phoebe hastily put the black and silver box back down on the dressing table. She went across the room to where Gabriel sat and came to a halt directly in front of him. "Please."

He smiled wryly. "I am not sending you away. I am sending you back to bed. There is no need to overdramatize the situation, my dear."

"I have been thinking about this matter all evening and I am convinced that the reason you are afraid of the emotion of love is because you do not trust it. And the reason you do not trust it is because too many people who have claimed to love you have abandoned you."

"Phoebe, that is rubbish."

"No, listen to me. It makes perfect sense and it explains so much." She flung herself down on her knees beside him and put her hand on his thigh. "Your mother loved you, but she died. Your father was supposed to love you, but for the most part he ignored you. You thought my sister loved you because she wanted to run away with you, but she was only seeking escape from another problem. No wonder you are distrustful."

Gabriel's brows rose. "This is the logic you have been working on all evening in your bedchamber?"

"Yes, it is."

"I regret to tell you that you have wasted your time, my dear. You would have done better to come downstairs and eat dinner. No doubt you are quite famished."

Phoebe stared at him. "You are an incredibly stubborn man."

"If by that you mean I am not going to be swayed by the sort of feminine logic you are employing at the moment, then yes, I suppose I am."

Phoebe was outraged. She jumped to her feet. "Do you know what I think? I think that in addition to being stubborn, you are also a coward."

"This is not the first time you have called me a coward," Gabriel said mildly. "It's fortunate that I do not take offense easily. Some men might take such a remark amiss. Especially from a wife."

"Is that so? Well, let me tell you something, Gabriel. It's fortunate that I am just as stubborn as you are. I still believe deep down that you love me. I think you are afraid to admit it, and that is why I call you a coward."

"You are, of course, entitled to your opinion."

"Damn you, Gabriel." Phoebe stamped her foot in frustration. "You are impossible at times." She whirled around and dashed back through the connecting door into her darkened bedchamber.

Safe on the other side, she slammed the door shut and began pacing her room. Damn the man. He was going to drive her mad with his stubborn refusal to surrender to the softer emotions. She knew he was not immune to them. She refused to believe she had been wrong about him.

The notion of having been wrong about Gabriel all these years was too staggeringly terrible to even contemplate. She was married to the man. Her future was now inexorably linked with his. She had to find a way to uncover the noble, idealistic knight she knew lay beneath the cynical exterior.

Raging at him and calling him a coward to his face was probably not a promising way to go about the task.

The object sailed through the open window without a sound. Phoebe was unaware anything had been thrown into the room from the street below until she heard a soft thud on the bed.

Startled, she swung around and stood staring into the shadows of the room. Whatever it was had rolled over to the edge of the mattress. For an instant she saw nothing at all. She sincerely hoped it was not a bat.

In the very next heartbeat there was a soft, muffled rush of sound. Without any warning, orange flames sprang up. They were curiously silent as they began feeding voraciously on the lace that edged the counterpane.

In another few minutes the fire would envelop the bed.

Phoebe broke through the shock that gripped her. She dashed across the room and seized the pitcher that stood beside the basin.

"Gabriel," she yelled as she hurled the contents of the pitcher over the flames.

The door slammed open. "What the hell … ?" He took in the sight of the leaping flames. "Christ. Get the pitcher from my room and then rouse the household. Quickly, Phoebe."

Phoebe raced into the other bedchamber, grabbed the pitcher, and hurried back. Gabriel already had the burning counterpane off the bed. He was smothering the flames by rolling them up inside the heavy fabric.

Phoebe handed him the pitcher of water and flew out of the room to wake the staff.

The damage was minimal. Gabriel's fury was not.

An hour after the fire was safely out and the staff had returned to their beds, he was still inwardly raging against the near disaster. He sprawled in his chair, brandy glass in his hand, and stared broodingly at Phoebe. She was sitting on top of his bed, her feet curled under her. She had a thoughtful expression on her face as she sipped the brandy he had given her.

He had nearly lost her this time, too. The knowledge sent a shudder through Gabriel's soul.

All he could think about was what a near thing it had been. If Phoebe had been asleep, she might not have awakened in time to save herself. He might not have smelled the smoke here in his own room until it was too late.

Thank God she had been awake.

"I am not going to let you out of my sight again," Gabriel said, half under his breath. He downed the last of his brandy.

"What was that, Gabriel?" Phoebe glanced at him.

"It must have been that crazed housemaid who took you down into the catacombs at Devil's Mist."

"You mean Alice?"

Gabriel turned the brandy glass around in his hands. "That madwoman must have followed us to London. For some reason she wants to frighten you. Perhaps harm you. It makes no sense."

"Madness seldom does make sense. If it did, we would not call it madness."

"But why has she focused her madness on you? You don't even know the woman."

"The person who threw that lantern through the window might not have been Alice," Phoebe said slowly. "It could have been anyone. Perhaps a gang of villains were out on the town tonight, looking for trouble. You know how it is when the mob is in full cry. They throw rocks through windows, start fires, and cause all manner of destruction."

"For God's sake, Phoebe, there was no mob outside your window. We heard no noise."

"That's true," she admitted. She chewed reflectively on her lip. "I've been thinking about something."

"What's that?" Gabriel got to his feet and paced impatiently to the window. He had been examining the street below every few minutes in hopes of seeing someone or something that might give him a clue.

"This business with the fire tonight."

"What about it?"

"Well," Phoebe said slowly, "it bears a rather striking resemblance to the incident in which I escaped the catacombs by swimming out through the cavern."

Gabriel scowled over his shoulder. "In what way?"

"Don't you see? It's another of the curses spelled out at the end of The Lady in the Tower."

"Bloody hell. That's impossible. I refuse to drag the supernatural element into this on top of everything else. Damnation, Phoebe, I don't even use the supernatural in my own writing."

"Yes, I know. But remember how the colophon goes?" Phoebe jumped up off the bed and disappeared into her own room. She returned a moment later with The Lady in the Tower.

"Phoebe, this is ridiculous."

"Listen to this." Phoebe settled herself on the bed again and opened the old book to the last page. "A curse on he who would steal this book. May he drown beneath the waves. May he be consumed by flames. May he spend an eternal night in hell."

"Devil take it, Phoebe. That's nonsense." Gabriel paused. "Unless, of course, Alice knows about the curse and in her madness is attempting to make it come true."

"How would she know about it?" Phoebe closed the book carefully.

"The Lady in the Tower has been in my possession for the entire time I've been back in England. It's possible someone on my staff has taken the liberty of going through the contents of my library. He or she might have told Alice about it."

Phoebe's brows drew together. "Even if that were so, the curse is written in Old French. What are the odds that a member of your staff could read it?"

"A good question." Gabriel studied the dark street again. "And who the hell is Alice?"

"I do not know, Gabriel. I have wracked my brain and I am absolutely certain I have never met her."

"She didn't work in your parents' household at some point in the past?"

"No."

"There has got to be a connection."

"Gabriel?"

"Yes?" He did not turn around; his mind was whirling with conjectures and possibilities. A connection. There had to be a connection between the book and Alice and the incidents.

"I hesitate to mention this because I know you are already biased in your opinion of Neil, but—"

A cold chill sliced through Gabriel. He spun around and advanced toward the bed. "What the devil does Baxter have to do with all this?"

"Nothing." Phoebe straightened in alarm as he bore down on the bed. "At least, I do not think he has anything to do with it. No, I am certain he doesn't."

"But?"

Phoebe swallowed. "But he told me that night he danced with me that he wanted The Lady in the Tower back. He said he felt it was rightfully his and that as it was all he would ever have of me, the least I could do was give it to him."

"Goddamn his bloody soul."

"Gabriel, you must not jump to any conclusions. Only think, my lord, the first incident happened at Devil's Mist, before we even knew Neil was still alive. And it was Alice who took me down into those catacombs, not Neil."

"Then there is some connection between Alice and Baxter," Gabriel said with savage satisfaction. "All I have to do is find it."

"My lord, I really do not think we should assume there is a connection at this stage," Phoebe said quickly. "Neil's interest in the book is sentimental in nature."

"Baxter has all the tender sensibilities of a shark."

Phoebe's mouth tightened. "Whatever you may think of him, the fact is he would have no .reason to harm me."

"He has a reason to harm me and he is smart enough to know he can use you to do it."

"You cannot prove anything, Gabriel."

"I shall find the connection between Alice and Baxter. When I have that, I shall have my proof."

"Gabriel, you are obsessed with casting Neil in the role of the villain. You frighten me."

Gabriel chained his anger and sense of unease. "Forgive me, my dear. I don't mean to alarm you." He reached down and scooped her up in his arms. He set her on her feet beside the bed and turned back the quilt. "Let us get some sleep. In the morning I shall set Stinton to investigating the mysterious Alice."

"What about me?" Phoebe asked as she obediently scrambled into bed. "I thought you intended to have Stinton follow me around."

"He cannot be in two places at once."

Phoebe's eyes brightened. "Does this mean you have decided to trust me, after all? You no longer believe you need someone to keep an eye on me?"

"It means," Gabriel said as he blew out the candle and got in beside her, "that you will not need anyone to follow you about tomorrow because you are not going anywhere."

She stilled, eyes widening in the shadows. "You cannot mean that, my lord. I have engagements tomorrow. I am going to visit my sister."

"Your sister can come here to visit you." Gabriel reached for her. "You are not going anywhere until this matter is settled."

"Anywhere at all? Gabriel, you simply cannot do this."

"I can and I will. I realize the concept of obedience to anyone, let alone your poor husband, is quite foreign to you. But in this matter I intend to be obeyed." Gabriel felt her whole body stiffen in reaction. He tried to soften his tone, willing her to understand. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I cannot take any chances. You must stay here in the house unless I am free to escort you or unless Stinton is available."

Phoebe struggled to sit up. "My lord, I refuse to be kept a prisoner in my own home."

Gabriel pressed her down into the bedding and came down on top of her. She wriggled angrily until he threw a heavy leg over her thighs and captured her defiant face in his hands.

"Be still, Phoebe," he said gently. "This is not another exciting adventure you are having. This is a very dangerous situation. You will be guided by me."

"Why should I be guided by you?"

"Because I am your husband. And because I know a great deal more about this kind of thing than you do."

She glared defiantly up at him, searching his eyes, testing his strength of will. He stayed silent, praying she would submit.

The struggle for the upper hand lasted only a moment or two and then it was over. Phoebe relaxed beneath him and Gabriel knew he had won. For now, at least. His sense of relief was almost overwhelming.

"There are times, my lord, when I find this business of marriage extremely irritating," Phoebe said.

"I know you do," Gabriel whispered.

She was not happy with her own acquiescence, Gabriel realized. Moonlight streaming through the window illuminated the resentment in her eyes.

He was suddenly reminded of the first time he had seen her features revealed by moonlight. That night on the lonely lane in Sussex he had lifted her veil, taken one look at her shocked, defiant face, and he had known he wanted her. Something in him had known that he would stop at nothing to make her his own.

Kudeo. I dare.

Now she was his. But she was so very vulnerable and so very impulsive. He had to protect her because he could not trust her to protect herself.

"My God, Phoebe," he said against her mouth.

"You do not know what you do to me. I swear I do not comprehend it myself. But I do know that you are mine and I will do whatever I must to keep you safe." He crushed her lips beneath his own, drinking in the essence of her, trying to capture her soul as well as her sweet body. After a moment Phoebe made a soft little sound and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What the devil is going on?" Anthony grabbed the bottle of claret off the end table and poured himself a glass. He glowered at Gabriel as he dropped into a chair across from him.

"Keep your voice down." Gabriel flicked a meaningful glance around the club room. It was still early in the afternoon and the club was only sparsely populated as of yet, but one or two of the members were standing close enough to overhear a loud conversation. "I do not particularly wish to announce my affairs to the world."

Anthony subsided in annoyance. "Very well," he said, lowering his voice, "tell me what this is all about. Why the urgent summons?"

"Someone is trying to hurt or, at the very least, terrify Phoebe." Someone might even be trying to kill her, Gabriel added silently. But he could not bring himself to say the words aloud.

"Good God." Anthony stared, thunderstruck. "Are you certain?"

"As certain as I can be."

"Who is it? I'll kill him."

"I'm afraid you must wait your turn. I have first claim on that pleasure. As it happens, I believe the person directly responsible is a woman named Alice. She is either mad or a member of the criminal class who has some acting talent. She was able to pass herself off to Phoebe as a housemaid. I believe there is a strong possibility that Neil Baxter is involved." He briefly summarized events.

Anthony listened in fulminating silence. When Gabriel finished, he nearly exploded. "Goddamn it, man, Baxter is supposed to be dead. You assured us he was."

"Believe me, I am vastly more disappointed than you are that he is not."

"What the devil are you going to do about him?"

"Get rid of him again," Gabriel said. "But this time I intend to make certain he stays out of my way in future."

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "He truly is a cutthroat?"

"I was told by some of the survivors on my ship that he even seemed to enjoy the business of cutting throats."

"Why the attacks on Phoebe?"

"I believe they are Baxter's way of taunting me."

"Why is he using this Alice person?" Anthony persisted.

"Perhaps so that there will be no proof that he is behind the attacks." Gabriel frowned, thinking it through. "If anyone is caught, it will be her. If she is truly mad, she will not be able to point the finger of blame at Baxter. If she is a professional villain and chooses to confess, her word will not mean much against Baxter's."

"Perhaps she does not even know Baxter's identity," Anthony said slowly. "He might have hired her to do his dirty work without letting her know who he was."

Gabriel nodded. "Possible. But I am going to try to find out if there is a connection between the two."

"How will you do that?"

Gabriel leaned forward and lowered his voice even further. "I am having a Runner look into it. I have instructed him to find out if Baxter has a mistress or some connection to the criminal class."

Anthony studied him for a moment. "If you cannot prove Baxter is behind these acts of violence against Phoebe, what will you do?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I would prefer to be able to prove that Baxter is causing the trouble, if only to convince Phoebe that he is not the Sir Lancelot she believes him to be. But one way or another, I shall have to get rid of Baxter. In the end I may be obliged to do it without being able to prove what I know to be true."