Reckless

Chapter 11

Gabriel called on every ounce of self-control he possessed to deal with the rage that threatened to consume him. He could not believe Phoebe had run from him like this.

Clarington and his family sat in funereal silence, their eyes following Gabriel as he paced back and forth across the drawing room.

It was nearly ten o'clock. No one had missed Phoebe until an hour ago, when her maid had gone to her room with her tea. Gabriel had received the cryptic summons shortly thereafter. When he had arrived at the Clarington town house, he had found the entire clan gathered here in the drawing room to deliver the news that Phoebe had fled.

"Look on the bright side," Lydia suggested. "As far as we know, she ran off by herself. There does not appear to be another man involved here."

"As far as we know," Anthony said morosely.

Gabriel shot him a furious glance. The last thing he wanted to do this morning was entertain the possibility that Phoebe had run off with another man. Matters were bad enough as it was. "You believe she's on her way to Sussex?"

"There was a note," Meredith said quietly. "She said she would be spending some time with an aunt in Sussex."

"It could have been a clever ruse," Lydia offered. "She might want us to think she has gone in one direction while in truth she has dashed off to somewhere else entirely."

"No." Meredith held herself very still. Her eyes never left Gabriel. "She knew we would worry, so she told us where she was going in hopes that we would not fret."

"Not fret?" Clarington turned red. "Not fret? The chit takes off before dawn without a word to anyone and she doesn't want us to fret? What in God's name does she expect us to do?"

Lydia put a hand on his arm. "Calm yourself, my dear. All will be well. Phoebe is quite capable of taking care of herself."

"Oh, is she, now?" Claringron gave his wife a scathing look. "And tell me, how will she take care of her reputation after news of this incident gets out, pray tell? I would not blame Wylde for calling off the marriage."

Meredith gasped. "Papa, you must not say that."

"Why not?" Anthony muttered. "What man in his right mind wants a wife who is going to cause him this kind of trouble?"

"Phoebe is frightened." Meredith leaped to her feet and faced Gabriel and the others. "Don't you understand? She ran away because she was being pushed into this marriage without so much as a by-your-leave. No one even bothered to ask her opinion."

Clarington scowled. "She likes Wylde. Leastways, I thought she did. What the devil is the matter with that creature? She makes no sense at all."

Meredith lifted her chin. "I'll tell you what the matter is. She discovered that her entire future was being settled by you and Wylde, Papa. She felt like a horse that was being sold to the highest bidder."

Gabriel's jaw tightened.

"Nonsense," Clarington said.

"It's the truth," Meredith said. "I know exactly how she felt because I felt precisely the same way eight years ago. The difference between Phoebe and me was that I asked someone to assist me in my escape. Phoebe, being Phoebe, arranged her own escape all by herself."

"What in hell does she even want to escape?" Anthony demanded. "Papa is right. She likes Wylde."

Meredith stamped her foot in exasperation. "Really? And how does Wylde feel about her?"

Gabriel frowned. "Phoebe knows how I feel about her."

"Is that so?" Meredith rounded on him. "You have declared your affections for her, then, sir? You have told her you love her?"

"For God's sake, Meredith," Gabriel muttered. "That is none of your business."

"Ah-hah. So you have not. Pray, sir, do you love her?"

Gabriel was suddenly very conscious of the others watching him intently. "Phoebe and I understand each other."

"I doubt that," Meredith said. "I'll wager you have the same sort of understanding between you that Trowbridge and I had eight years ago. Which amounts to nothing at all."

Gabriel was incensed. "That's not true."

Meredith narrowed her eyes in a most un-Meredith fashion. "You have as good as admitted that you have not told Phoebe that you love her. What did you expect her to do when she found herself on the brink of marriage?"

"She's not a green girl," Gabriel said through his teeth. "She had no business running off like this."

Meredith lifted her chin disdainfully. "If you ask me, she was practically obliged to run off. She had no reason to think you would behave any differently if she stayed and meekly agreed to all the plans you and Papa made for her. Phoebe is very strong-minded."

"Too headstrong by far," Gabriel said.

"You should have talked to her first about this marriage," Meredith said. "You should have told her of your feelings."

Lydia sighed. "Somehow I cannot believe any good will come of this strange notion that men and women should talk to each other about such intimate matters. Everyone knows men are not much good at that sort of thing. They get frustrated and irritable when they attempt such complicated discussions. Something to do with their brains, no doubt."

"No doubt, madam." Gabriel had had enough. He faced Phoebe's family. "Very well, then, as you appear to have lost my fiancée on the very day the notices are due to hit the papers, I must be on my way."

Anthony got to his feet. "What do you intend to do?"

"What do you think I'm going to do? Go after her, of course. She is not going to escape this easily." Gabriel started toward the door.

"Wait. I'll come with you," Anthony said.

"No, you will not. I have secured a special license. Phoebe and I shall deal with this matter alone."

"You're going to marry her?" Meredith looked alarmed. "Wylde, hold a moment. There is something I must say to you."

"What?" Gabriel was already at the door. He was seething with impatience.

Meredith gave him a pleading look. "You will be kind to her when you catch up to her, will you not? Please try to comprehend her feelings. I know she seems a bit impulsive, but the truth is, she is a creature of very delicate sensibilities. She needs understanding."

"She needs a strong hand applied to her backside," Gabriel said. He went out the door.

But Meredith's parting words haunted him as he made hurried preparations for leaving town. He remembered the look on Phoebe's face yesterday afternoon when Clarington had finally summoned her to the library to hear that her future had been settled. She had been much too distant and far too calm.

Gabriel realized now that Phoebe's demeanor had been a very unnatural one for her. He should have suspected all was not well. But it had never occurred to him that she would run off like this in order to avoid marriage to him.

You are no different than Kilbourne.

She had run from him. The knowledge cut into Gabriel like a knife. He realized that for some reason he had come to believe that his feisty, outrageous Phoebe would never leave him.

She had made a terrible mistake. Phoebe acknowledged that before the stage had gone fifteen miles.

What an idiot she was. She was running away from the man she loved.

What did it matter that Gabriel did not yet love her? She had the remainder of the Season to devise a plan to teach him to love her. It would be her new quest.

The sudden, violent lurching of the coach and the startled shouts of the passengers interrupted her anxious thoughts.

"Broke a wheel, by God," the man with the gin flask announced. "That'll slow us down a bit."

As fat as Phoebe was concerned, the broken wheel was nothing less than an act of God. She had never been so grateful for a carriage accident in her life.

The crippled vehicle managed to make it to a nearby inn. Phoebe alighted from it along with the other passengers, collected her luggage, and made her way indoors.

She pushed her way through the crowd of passengers gathered in front of the innkeeper's desk and asked for a seat on the London stage.

"Won't be any seats available, ma'am," the innkeeper's wife said without any show of sympathy. "Sold all the tickets yesterday. I can sell you a seat on the ten o'clock stage tomorrow morning."

"But I must get back to London tonight," Phoebe said.

"You'll have to wait until tomorrow." The woman gave her a speculative look. "I've got a room I can give you for the night."

"No, thank you. I shall certainly not be spending the night here." Phoebe began to comprehend the true extent of the disaster. Her reputation was going to be ruined if anyone discovered that she had been obliged to spend the night alone in this inn.

She tugged her veil more firmly down over her face and limped into the inn's dining room for a bite to eat. She needed to think and she could not do that while she was starving.

She was aware that she was the object of several rude stares when she sat down at a table. Ladies traveling alone were always vulnerable to that sort of thing. It would get a lot worse once night fell.

She wondered if Gabriel had been informed that she had run off. The thought drove her further into her gloomy mood. If he found out she had left Town, he might simply wash his hands of her entirely.

She had to get back before he discovered she was missing. What an idiotic impulse this had all been. Perhaps she could throw herself on the mercy of some family traveling to London by private coach. Assuming such a family chose to stop for a rest at this inn. But that would mean revealing her true identity. She dared not do that.

Phoebe's sense of desperation grew rapidly. She had to find a way out of this tangle. She covertly studied the other people in the tavern, wondering if any of them might provide assistance. Surely some of them were on their way to London. She might be able to buy a ticket for double or triple the price.

At that moment an odd little sensation rippled through her. She glanced around quickly and was stunned to see Gabriel striding through the door of the dining room.

Gabriel was here.

A rush of joyous relief swept over Phoebe. He had come after her. Hard on the heels of that thought came the realization that he had never looked more dangerous. His face was as forbidding as a hawk's and his eyes were chips of green ice. He stood still for a moment and surveyed the crowded room.

Phoebe's stomach fluttered. This was no gallant lover who had ridden in pursuit of his beloved in hopes of convincing her to return to him. Gabriel definitely did not look as if he were in a mood to declare undying love and devotion.

For an instant Phoebe sat frozen, caught between an impulse to throw herself into his arms and an equally strong urge to flee. In that split second of indecision, Gabriel's eyes came to rest unerringly on her veiled face.

He appeared to recognize her instantly. Perhaps it was because of her vivid violet traveling gown. He walked straight toward her, his mud-spattered boots loud on the wooden floor. Several heads turned curiously as he went past. Gabriel looked neither to the right nor to the left. His gaze never left Phoebe.

By the time he reached her table, she hardly dared breathe.

"I'm disappointed in you, Phoebe," Gabriel said without any inflection. "It's not like you to run away from a problem. You generally stand your ground and fight."

It was too much. Phoebe leaped to her feet as rage poured through her. "I was not running away. As a matter of fact, I am waiting for the next stage back to London."

Gabriel's brows rose. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is. You may check with the innkeeper's wife, if you do not believe me. She will tell you that I attempted to purchase a ticket."

"Attempted?"

"It was not my fault that there was no seat available on the next stage," Phoebe snapped. "I was planning to purchase someone else's ticket."

"I see." Gabriel's voice warmed a few degrees. His eyes lost their hard glitter. "Well, it does not matter whether or not there is a seat available. You will not be needing one."

She eyed him warily. "Why not?"

"You will not be using public transport." Gabriel took her arm.

"You are going to drive me back to London?"

"No, madam. I am going to take you home with me."

"Home?" Her eyes widened behind her veil. "You mean to your home?"

"Yes." His eyes softened almost imperceptibly. "I have a special license with me, Phoebe. We shall be married at once. By the time we reach Devil's Mist, you will be my wife."

"Oh, dear," she whispered. "I'm not at all certain that is a sound notion, my lord."

"Do you believe you can keep this day's events quiet?"

She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye as he led her out of the public room. "I've been thinking about this, my lord. I believe that if we are very cautious we might be able to sneak safely back to Town."

"Phoebe, allow me to tell you that you do not know the meaning of the word cautious. Nor is there any reason to delay the marriage in the hopes that you will talk me out of it. The notices have already appeared in the morning papers. There is no escape for either of us now. We may as well take care of the matter at once."

Phoebe winced. "You are quite certain you wish to marry me, Wylde?"

"Yes."

She took hold of her courage with both hands. "Because you love me?"

Gabriel scowled and glanced meaningfully around the crowded inn lobby. "For God's sake, madam, this is hardly the time or place to discuss such matters. Wait here while I see to the horses and your luggage. You do have luggage with you, I presume?"

Phoebe sighed. "Yes, my lord. I have luggage with me."

There was something not quite real about the rest of that day. At times Phoebe was convinced she was dreaming. At other moments she would find herself filled with a strange, hopeful excitement.

She became Gabriel's wife in a short, hurried ceremony that lacked any semblance of romantic trappings. Once Gabriel had produced the special license, the village parson was interested only in his fee.

A strange, uneasy silence descended afterward as Gabriel handed Phoebe up into his phaeton. He vaulted up onto the seat beside her and picked up the reins.

Phoebe kept reminding herself that this was her wedding day and that she had just married the man she loved, but she could not bring herself to believe it.

The sense of unreality grew more oppressive as dusk fell. Fog rolled in from the sea, blanketing the Sussex landscape in a gray mist. Phoebe shivered, aware of the chill that was seeping through her heavy traveling gown.

She was trying to think of a way to break the hard silence between herself and Gabriel when she spotted the hulking outline of an old castle looming up out of the mist. In the odd evening light, it might have been an illusion, an enchanted castle out of a medieval tale.

Phoebe straightened with sudden interest. "Good heavens, Gabriel, What is that?"

"That's Devil's Mist."

"Your home?" She turned to him in delight. "You live in a castle?"

His mouth curved faintly for the first time since he had plucked her out of the tavern's public room. "I had a feeling it would appeal to you."

Phoebe felt her spirits revive like flowers in the sun. "This is wonderful. I had no notion you lived in such a marvelous place. Although now that I think about it, it suits you."

"It suits you, too, Phoebe."

"Yes," she agreed, utterly enthralled. "I have always wished to live in a castle."

Phoebe was still bubbling over with enthusiasm an hour later as she and Gabriel sat down to dinner. Gabriel hid a smile of satisfaction as he studied her. His new wife already looked very much at home here in his cavernous dining room.

His wife. A fierce anticipation gripped Gabriel as he gazed at her. Soon she would be his.

Phoebe's soft, gently rounded shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts were as pale as moonlight in the glow of the candles. The fiery highlights in her dark hair gleamed. Her topaz eyes were brilliant and mysterious. He could sec the slight flush on her checks and he knew she was thinking about the wedding night that lay ahead.

He had a sudden fierce urge to pick her up in his arms and carry her straight upstairs to bed. Soon, he promised himself. Very soon she would be completely his.

"I love Devil's Mist, my lord," Phoebe said as the butler poured wine into her glass. "I cannot wait to see all of it in the morning."

"I shall take you on a tour after breakfast," Gabriel promised. "You shall see everything, including the catacombs below."

"Catacombs?" Phoebe was clearly fascinated.

"At one time they were no doubt used as storage rooms and dungeons," Gabriel explained. "But I call them catacombs because that is what they remind me of. The only rule is that you must never go down there alone."

"Why not?"

"It's dangerous," Gabriel explained. "It's full of secret passageways and doors that can only be opened and closed by hidden mechanisms."

Phoebe's eyes widened. "How exciting. I cannot wait to explore the place."

"Immediately after breakfast, my dear." Breakfast would be very late tomorrow, he vowed to himself. He had no intention of rising early, not with Phoebe in his bed.

"Wherever did you acquire all that wonderful armor in the main hall?" Phoebe asked as she accepted a portion of veal pie from the footman. "I vow it is the most wonderful collection I have ever seen."

"Here and there."

"And that motto carved over the door. Audeo. Is that the traditional motto of the earls of Wylde?"

"It is now," Gabriel said.

Phoebe looked up sharply. "You mean you invented it yourself?"

"Yes."

She smiled, vastly pleased. "It means 'I dare, does it not?"

"Yes."

"I must say it is a perfect motto for you, my lord."

"I believe it suits you, too, madam," Gabriel said deliberately.

Phoebe glowed. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes."

"That is very flattering, my lord." She chuckled. "But I had the impression that you were not quite so pleased with my daring earlier today. Do you know, I rather thought you were going to be extremely unpleasant about the whole thing. Well, that business is all behind us now, is it not?"

Gabriel sent the butler and the footman from the room with a small nod. When the door closed behind them, he leaned back in his chair and picked up his wineglass.

"About that business, Phoebe," he said quietly.

"Yes, my lord?" She seemed suddenly very occupied with her veal pie.

Gabriel hesitated, remembering the thoughts that had tormented him as he chased after Phoebe. "I am not really as bad as Kilbourne, you know."

Phoebe's fork paused halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowered it. "That was unkind of me. Of course you are not as bad as Kilbourne. I would never have married you if I thought you were as nasty as he is."

"You might have been forced to marry him if he had succeeded in carrying you off." Gabriel heard the edge on his own words, but he could not keep it out of his voice. Every time he thought of Kilbourne attempting to kidnap Phoebe, he went cold inside.

"I would not have married Kilbourne, regardless of whether or not he had kidnapped me," Phoebe said with a tiny shudder. "I would have preferred to live the rest of my life as a recluse in disgrace."

"Your family would have insisted that you marry him."

"They might have insisted, but I would never have agreed."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You tried to avoid marriage to me, but you did not succeed."

Phoebe blushed and looked down at her plate. "I did not try very hard, my lord."

Gabriel's fingers tightened on his wineglass. "You ran away from me, Phoebe."

"Only because I wanted some time to think. I did not like the way everyone seemed to be making decisions for me. But by the time the wheel broke on the stage, I knew I had made a mistake."

"What convinced you that you had made a mistake?"

Phoebe toyed with her food. Then she looked up and her eyes met his. "I realized I was not opposed to the notion of marriage to you."

"Why not?"

"I think you know the answer to that, my lord."

He smiled whimsically. "Let me guess. You married me in order to acquire access to the contents of my library?"

Phoebe's eyes lit with amusement. "Not entirely, my lord, although now that you mention it, I must admit your library is one of your most interesting assets."

Gabriel pushed aside his plate and folded his arms on the table. "Did you marry me because you want to experience more of what you felt that night in Brantley's maze?"

Phoebe turned pink. "As I said at the time, that was very pleasant, my lord, but I would not have married for the sole purpose of repeating the experience."

"Then why did you marry me?"

Phoebe took a very large swallow of wine. She set the glass down with a small touch of defiance. "Because I am extremely fond of you, my lord. As you very well know."

"Fond of me?"

"Yes." She fiddled with her fork.

"Are you more fond of me than you were of Neil Baxter?"

Phoebe frowned. "Of course. Neil was very kind to me and he was interested in medieval literature. But the truth is that I did not love him. He was never more than a friend as far as I was concerned. That is one of the reasons I feel so guilty about his fate, you see. After all, he left England because he was determined to find a way to win my hand."

"Phoebe, your father paid Baxter a handsome sum to leave England," Gabriel said bluntly. "That's the reason Baxter went off to the South Seas. His courtship of you was a ploy to get money out of your family.

Phoebe did not move. Her eyes widened in bewildered distress. "I do not believe you."

"Then ask your father." Gabriel took a swallow of wine. "Clarington was the one who told me the truth. He was trying to buy me off at the time and rather casually mentioned that the technique had worked on Baxter."

"My father never said anything about paying Neil to leave England."

"Your father was no doubt attempting to protect your feelings," Gabriel said gruffly. "He probably knew you would be hurt if you discovered Baxter had never had any honorable intentions toward you. Of course poor Clarington does not know you've been on a quest to find the man you think killed Baxter. If your father had known that, he might have told you the full truth."

Phoebe's eyes were full of stunned shock. "Are you certain of this?"

"Absolutely certain. Baxter used you to get money out of your family. That was his only interest in you. He deserved everything he got out there in the South Seas."

"But for an entire year I have felt terrible because I believed he went out there to make his fortune so that he could continue to woo me. He called himself my Lancelot. He claimed he wished to serve me forever. I would always be his Lady in the Tower."

"You need no longer feel any guilt on account of Baxter," Gabriel said. "Forget him."

"Finding his killer has been my quest for months."

"Forget the damn quest."

"I feel as though I have been living in an illusion," Phoebe whispered. "If what you say is true, I have wasted so much time. So much energy. So much emotion."

"Forget him, Phoebe."

Phoebe's ringers trembled as she folded her napkin and placed it carefully on the table. "Such a mistake makes one question one's judgment."

Gabriel shrugged. "We all make mistakes when it comes to matters of that sort. Hell, even I made a similar mistake eight years ago when I tried to run off with your sister."

"Yes, you did, didn't you? And now I have risked a great deal by marrying you."

He did not care for the strange expression in her eyes. "Phoebe, I only told you the truth so that you could put your silly quest behind you. I do not fancy being married to a woman who is bent on tracking down a killer. Very inconvenient."

"I see." She looked at him. "You knew the truth about Neil almost from the start?"

He hesitated. "Your father told me about him shortly after I arrived in London."

"Yet you led me to believe you were helping me on my quest. How long would you have let me go on believing that your intentions were honorable, sir?"

"My intentions were honorable. Eventually." Too late Gabriel saw the trap he had set for himself. "Phoebe, I can explain everything."

Phoebe stood up. "I do not believe there is anything to explain, sir. You lied to me. You told me you were assisting me on my quest to find Neil's killer. But you never had any intention of helping me find the pirate who murdered him, did you?"

Gabriel was trapped. He could hardly explain about his short-lived notions of vengeance. That news would only upset her further. "I did not lie to you."

"Yes, you did. Tell me, why did you marry me?" she demanded, her eyes fierce.

"Because I think we shall suit each other very well." Gabriel tried to make his tone reasonable and soothing. "Once you have settled down and stopped giving in to your reckless impulses, that is."

"Reckless impulses? You mean like the reckless impulse that led me to marry you today?" Phoebe started around the edge of the table. "I assure you, my lord, I have certainly learned my lesson. I will not succumb to any further reckless impulses."

Gabriel realized she was going to walk right out of the dining room. "Phoebe, come back here. I am talking to you."

"You may finish the conversation by yourself. I doubt there is anything meaningful that I can contribute. You seem to have all the answers."

"Damnation, Phoebe, I said come back here."

"I do not wish to do so, my lord."

"I am your husband," Gabriel reminded her grimly. "And this is our wedding night. If you are finished with dinner, you may go upstairs. I shall join you shortly."

She had her hand on the doorknob. Her eyes glittered with anger as she glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Forgive me, my lord, I am not in the mood to have any more illusions shattered tonight."

Gabriel set his teeth as she slammed the door. Silence descended.

She would not dare lock her door against him tonight, he thought. She was his wife.

But even as he tried to reassure himself on that score, Gabriel knew Phoebe was quite capable of refusing to grant him his rights as a husband.

Hell, she was capable of almost anything.

An hour later he discovered that she had not locked her bedroom door. She was not even in her bedroom.

Gabriel tore the castle apart, looking for her. He finally realized she had retreated to the tower room he used as a study. She had locked herself inside.

Gabriel pounded on the door. "Phoebe, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I am going to spend the night in here, Gabriel," she called back. "I want to think. I must sort this all out for myself."

Gabriel remembered the copy of The Lady in the Tower that was sitting in one of the bookcases. If she found it, she would probably never speak to him again.

She would never understand why it was in his possession. She would believe the worst. And in this case the worst was the simple truth. Lie had been responsible for Neil Baxter's death.

Gabriel went cold at the thought of the impending disaster. That was when he discovered that he, too, was capable of almost anything.