Reckless

Chapter 17

"You lost her?" Gabriel stared at the little man in the green hat. "What the devil do you mean, you lost her? I'm paying you to keep an eye on her, Stinton."

"I'm aware of that, yer lordship." Stinton drew himself up and gave Gabriel an affronted look. "And I'm doin' me best. But ye didn't tell me her ladyship had a habit of dashin' in all directions. Beggin' yer pardon, but she's sorta unpredictable, ain't she?"

"Her ladyship is a woman of impulse," Gabriel said through set teeth. "Which is precisely why I hired you to look after her. You came highly recommended from Bow Street. I was assured I could entrust my wife's safety to your care, and now you tell me you could not even keep up with her on a simple shopping expedition?"

"Well, no offense, m'lord, but it weren't exactly a simple shoppin' trip," Stinton said. "I'm proud to say I kept up with her in the Arcade and managed to hang on to her in Oxford Street even though we was all over the place. The last stop was a bookshop. It was when she came out of there that she up and bolted like a fox runnin' from a pack of hounds."

It took every ounce of willpower Gabriel possessed to keep a grip on his temper. "Do not ever again refer to Lady Wylde as a fox, Stinton."

"Right ye are, yer lordship. But I got to say I never seen a lady move that fast. Fast as any pickpocket I ever chased into the rookeries around Spital-fields."

Gabriel was feeling more uneasy by the minute. "You are quite certain you saw no one else around her?"

"Just her maid, the footman, and the coachman."

"And when she disappeared, she was in her own coach?"

"Yes, sir."

"There was no sign of anyone else following her?"

"No, yer lordship. Just me. And, quite frankly, if I couldn't keep up with her, no one else could, either."

"Damnation." Gabriel's imagination was already conjuring up a hundred different calamities that might have befallen Phoebe. He reminded himself that she was not alone. She had her maid, a footman, and the coachman with her. Nevertheless, all he could think about was the fact that Neil Baxter was out there somewhere, no doubt plotting revenge. Lancelot to his Arthur.

Stinton cleared his throat. "Beggin' yer pardon, yer lordship, but will you be wantin' me to continue followin' her ladyship around?"

"I'm not sure there is much point." Gabriel was disgusted. "Not if you cannot keep up with her."

"Well, sir, as to that, next time I'll stay a bit closer. Now that I'm on to her tricks and all, I won't be surprised the way I was today."

"My wife does not play tricks," Gabriel said grimly. "She is merely somewhat high-spirited and impulsive."

Stinton coughed discreetly. "Yes, sir. If you say so, sir. Seemed a bit tricky to me, though, m'lord, if you don't mind my sayin' so."

"I do mind. I mind very much, as a matter of fact. Stinton, if you intend to keep on in this post, you had better stop making insulting statements about my wife."

A commotion in the hall interrupted Gabriel before he could get around to wringing Stinton's scrawny little neck. A wave of relief went through him as he heard Phoebe's voice.

The library door was flung open and Phoebe rushed in, bonnet strings flying. She was carrying a package in her hand. The muslin skirts of her bright green-and-yellow-striped gown swung around her small ankles. Her face was alight with excitement.

"Gabriel, we have had the most amazing adventure. Just wait until I tell you about it. I believe we were very nearly followed home by a thief. He might even have been a murderer. But we foiled his plans quite brilliantly, I must say."

Gabriel got to his feet. "Calm yourself, my dear."

"But Gabriel, it was very odd. There was this little man in a green hat." Phoebe came to an abrupt halt as she caught sight of Stinton. Her eyes widened. "Good heavens, it's him. It's the man who was following us."

"Didn't do too good a job of it," Stinton said. He smiled with approval, displaying several gaps in his yellowed teeth. "Must say, yer ladyship managed to slip away with the sort of skill I usually see exhibited by professional villains."

"Thank you." Phoebe gazed at him with intense curiosity in her eyes.

Gabriel swore and turned on Stinton. "Kindly refrain from drawing comparisons between my wife and members of the criminal class."

"Yes, sir," Stinton said politely. "Didn't mean no offense, yer ladyship. You was right clever, you was, ma'am."

Phoebe gave him a pleased smile. "Yes, I was, wasn't I?"

"Almost caught up with you after that first turn, but I never stood a chance after you had yer coachman make that second turn."

"I plotted it all out quite carefully," Phoebe assured him.

"Like I said, it was real professional," Stinton said.

Phoebe smiled warmly. "I must admit, I had a bit of luck. After the third turn we were in strange territory. There's no telling where we might have ended up if the coachman had not been familiar with the streets."

"That," Gabriel interrupted, "is quite enough from both of you." He glanced at Stinton. "You may go."

"Yes, m'lord." Stinton rotated his green hat in his hands. "And will ye be needin' me in the future?"

"I suppose I have no real alternative. God help us, I'm told you're the best that's available. You will report to work tomorrow morning when Lady Wylde goes out."

Stinton grinned. "Thank ye, yer lordship." He clapped his hat on his head and walked to the door with a jaunty step.

Gabriel waited until he and Phoebe were alone before he pointed to the chair across from his desk. "Sit down, madam."

Phoebe blinked. "Gabriel, what on earth—"

"Sit."

Phoebe sat. She put her package in her lap. "Who was that little man, Gabriel? What was he doing following me today?"

"His name is Stinton." Gabriel sat down and folded his hands together on his desk. He would stay calm and rational about this if it killed him, he promised himself. He would not lose his temper. "I hired him to follow you about when you went out."

"You hired him to follow me?" Phoebe's lips parted in amazement. "And you did not tell me?"

"No, madam, I did not. I saw no reason to alarm you."

"Why should I have been alarmed? Gabriel, what is going on here?"

Gabriel studied her for a moment, wondering how much to tell her. The problem was that she was now aware of Stinton. He had no real choice except to explain the rest. She would pester him about it until he did. "I have hired Stinton to make certain you do not have any problems with Baxter."

Phoebe looked at him in stunned silence. Her hands clenched around the package in her lap. "With Neil?" she finally managed, her voice sounding half strangled.

"I think it very likely Baxter will attempt to contact you at some time when I am not around."

"I do not understand, my lord."

Gabriel felt his grip on his temper start to slip. "I fail to see why it isn't perfectly obvious, Phoebe. Baxter is a danger to you because he hates me. I have already told you that. I am merely taking prudent steps to be certain he does not get close to you."

"You're afraid that I'll believe whatever he tells me, aren't you?" Phoebe's gaze was suddenly shrewd. "You don't trust me to accept your version of events out there in the islands."

"I'm not going to take any chances." Gabriel surged to his feet and stalked over to the small table where the brandy sat. "I know Baxter too well. The man is a consummate liar."

"But it does not follow that I would believe his lies."

"Why not?" Gabriel swallowed brandy and slammed the glass down on the table. "You did once before."

Phoebe got to her feet, clutching her package to her breast. "That's not fair. I was a much younger woman then. I had not had the experience of the world that I have now."

He swung around to face her. "Experience of the world? You think you have enough experience of the world to deal with men like Neil Baxter? You are a reckless, naive, impulsive little fool. Believe me when I say you're no match for the Baxters of this world."

"Do not talk to me like that, Gabriel."

"I will talk to you any way I wish."

"No, you will not. Furthermore, I do not want you hiring little men to follow me around without my knowledge. It is very unpleasant and I will not tolerate it. If you wish to have someone keep an eye on me, then you must discuss the matter with me first."

"Is that right?"

Phoebe's chin came up swiftly. "Yes, it is. I will decide if I want someone trailing around behind me. But I must say, since the only thing that concerns you is the thought of Neil talking to me, I do not see any need for Stinton."

"Then you are even more naive than I had thought."

"Bloody hell, Gabriel. I am perfectly capable of dealing with Neil."

Gabriel took a step forward and captured her defiant little chin on the edge of his hand. "You do not know what you are saying, madam. You do not know your golden-haired Lancelot the way I do."

Her face flushed. "He is not my Lancelot."

"He was once."

"That was three years ago," Phoebe stormed. "Everything has changed now. Gabriel, you must believe me, I am not in danger of being seduced by Neil Baxter. You must trust me."

Gabriel saw the desperate appeal in her eyes and felt his resolution waver. "It is not a question of trust. It is a question of caution."

"That's not true. It is a question of trust. Gabriel, you have made it clear you do not yet love me. If you do not trust me, either, then we have nothing at all between us."

Nothing at all between us. Talons of anguish and rage,gripped him, sinking deep into his gut, piercing his soul. Gabriel fought to hold on to his self-control. "On the contrary, madam. We have a great deal between us."

"Such as what?" she challenged.

"Such as a marriage," he said coldly. "You are my wife. You will do as I say and you will accept the precautions I deem prudent. That is all there is to the matter. Henceforth, you are not to attempt to evade Stinton."

She looked at him with reckless fury. "And if I do?"

"If you do, you will not be allowed to go out at all. I will confine you to the house."

Phoebe stared at him in dawning shock. There was anger and something else in her eyes. Gabriel thought that the other emotion might have been grief. For a moment she just stood there, clinging to the package she had brought with her.

"So it is true," she finally said, her voice dulled with intense sadness. "We do not even have trust and mutual respect between us. We have nothing at all."

"Goddamn it, Phoebe."

"Here. This is for you." She shoved the package into his hands. Then she turned on her heel and walked toward the library door.

"Phoebe, come back here."

She did not turn around. She went out the door without a word.

Gabriel stared at the closed door for a long while. Then he went back behind his desk and sank wearily down into his chair.

He was aware of a strange numbness somewhere deep inside himself. He looked at the package in front of him for a few minutes and then he slowly and mechanically unwrapped it.

When he had finished peeling off the brown paper, he sat gazing at the familiar volume for a long while. It occurred to him that this was the first gift Phoebe had ever given him. No, he thought, that was not true. The first gift had been the gift of herself. This was the second gift she had given him.

To date he had not given her anything of importance at all.

Phoebe was still wide awake at midnight. Dressed in her nightgown and wrapper, she sat in the chair near the window and gazed out into the darkness. She had opened the window earlier to let in the cool night air. It helped her to think.

She had been thinking intently for hours.

She had stayed in her room all afternoon and evening and she was getting increasingly restless. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was not much suited to sulking. Apparently she did not have the temperament for it.

Certainly she had had a good cry immediately after the scene in the library, but after that, she had gotten rather bored. When she had refused to go down for dinner, she had half expected Gabriel to pound on her door to order her downstairs. Instead he had seen to it that tea and toast had been sent to her room. As a consequence, Phoebe was now extremely hungry.

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.