Reckless

Chapter 12

Phoebe lit the fire that had been laid on the hearth. Then she got to her feet and surveyed the small stone room in the light of the flames. She knew at once that this had to be Gabriel's study.

She felt like a trespasser, but at the same time she was irresistibly intrigued by the knowledge that this room was so intimately connected to Gabriel. She could feel the heart and soul of him in here.

She had stumbled onto the tower room by accident when she had set out searching for a refuge. She had brought a pillow and a quilt with her because she fully intended to spend the night here. There had been no doubt in her mind but that Gabriel would try to exercise his marital rights tonight. He was, after all, a very sensual man. He was also not a man to ignore a clear challenge, and she had virtually issued him one.

It was always a mistake to issue a challenge to a knight-errant.

Perhaps if she had tried explaining herself to him, she might have avoided the confrontation, Phoebe thought. But it was too late now. The damage had been done. Besides, she had not been in a mood to explain anything. She had been too hurt and too angry—

When she thought of the months she had wasted feeling guilty because of Neil Baxter, she wanted to scream. Had he really lied to her? It was difficult to believe. Surely there was some explanation for what had happened.

When she thought of how Gabriel had tricked her into believing he was going to help her on her quest, she wanted to cry. Gabriel definitely had lied to her. That was what hurt the most.

Of course, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she had to admit she had kept him in the dark about one or two matters right from the start. Not that she had ever intended to mislead him, she thought. It had just sort of happened due to an unfortunate set of circumstances over which she'd had little control.

As far as she could determine, Gabriel had no such excuse. But perhaps he did not see it in that light.

It was all too much to deal with on top of everything else that had happened today. She needed time to reflect. Time to decide what to do next. Somehow she had to find a way to make her marriage work.

She sat down behind Gabriel's desk. This was where he wrote, she realized. She felt oddly close to him as she sat there in the firelit room. She reached out to pick up one of his pens. He used these to create legends. The knowledge awed her.

A scraping sound outside the window jolted her out of her reverie. Startled, Phoebe dropped the pen and got to her feet. Her hand went to her throat when she heard the noise again.

It was not a tree branch rasping against the stone, she realized. This room was three stories off the ground and there were no trees outside the window.

The sliding, seraping sound came again. Phoebe swallowed uneasily. She did not believe in ghosts, she reminded herself. But this was a very old castle and it had certainly seen its share of violence and bloodshed.

There was a soft thud as a dark shape landed on the narrow ledge. A hand shoved hard against the window. Phoebe backed quickly toward the door, fumbling for the lock. Her mouth opened on a scream.

The tower window slammed open and Gabriel vaulted into the room. A long, thick rope drifted in the opening behind him. Phoebe realized it was suspended from the roof. She gazed at him in open-mouthed amazement and dawning horror.

"Good evening, madam wife." Gabriel's eyes glittered in the firelight as he coolly removed his gloves. He was not even breathing heavily. He had removed his jacket and cravat to make the descent. His white shirt was streaked with dirt and his boots were badly scuffed. "I suppose I should not be surprised to learn that your taste in wedding nights runs toward the bizarre."

Phoebe finally found her voice. "Gabriel. You bloody idiot. My God, you could have been killed."

She rushed past him and leaned out the window. The heavy rope dangled from high overhead. It was a very long way to the ground. Phoebe closed her eyes as terrible images appeared in her mind. She could easily visualize Gabriel's body lying broken on the courtyard stones.

"I'm glad you have the fire going." Gabriel held his hands out to the names. "It's rather chilly out there tonight."

Phoebe ducked her head back inside the window and whirled to face him. "You came down from the roof."

He shrugged. "It was the only way. The door to this room appeared to be locked. An accident, no doubt."

Phoebe lost her temper. "You risked your neck just to exercise your husbandly rights?" she yelled.

Gabriel's eyes roved possessively over her. "I cannot think of a better reason."

"Are you mad?" Phoebe wanted to throw something. "Of all the stupid, witless, brainless things to do. I cannot believe this. Have you no common sense?"

"That is a rather odd accusation, coming from you."

"This is not funny. You could have been killed."

He shrugged. "It was no worse than climbing a ship's mast."

"Good grief. 'Tis a scene straight out of the tale of The Lady in the Tower." Phoebe charged across the small space separating them and came to a halt directly in front of him. "You must never, ever do anything like this again, do you hear me?"

Gabriel's eyes burned. He caught her face between his palms. "I will do it again if you run from me again."

"Gabriel, you scared me to death. Every time I close my eyes I can see your body lying on the stones. You must not take such foolish chances."

He cut off her protest with a quick, hard kiss. "Promise me you will never run from me again."

She splayed her ringers on his chest and searched his harsh face. "I promise. Do you vow that you will never do anything so wickedly reckless again?"

His thumbs traced the line of her cheekbones. "Do you care so much about me, then?"

Her lower lip trembled. "You must know that I do."

"Then you will nor run off again or lock yourself away from me. Because if you do, I will come after you, even if it means descending a castle wall on a rope."

"But Gabriel—"

"Even if it means climbing down into hell itself," Gabriel vowed softly.

Phoebe felt her insides melt. "Oh, Gabriel …»

"Come here, my lady in the tower." Gabriel pulled her closer against his hard body. His palm slid down her back, pressing her into the cradle of his muscled thighs.

When Phoebe made a tiny sound, Gabriel brought his mouth back down on hers in a kiss that scorched her from head to toe. Warmth welled up inside her. It was mingled with a sense of longing that was so acute it brought tears to her eyes. She lowered her lashes, twined her arms around his neck, and gave herself up to the heat.

"This is the way it was meant to be between us, my sweet," Gabriel breathed. "I knew it from the first time I met you."

"Did you really?" Phoebe could hardly stand now. She clung to him, touching her lips to the strong line of his jaw. She turned her head and kissed the inside of his wrist. "I have been afraid to hope that you might feel for me some of the things I have been feeling for you."

He smiled against her cheek. "And precisely what have you been feeling for me?"

She shuddered against him. "I love you."

"Ah, my sweet Phoebe." His hands tightened on her, drawing her down onto the quilt she had spread on the carpet in front of the fire.

Phoebe felt the room whirl around her. Then she was lying on her back, her skirts foaming at her knees. She was aware of Gabriel stretching out beside her. His leg tangled with hers, urging her thighs apart, pinning her gently to the floor. When she opened her eyes, she found him gazing intently down into her face.

"Gabriel, I have done a great deal of thinking about this aspect of things."

"Have you?" He brushed his mouth lingeringly over her lips, seeking a response.

"Yes. I like your kisses very much. And I like the way you touch me."

"I'm glad." Gabriel dropped a warm kiss into the curve of her shoulder. "Because I definitely enjoy touching you."

"Nevertheless," Phoebe said quickly, "I cannot help but believe that it might be best if we waited a while before we consummate our marriage."

"I had the impression you were no longer angry with me." He nibbled at her earlobe.

"I'm not," she confessed. How could she be angry when he was making her burn like this? "But there are many matters we need to clear up between us. Matters such as those that came up during dinner tonight. Gabriel, there is still so much we do not know about each other."

"I thought we agreed you would not run from me again."

"I would not run away," she assured him quickly. "We would live as man and wife. I simply meant that perhaps we should become better acquainted before we actually become man and wife. If you see what I mean."

He trapped her head between his hands again. Phoebe stared up at him through her lashes. The firelight sharpened the edges of his hawklike face and deepened the mystery of his eyes.

"Tell me again that you love me, Phoebe."

"I love you," she whispered.

He smiled slowly. "And we are wed. There is no need to wait."

Phoebe gathered her courage. "But I am not precisely certain yet how you feel about me, Gabriel. I ran away this morning because I feared you were offering marriage out of a misguided sense of chivalry."

He took her earlobe between his teeth again and bit down just hard enough to startle her. "Trust me, madam, it was not a sense of chivalry that led me to offer marriage."

"Are you absolutely certain?" she persisted. "Because I truly do not want to feel you were obliged to marry me."

He looked down into her eyes. "I want you more than I want anything else on the face of the earth."

She read the desire in his eyes. "Gabriel. Do you mean it?"

"I will show you how much I mean it." Gabriel crushed her mouth gently beneath his own. His tongue plunged between her lips, inviting her to taste him as he was tasting her.

With a flash of feminine intuition, Phoebe realized that this was Gabriel's way of telling her of his feelings. He loved her. He could not make love to her like this unless his emotions matched her own.

Gabriel found the tapes of her gown and undid them in several short, swift motions. A moment later Phoebe felt the warmth of the fire on her bare skin as she was freed from the dress and the petticoat she had worn beneath it. Gabriel's palm moved across her breasts.

The feel of his roughened fingers against her nipples startled her. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized she was utterly naked except for her stockings.

"It's all right, sweet. You are so lovely." Gabriel's hand drifted over her, testing, stroking, exploring. "My God, you are beautiful." He bent his head and dropped a series of warm kisses in the valley between her breasts.

Phoebe arched against him, her embarrassment fading quickly beneath the impact of the urgent need she sensed in him.

His hand closed around her calf and then moved up along the length of her leg to her thigh. He did not untie her garters. Phoebe found it very odd to be wearing only her stockings.

She turned her face into his shoulder and slid curious fingers into the opening of his shirt. She touched the crisp hair there and was enthralled. Impulsively she put the tip of her tongue to his warm skin. Gabriel sucked in his breath.

"You taste good," she whispered.

He gave a soft, hoarse laugh that dissolved into a husky groan. He cupped her buttocks and squeezed gently. "I have been wanting you for weeks."

Phoebe felt the hard length of his manhood pressing against the fabric of his tight breeches. The proof of his desire filled her with a sense of womanly power. She was caught up in a golden, glittering illusion. But this was no dream, she reminded herself. This was real. "I've loved you for weeks."

His fingers slipped into the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, seeking out the plump, moist folds. Phoebe cried out softly when he tested her with his finger.

"Yes," Gabriel breathed. "Yes, my sweet." He withdrew his hand from between her legs. He shifted slightly away from her and shrugged impatiently out of his shirt.

Phoebe watched through half-lowered lashes as he yanked off his boots. Then he got to his feet to remove his breeches.

Phoebe stared at his fully aroused body. She had never seen a man in such a condition. Her mouth went dry and her eyes flew up to meet his.

Gabriel knelt beside her and pulled her to a sitting position. He held her close against his chest.

"Don't be afraid of me, Phoebe. Whatever happens, don't ever be afraid of me."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Trust me?"

"Yes. Always. Forever."

"I'm glad." He kissed the nape of her neck and then settled her back down on the carpet.

"It's just that I had not expected you to be quite so …»

"Quite so what?" he asked, nibbling at her throat.

"Quite so legendary in your proportions," she managed weakly.

Gabriel laughed. Phoebe felt herself turning a very bright shade of red.

"We shall spin ourselves a fine legend tonight, my sweet. One worthy of any medieval bard."

His mouth was like a warm drug on her skin. It soothed her, teased her, and then goaded her into a response. His hands moved over her, exploring her with a startling intimacy. Even though he was pressing her into the hard floor, she reveled in the weight of him as he sprawled across her.

Experimentally she stroked the contours of his strong back and then dug her fingers into the firm muscles of his hips. He was so strong, she thought, yet he shuddered every time she even grazed him with her fingertips.

Phoebe discovered she could not get enough of his response. No matter where she touched him, he reacted as if she had set fire to something deep inside him. His manhood pushed heavily against her inner thigh.

"I swear I cannot wait any longer." Gabriel's voice was thick with passion. "Open yourself for me, my sweet wife. I need to be inside you or I shall go mad."

She parted her trembling legs. He settled himself firmly between her thighs and eased himself upward until his shaft was pressing against her. Phoebe moved her head restlessly on the carpet as she realized just how large he was.

"Gabriel?"

"Wrap yourself around me, Phoebe." He put his hands under her knees and lifted them. Then he guided her legs into position. "Yes, like that. Now put your hands on my shoulders. Hold on tight, Phoebe. As tight as you can."

She clutched his sleek, powerful shoulders. She had never felt so vulnerable. But she loved him, she reminded herself, and she ached for this union as much as he did. They were as one in this passion, just as they were in their love of old medieval legends.

"That's it." Gabriel kissed her throat and pushed himself more insistently against her passage. "You're very tight, but you're also very wet. I don't know how stormy this first sailing will be, but you must trust me. All will be well."

"It's all right, Gabriel." She lifted herself tentatively against him. "I want you."

"I'm never going to get enough of you after this." He reached down, opened her with his fingers, and guided himself slowly into her snug channel.

Phoebe held her breath, not certain what to expect, but needing the feel of him inside her. She had to have him. Instinctively she tightened her legs around him.

"Phoebe, wait, I don't want to hurt you."

Gabriel's face was a stark mask of self-imposed restraint. But when Phoebe lifted her hips once more, something seemed to give way inside him. "Yes. Oh, God, yes." He surged into her in one powerful stroke.

Shock and surprise slammed through Phoebe. She was suddenly too full, too tight, too trapped beneath Gabriel's heavy weight. He was inside her.

She could not tell if there was any pain. She did not know what she was feeling. The sensation was literally indeseribable. She gave a soft exclamation and clutched Gabriel's shoulders.

Gabriel shuddered again. "Go ahead. Sink your little claws into me. God knows I have sunk myself so deeply into you I may never recover."

Phoebe swallowed quickly. "I think that is far enough," she said in a small voice. "Perhaps we should stop now."

"I could not stop now if the earth opened up and swallowed me alive." Gabriel eased himself partway out of her and then pushed slowly, relentlessly back into her. "You feel so incredibly good, my sweet. Nothing has ever felt this good."

Phoebe kept her legs wrapped around Gabriel's waist. The sensual spell she had been under earlier had been shattered. She was uncomfortable but not in any real pain. It was a very strange sensation having Gabriel inside her like this. He was obviously finding pleasure, however, and she loved him too much to deny him the satisfaction he sought.

"Hold me." Gabriel's voice was raw. "Hold me, Phoebe. I need you."

She tightened her arms around him, clinging to him, offering herself up to him until he suddenly gave a muffled shout and went absolutely rigid above her. The muscles of his back and buttocks were like steel beneath his skin as he pumped himself into her.

Then he collapsed along the length of her.

For a long while Phoebe lay quietly beneath Gabriel and listened as he recovered his breath. She stroked his back slowly and felt the dampness there. He was like a stallion after a hard race, she thought.

Her stallion.

After a while Gabriel groaned and eased himself reluctantly out of her. He rolled to one side, put his arm across his eyes, and gathered her against him.

"Next time it will be better for you, Phoebe. I promise."

"It was not bad this time," she said honestly. "Rather odd, but not bad."

He chuckled weakly. "Next time you will scream with pleasure. You have my oath on it. I shall make a quest out of the business and I shall not rest until I have successfully completed it."

Phoebe smiled and folded her arms on top of his damp chest. "I would never do anything so unladylike as to scream."

"Wait and see." He took his arm away from his eyes and threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. "The fire in your hair burns just as hot in the rest of you. You are an amazing creature, madam wife."

"Am I?"

"Most definitely." He closed his eyes again. "We shall rest for a few minutes and then we'll get dressed and go downstairs to my bedchamber."

"I like it up here," Phoebe said.

Gabriel did not open his eyes. "I have no intention of spending the rest of my wedding night on the floor of my study."

But he was asleep within a few seconds, his arm still locked around Phoebe.

She lay looking at him for a long while, vaguely aware of a host of new impressions. There was some soreness between her legs and the musky scent of his maleness was on her. She felt sticky and warm and a little restless.

So this was what it was like being married. She could deal with it, Phoebe decided. She rather liked the warm intimacy of it all, even if the actual act of lovemaking was nothing to get excited about. The preliminaries were certainly quite pleasant. But the real joy in the thing was the glorious knowledge that Gabriel was now hers.

She was married to the man she loved and he clearly loved her, even if he did have trouble saying the words. Many women, she knew, were not so lucky. For most people marriage was a practical matter entered into for the sake of property, social position, and inheritances.

She was one of the rare, fortunate women in her world who had married for love. And to think she had almost spoiled everything this morning by running off. Perhaps Gabriel had a point when he called her reckless.

Phoebe stretched carefully, aware that she was getting stiff. Gabriel's arm slid off her breast. He did not waken. The man was obviously exhausted. He'd had a hard day, to say the least.

She sat up slowly and gazed around the study. She was wide awake and strangely alert. The last thing she wanted to do right now was sleep. The contents of Gabriel's bookshelves beckoned.

She rose carefully from the quilt and slipped into the white lawn nightgown she had brought with her. Then she went over to the nearest bookcase.

She studied the row of leather-bound volumes behind the glass and was very impressed. When she reminded herself that this was only a small portion of his magnificent collection, she shook her head in amazement. One of the pleasures of being married to Gabriel, she thought smugly, was that she now had access to his library.

She stood on tiptoe to read the spines of the next row of books. The breath went out of her lungs when her gaze fell upon a familiar-looking volume. She stared, unwilling to believe her eyes. But there it was, inscribed in gilt: The Lady in the Tower.

It was her copy. She was almost certain of it.

Stunned, Phoebe glanced back over her shoulder at Gabriel. He had not moved, but his eyes were open now. He watched her, his expression unreadable in the flickering glow of the fire.

"I told you that I would complete the quest," he said quietly. "I promised to see to it that you found your copy of The Lady in the Tower before the end of the Season."

Phoebe turned slowly to confront him. "You found it but you neglected to tell me? Gabriel, I do not understand." She brightened as the obvious truth dawned on her. "Wait. It was to be my wedding gift, was it not?"

"Phoebe, listen to me."

But Phoebe was certain she knew what had happened. "What a wonderful surprise. I am so sorry I ruined it for you, but never fear. I am thrilled. Where did you find it? Who was the owner?"

He sat up slowly, heedless of his nakedness. The firelight danced on his broad shoulders, turning his skin to burnished gold. He raised one knee and rested his arm on it. His emerald eyes were full of brooding shadows.

"I am the owner of the book, Phoebe."

Phoebe swallowed uncertainly. "What do you mean? How did you acquire it?"

"I removed it from Baxter's cabin after we boarded his ship." Gabriel's voice was curiously lacking in inflection. "Baxter chose the sea rather than hanging. He went overboard and disappeared. He was presumed drowned."

"You boarded his ship?" Phoebe discovered that her knees suddenly felt weak. She sank down slowly onto the window seat and clasped her hands very tightly together in her lap. "Dear God, Gabriel, are you telling me you were a pirate in the South Seas? I refuse to believe it."

"I'm glad. Because I was no pirate. Merely a hardworking businessman trying to make a living in the pearl trade. Baxter was the one who took up pirating when he reached the islands."

"Impossible," Phoebe said quickly. "He would do no such thing."

"It does not particularly matter whether you believe it or not. It's the truth. Apparently he found it easier and more efficient than entering into a legitimate shipping venture. He became something of a nuisance to my company and to others. Someone had to get rid of him."

"A nuisance," Phoebe echoed, her mind spinning.

Gabriel's expression was grim. "He managed to acquire control of a ship of his own. He boarded two of my firm's ships, killing a number of men in the process. He stole a large quantity of goods, including an extremely valuable set of jewelry made of black pearls, gold, and diamonds. After that incident I decided to find him before he did any further damage."

Phoebe gazed at Gabriel in stunned amazement. "Good lord. This is incredible. I cannot believe I was so wrong about Neil."

"Because he played the part of Lancelot while he set up his scheme to blackmail your father? Baxter was a clever bastard. You were not the only woman he succeeded in deceiving."

Phoebe's face flamed. "You make me sound like a fool."

Gabriel's expression softened. "You are no fool, my sweet, but you arc naive. Women are vulnerable to men such as Baxter. They long to believe the illusion he creates."

Phoebe's hands tightened in her lap. "You speak as if you have known other women who believed he was Lancelot."

"Out in the islands Baxter managed to pass himself off as a prosperous man engaged in legitimate shipping. He mingled freely with those of us who were in the shipping business, gaining information that he then used to set his traps for our ships." Gabriel's gaze hardened. "He preyed on the women, seeking details on cargoes and routes."

"The women?"

"Wives and daughters and … " Gabriel hesitated briefly, "others. He charmed them and they willingly told him what he wanted to know."

"I see." Phoebe was silent for a moment, working through the logic of the situation. "You have had my book all along. You were the object of my quest."

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

She looked at him. "Why did you not tell me?"

"There were a number of reasons. Chief among them was that you thought the owner of that book was a murderous pirate."

She smiled tremulously. "Of course. Naturally you were afraid to admit you had the book, for fear I would think the worst of you."

"Bloody hell." Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "It was not that I was afraid to admit it, rather that I had other plans."

"What other plans?"

"I have had enough of this nonsense," Gabriel said grimly. "'Tis past time we had everything out in the open. Let us begin from the beginning. After I met you on that lane in Sussex, I decided I wanted you. The book was the key to getting you."

Phoebe's eyes widened. "You mean you knew you wanted to marry me right from the start? Gabriel, that is so romantic. You really ought to have told me."

Gabriel got to his feet and slammed his palm against the mantel. "Damn it, woman, why do you insist on seeing me as a heroic knight filled with honorable intentions?" He turned his head to glare at her. "I said I wanted you. To be perfectly blunt, I had no thought of marriage. Not at the beginning of our relationship. I wanted you in my bed. That was as far as matters went."

"Oh." She did not know what to say to that. At least he had wanted her, she thought. "So you agreed to help me in my quest as a way of getting to know me better?"

"As a way of getting you into my bed, damn it."

She smiled hopefully. "Well, your intentions might not have been, strictly speaking, entirely honorable at the start."

"You may be certain they were not."

"But you changed them quickly; that is the important thing. Your intentions became honorable when you got to know me."

"Damnation. You will not see the truth when it is before your very eyes." Gabriel reached for his breeches and put them on with quick, savage movements. "My intentions did not improve after I discovered you were Clarington's daughter. If anything, they became worse."

"Worse?"

He made a small gesture of disgust. "Phoebe, when I learned your true identity, I sought you out with the express purpose of using you to gain revenge against your family. I was going to seduce you in order to humiliate your father. There. Now do you comprehend?"

She blinked back tears and smiled bravely. "Perhaps revenge was your initial goal, but you did not go through with your scheme, did you? You married me instead."

He faced her, his hands on his hips. "So I did."

"Which means that your inherently noble nature ultimately guided your actions," Phoebe concluded.

"Damnation. If that's what you want to believe, who am I to contradict you?"

"You married me because of your naturally chivalrous nature." Phoebe caught her trembling lip between her teeth. "But you do not love me, do you, my lord?"

His eyes glittered. "Do not accuse me of having misled you on that score. That is one sin you cannot lay at my door. I never claimed to love you. I told you I wanted you, and that is the truth. The whole truth."

"You married me to save me from a potential scandal."

"I assure you I am not that noble," he growled. "All my knightly impulses were burned out of me eight years ago. Life in the South Seas did nothing to revive them. I am no heroic champion of love and justice."

"Then why did you marry me?" she shouted.

"I married you because I think you will make me a good countess," he roared back. "Your bloodlines are impeccable. More importantly, your reckless ways, as irritating as they are, bespeak courage and daring. Those are qualities I intend to breed into my sons. Furthermore, I find you vastly more interesting than any other lady I have encountered in recent memory. And I want you."

"But you do not love me."

"I never claimed to love you."

"No, but I hoped you could learn to do so," Phoebe explained. "That is why I took the biggest risk I have ever taken in my life today."

He gave her a disbelieving look. "You call marrying me the biggest risk you have ever taken?"

"Yes."

"That's a damned insult," Gabriel said. "I fully intend to be a good husband to you."

"Do you?"

He took a step forward, looming over her. "Yes, I do. And in return I expect a proper wife, by God."

Phoebe tilted her head to one side, studying him intently. "What constitutes a proper wife in your eyes?"

He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. His gaze glittered with outrage. "I do believe you are deliberately provoking me, madam. Nevertheless, I shall tell you precisely what I want from you. I want the respect and obedience a proper wife is expected to show her lord."

"I do respect you, Gabriel. But obedience has never been my forte."

"Well, you can bloody well learn the skill."

"For goodness' sake, Gabriel, you needn't look so threatening. We both know you aren't going to beat me into submission."

"You think not?"

She smiled fleetingly and stepped back from his hand. "Your naturally chivalrous nature would prevent you from using violence against a woman."

"For your own sake," he bit out, "I suggest you stop trying to convince yourself that I possess a chivalrous nature."

"I do hope you will not deprive me of my one remaining illusion." She went to the bookcase and opened the glass doors.

"What the devil do you mean by that?" Gabriel demanded.

"You have told me that Neil Baxter, the only man who ever claimed to love me with a pure and noble heart, lied to me." Phoebe plucked The Lady in the Tower off the shelf. "I find myself married instead to a man who claims he does not love me at all, the one fate I have always vowed to avoid. All things considered, my lord, it has not been the wedding day of my dreams."

"Phoebe—"

"Good night, my lord." Clutching the heavy volume to her breast, Phoebe walked to the door.

"Damnation, Phoebe, I wish to talk to you."

"About what? The nature of chivalry? Believe me, I am now well acquainted with it. I have no need of further instruction on the matter."

She unlocked the door and started down the spiral staircase. The stone steps were very cold beneath her bare feet.