Reckless

Chapter 22

A heavy fog shrouded London on the second night of the vigil outside Lacey's Bookshop. The gray tendrils drifted through the streets like an endless parade of ghosts. In the course of their passage they absorbed what little light was provided by the oil lamps that were mounted at intervals on iron stands. The new gas lights that illuminated Pall Mall and St. James had not yet been installed in this section of town.

Gabriel had no doubt that his decision to allow Phoebe to accompany him and Anthony while they kept their midnight watch was a serious error in judgment. But he had been unable to resist her logic or her unrelenting pleas. His lady was every bit as stubborn as he himself was. It was difficult to deny that she had a right to be present when he closed the trap around Neil Baxter.

At least he had succeeded in crushing her many and varied suggestions to use herself as bait, he

RECKLESS 357

thought. Some of her notions had been disconcertingly creative. But he had put a heavy, booted foot down on every one of them. He was not about to risk her neck to catch the son of a bitch who had caused all this trouble.

The compromise he and Phoebe had arrived at after numerous arguments, pleas, and impassioned speeches was that she would be allowed to watch events from the safety of the carriage.

He glanced at her now as she sat beside him in the darkened vehicle. Garbed in a black, hooded cloak, she looked as mysterious and ethereal as the fog. She was gazing intently at Lacey's Bookshop through a small gap in the curtains that covered the window.

Although she had been bubbling with excitement earlier in the evening when they had first parked the carriage on the side street, she had grown pensive during the last hour. She had done the same thing last night when they had waited in vain for Baxter to show. Gabriel wondered what she was thinking.

Some part of her, he suddenly realized, was destined to remain a mystery to him. Perhaps it was always that way between a man and a woman. Perhaps that was part of the magic. He only knew that no matter how many times he possessed Phoebe, no matter how often he laughed with her or quarreled with her, he would never learn all of her secrets. Even though he knew she was completely and irrevocably his, he also knew that she would remain forever his tantalizing, intriguing, intoxicating Veiled Lady.

He also knew with a deep sense of satisfaction that he could enjoy the occasional hint of the unknown in her because he trusted her as he had never trusted anyone else in his life. She would never leave him.

So be it, Gabriel thought. Every writer needed a muse. Phoebe would be his. She would also be his editor and publisher. That was a far more unsettling notion. But it would make for some interesting dinner table conversations, he reflected with a fleeting grin.

"Not having second thoughts about trapping Lancelot tonight, I trust," he said quietly, to break the long period of silence.

"No. I am convinced that Neil is everything you said he was and more."

"More?"

"I was not the only woman he deceived. He treated Alice very cruelly. He allowed her to believe in him when he had no intention of rescuing her from hell."

Gabriel could not think of anything to say to that. He briefly considered all the men who had cheerfully taken their pleasure from innumerable Alices and then abandoned them to the hellish life of a brothel. "He was a master of illusion."

"No, not a master," Phoebe said slowly. "He did not succeed in everything he attempted. He did not fool my father three years ago. Nor did he succeed in making me fall in love with him, although he tried. And he did not get away with piracy indefinitely."

"Most importantly he did not succeed in seducing you into believing that I was a bloodthirsty pirate who was only after your inheritance," Gabriel muttered.

"Of course he did not. I always knew what kind of man you were." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Do you think he will show tonight, Gabriel? There was no sign of him last night."

"By now he knows he must make his move either tonight or tomorrow night. The gossip we invented has made it clear that The Lady in the Tower will be going into the collection of a powerful collector the day after tomorrow. The three nights it spends in Lacey's Bookshop are the only nights when it will be vulnerable."

A small tapping sound came from the roof of the closed carriage. Gabriel stood up and raised the trapdoor. Anthony, heavily shrouded in a hackney driver's hat and caped cloak, sat huddled on the box. He was doing an excellent job of imitating a dozing coachman.

"Any sign of Baxter?" Gabriel asked softly.

"No, but I'm getting a bit concerned about Stin-ton. He should have been back from his little foray into the alley by now."

Gabriel searched the fog, looking for signs of the missing Stinton. He had dispatched the Runner earlier to check the alley behind the shop. "You're right. I think I'd better have a look. Keep an eye on Phoebe."

"Why don't you just chain her to the inside of the carriage, to be on the safe side?" Anthony suggested dryly. "I don't want the blame if she takes a sudden notion to see what's happening."

"I resent that," Phoebe said behind Gabriel. "I have agreed to follow instructions."

Gabriel swore softly. "You will both stay here while I check on Stinton."

Phoebe touched his arm as he opened the carriage door. "Be careful, my love."

"I will." He picked up her hand, kissed the delicate inside of her wrist, and then went out through the door.

As soon as he was on the street, he moved into the deep shadows of the nearest building. The fog was as useful to him as it would be to Baxter, he thought. He glided through a particularly thick patch of it as he crossed the empty street.

There was no sign of anyone else in the vicinity. The shops were dark and silent. A cat appeared briefly, flashed across Gabriel's path, and then vanished back into the mist.

Gabriel sensed the wrongness as soon as he reached the alley entrance. He stood quietly for a moment, letting his senses feel what he could not see. Then he reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and removed the pistol he had brought with him.

He went into the alley slowly, staying close to the wall. There was almost no light here at all and he did not want to go back to the carriage for a lantern. If Baxter was near, he would be warned by the light.

Gabriel took another step into the darkness and caught the toe of his boot on something that felt suspiciously soft. He looked down and saw a bundle of what appeared to be old clothes at his feet.

He had found Stinton.

Gabriel crouched beside the fallen man, feeling for the pulse that indicated life. He found it. Stinton was unconscious, not dead.

There were two possibilities. Either a footpad had come upon Stinton in the fog or Baxter had managed to slip unseen into the alley and was even now in the bookshop.

Gabriel moved silently across the cobblestones until he found the back entrance of the shop. The door stood ajar. He slipped inside the dark room, aware from his earlier visit that he was in the room where Lacey operated his printing press. There was just enough light seeping in from the windows to reveal the outline of the machine.

A deep, jangling sense of danger sliced through his senses an instant before he heard the scrape of a boot on the floor behind him.

Gabriel whirled around, but it was too late to avoid the figure that lunged at him out of the dark. He went down beneath the impact, rolling swiftly in an effort to shake loose his assailant. The pistol was knocked from his hand.

"You damned bloody bastard." Neil's upraised arm slashed downward toward Gabriel's throat. A gleam of light glanced off the knife in his hand.

Gabriel managed to block the blow. He wrenched himself out from under Neil and rose to a crouching position. He reached down into his boot for the knife he carried there.

"You won't stop me this time," Baxter snarled. "I'm going to cut your throat for you."

He leaped toward Gabriel, knife extended. Gabriel danced backward and found himself trapped against the heavy iron press. He slid to the side as Baxter lunged again.

"Think twice before you try that again, Baxter. I am not unarmed."

"I heard your pistol fall to the floor." Baxter's teeth flashed in the shadows like those of a shark in the depths of the sea. "You're empty-handed, Wylde. This time you're a dead man."

Neil launched himself forward again, the knife aimed at Gabriel's midsection. Gabriel swung his heavy greatcoat off his shoulders and directly into Neil's path. Neil roared with rage as he became tangled up in it.

Gabriel kicked out swiftly. His booted foot caught Neil on the thigh, throwing the other man off balance. Neil yelled again as he tripped and went down.

Gabriel stepped forward, bringing his boot down on Neil's outflung arm. "Drop the knife."

"No, goddamn you."

Gabriel leaned down and held the tip of his own knife to Neil's throat. "This is not Excalibur and I am not Arthur. I would just as soon finish this right now, and the hell with the rules of chivalry. Let go of the blade, Baxter."

Neil went still. "You won't use it, Wylde."

"You think not?"

Neil's fingers unclenched from the handle of the knife. He glared up at Gabriel. "Phoebe would never forgive you for slitting my throat, and you know it."

"Phoebe no longer thinks of you as her fair Lancelot. The illusion you created was shattered for all time when Phoebe and Alice met. Apparently my wife does not approve of the way you abandoned your mistress. Lancelot was supposed to rescue the ladies, not leave them in hell."

Baxter stared up at him. "You're mad. Why would Phoebe give a damn about a whore?"

The light of a lantern fell across the two men. "Why, indeed?" asked the woman who stepped through the doorway from the alley. She had a pistol in her gloved hand. "You certainly did not care about me, did you, Neil? You gave me nothing but lies. And I believed them all."

"Alice." The yellow light from the lantern revealed the shock on Neil's face. "Alice, for God's sake, make him drop the knife. Use the pistol. Hurry, woman."

"I'd sooner use it on you, Neil." Alice held the lantern higher. "Where's your precious book?"

"For God's sake, Alice, help me. I'll get the book if you'll just shoot Wylde."

"I have no interest in killing Wylde," Alice said calmly. "If I kill anyone, it will be you. Where is the book?"

"I don't know," Neil said quickly. "Wylde interfered before I found it."

Gabriel looked at Alice. "It's in that desk over there in the corner."

"Thank you," Alice said. She kept the pistol trained on the two men as she went over to the desk.

"The second drawer," Gabriel said.

Alice opened the drawer. "I see. You are most cooperative, Wylde. I appreciate that."

She backed toward the door through which she had entered. Her pistol never wavered. "I shall be leaving now."

"Alice, my dearest love, you must help me," Neil whispered thickly. "You were the only woman who ever really mattered to me. You know that."

"You should have taken me with you when you left England with Clarington's money," Alice said.

"How could I subject the woman I loved to the harsh conditions of a trip to the islands?" Neil said.

"Did you think I enjoyed the conditions of a brothel more? I am not precisely certain why this book is so important to you, but as you have been obsessed with finding it since you returned to London, I intend to find out."

"Help me and I'll show you why it's important," Neil pleaded.

Alice shook her head and took another step back.

Gabriel saw Anthony step into the doorway behind her. Alice retreated one more step and came up against him. Anthony's arm closed around her throat.

"I regret the inconvenience," Anthony murmured as he snapped the pistol from her hand. "Set the lantern down carefully."

Alice hesitated.

"Do it," Gabriel advised. "And then leave us. We have no interest in you. It is Baxter we want."

Alice lowered the lantern to the floor. Anthony released her and stepped into the room.

"Now the book, if you please," Gabriel said softly. He saw Alice's hand tighten around the old volume. Her gaze went to Neil.

At that moment Phoebe's cloaked figure appeared in the doorway. Gabriel swore softly. He should have guessed there would be no way to keep her out of this.

"I would like for Alice to keep the book," Phoebe said.

Gabriel sighed. "Very well, she may keep the damned book. I want her out of here."

"No, wait," Neil shouted. "None of you know what you're doing. I will tell you the secret of the book if you agree to release me. I promise you, the book is worth a fortune, but only if you know the secret."

"You refer to the jewels you had hidden inside, I assume?" Gabriel smiled briefly. "You needn't concern yourself over their fate, Baxter. We found them."

"Goddamn you." Baxter gave Alice a look of black despair. "Goddamn you all." His desperate eyes went to Phoebe. "You must listen to me, Phoebe. Wylde is everything I said he was and worse. I was only trying to save you."

"I saw how you saved Alice," Phoebe said.

"Alice is a whore," Neil raged. "Nothing but a whore."

"Alice is a woman, and so am I. You lied to her and you betrayed her. What makes you think I would trust you?"

"Didn't you hear me? She's nothing. A bit o' muslin who got above herself. A bloody whore."

"A true knight does not betray those who trust him," Phoebe said quietly.

"You and your endless, stupid chatter about knighthood and chivalry. Are you crazed, you silly bitch?"

Gabriel ground his boot down on Neil's wrist. Neil screamed in agony.

"I think that will be enough conversation," Gabriel said. He glanced at Alice. "I told you that you were free to go. Be off with you."

Alice clutched the book to her breast and turned toward the door. Phoebe stepped into her path.

"One moment, Alice. I want you to have this." Phoebe opened her gloved hand and revealed the pearl and diamond brooch.

Alice stared at it. "What are those strange silvery stones?"

"Dark moonlight," Phoebe said softly. "Pearls unlike any you have ever seen. Very, very rare."

Alice's gaze met Phoebe's. "That's what was hidden in the book?"

"One of several pieces that Neil had stolen and stashed inside the binding. Wylde gave them all to me. I'm keeping the other pieces, but I want you to have this brooch."

"Why?" Alice asked.

"Because even though I was in your power and you had reason to hate me, you were willing to spare me a night in hell."

Alice hesitated. Then she reached out and took the brooch. "Thank you. I shall use it to help buy my own way out of hell," she whispered. She handed Phoebe the book. "Here. I shall not be needing this now."

She stepped around Phoebe and disappeared into the night.

Fierce pride surged through Gabriel. He looked at Phoebe. "My lady, allow me to tell you that you are, in Mr. Chaucer's words, a 'verray parfit gentil knight. »

Phoebe favored him with her brilliant smile and Gabriel realized quite suddenly that he loved her with a devastating intensity that would last as long as he had breath in his body. He longed to tell her so.

But this was not the time.

"Phoebe," Neil pleaded, "you must listen to me. I beg of you, for the sake of our great, undying love, you must help me."

Phoebe did not look at him.

"We had better see if we can rouse Stinton so that he can take Baxter into custody," Gabriel said to Anthony. "I grow weary of dealing with a pirate."

Two hours later Phoebe lay back against the pillows of Gabriel's massive bed and watched him shed the last of his clothing. The candlelight gleamed on the powerful contours of his back and thighs.

"You really are quite magnificent, my lord," she said.

He laughed softly as he climbed into bed beside her. He reached for her, pulling her down on top of his chest. "You are the magnificent one, my love."

She blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said you are magnificent."

"No, after that," she said impatiently. "What did you call me?"

He smiled. "I believe I called you my love."

"Ah, yes. I like the sound of that."

"It's true, you know," Gabriel said. "I do love you. I believe I have loved you from the day I opened the first letter you sent to me."

"I'm glad," she whispered.

He framed her face in his palms. "You do not seem overly astonished by my monumental confession of undying love."

She ducked her head and kissed his throat. When she looked up again, her eyes were glowing. "I admit that I began to suspect you might love me when you kept overlooking all my tiny, insignificant little adventures."

"I should have been somewhat suspicious myself," he said dryly. "Because your little adventures were not all that tiny, insignificant, or accidental. Your recklessness is enough to turn a man old before his time."

"I regret every single one of them," Phoebe declared passionately. "And I swear there will never be any more."

Gabriel laughed softly. "I am, of course, delighted to hear that." He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and brought her mouth close to his. "In the meantime, just keep telling me that you love me and I vow I will not mind the occasional bout of recklessness. So long as I am with you to look after you, that is."

"I love you," Phoebe whispered.

"I love you," Gabriel said against her lips. "More than life itself."

Phoebe scheduled the grand tournament at Devil's Mist to coincide with the publication of A Reckless Venture. Both the event and the book were successful beyond her wildest dreams.

On the night of the tournament ball the great hall of Devil's Mist was thronged with people in medieval costume. The columns of old armor looked very much at home amid the gaily dressed crowd. Music echoed off the old stone walls. All in all, Phoebe thought proudly, the castle looked quite as it must have appeared several hundred years ago when medieval knights and their ladies had gathered here for a festive occasion.

"What a clever daughter I have," Lydia said with satisfaction as she surveyed the great hall. "You, my dearest Phoebe, have achieved an absolutely brilliant social coup."

"You mean the staging of the mock tournament this afternoon?" Phoebe smiled. "That was rather clever of me, wasn't it? I couldn't have done it without Wylde's help, however. I must admit he handled most of the details. I was rather worried that horses might accidentally crash into each other or someone might actually hit someone else with one of the battle-axes. But it all came off perfectly."

Lydia's brows rose in amusement. "The tournament was great fun, but that is not the coup I was talking about. Your stroke of brilliance, Phoebe, was in being able to present the author of The Quest to the Social World. Your stature as a hostess is assured for years to come."

"It wasn't easy," Phoebe confided. "Wylde was very set against being identified as the author of such a successful book. I believe that when it comes to that sort of thing he is rather shy. Amazing, is it not?"

"Most amazing," Lydia agreed. She smiled at her husband as he ambled over. "There you are, my dear. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Quite." Clarington took a sip from the champagne glass he was holding and gazed about the room. "Fascinating old place. Looked at some of the armor earlier. Very ingeniously made. Did I tell you that this morning Wylde demonstrated the workings of an extremely unusual machine down in the cellars? It's hidden in the wall and it contrives to open and close a gate. Have you seen it, Phoebe?"

Phoebe shuddered at the memory. "Yes, Papa, I have seen it."

"The pulley system is quite advanced in design. Especially when you consider that it was fashioned several hundred years ago."

"I know, Papa." Phoebe broke off as Meredith and her husband approached.

Meredith was radiant as always in a pale pink gown edged in silver. Trowbridge, handsome in his tunic costume, smiled at Phoebe.

"Most unusual affair, Phoebe," Trowbridge said. "Vastly entertaining. Highly successful, I should say."

"Yes, indeed," Meredith agreed. "You have made a stunning debut as a hostess, Phoebe. And I must tell you that everyone is commenting on your unusual jewelry. You are the envy of every woman here."

Phoebe smiled, aware of the weight of the Wylde necklace around her throat. "Do you like it?"

"Very much," Meredith said. "Not everyone could wear those strange pearls, but on you they are perfect. And they go wonderfully well with that rather bright red gown of yours."

"Thank you." Phoebe glanced down at the skirts of her crimson red dress. "I had another red gown I wanted to wear, one that Wylde purchased for me. But he reminded me that it was not precisely medieval in style. I had this one made instead."

Anthony appeared out of the crowd. "You had better see to your husband, Phoebe. He wants rescuing from several admirers. They appear to have trapped him over there near the door."

Phoebe stood on tiptoe until she saw Gabriel. He was standing beneath the arched doorway, surrounded by several eager-looking people. He caught Phoebe's eye and sent her a look that held desperate appeal.

"Excuse me," Phoebe said to her family. "Anthony is right. I must go and rescue Wylde."

She picked up her skirts and forged a path through the crowd until she reached Gabriel's side. He grabbed her hand.

"I wonder if I might have a word alone with my wife," he said to the group gathered around him.

The small gaggle of admirers took the hint and reluctantly moved off into the crowd. Gabriel turned on Phoebe.

"I told you this was an extremely unsound notion," he said. "I do not like this business of being a famous author."

"Nonsense," Phoebe said. "Most of the time you will be safe enough here at Devil's Mist. Surely you can handle a few admirers on the rare occasion such as tonight."

"The occasions had better be extremely rare," Gabriel warned. His eyes gleamed.

"They will be," Phoebe promised. She gave him a gloating smile. "And just think of what it will do for your career. I'll wager we shall have to go back to print for another five or six thousand copies after this lot returns to London. Everyone here cannot wait to inform his or her friends of the true identity of the author of The Quest. Lacey's Bookshop will make another tidy little fortune."

"What a mercenary mind you have, my dear."

"It's in the blood," she assured him cheerfully. "In my case it just took a bit longer to reveal itself."

"When are you going to tell your family that you are Lacey's partner?"

"Eventually." Phoebe laughed up at him. "But first there is something I wish to tell you."

Gabriel eyed her warily. "Another little secret you have forgotten to mention?"

"A very little secret." Phoebe blushed. "I believe I am with child, my lord."

Gabriel stared at her for a few dumbfounded seconds. His green eyes became very brilliant and he gave her a slow smile. "I did not think I could be any happier than I already am, my love. But I see I was wrong." He pulled her into his arms.

"For goodness' sake, Gabriel." Phoebe was shocked in spite of herself. She hastily glanced around in alarm. "What on earth do you think you are doing? You would not dare kiss me here in front of all these people."

Gabriel looked up at the motto etched in stone above his head. AUDKO. He grinned. "Now, that is where you are wrong, my love. I would most certainly dare. And what is more, you will kiss me back because you are just as daring and just as reckless as I am."

He captured her mouth, kissing her with the love he had been saving up all of his life. Phoebe wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

"I think," she whispered, "that I would like to name our first son Arthur."

"Of course," Gabriel agreed, warm, loving laughter gleaming in his eyes. "What else would we call him? And when we have our Arthur, we shall set about creating an entire Round Table to accompany him."

"So long as you don't mind the fact that some of our young knights will be female," Phoebe stipulated.

"Not in the least." Gabriel's arms tightened around her again. "I won't pretend that I don't find the idea of having several daughters who take after their reckless lady mother somewhat daunting, but I expect I will rise to the challenge."

"I am sure you will, my lord. You always do."