Reckless

Chapter 4

Twenty minutes later he brought the stallion to a halt in the trees near Nash's cottage. He was not surprised to see that a light still burned in the window.

He secured the stallion to a branch and made his way through the woods to the small barn at the rear of the cottage. When he opened the barn door, a horse whickered softly in the darkness. He saw the vague outline of an equine head as it turned toward him.

"Easy, lad." Gabriel left the door open so that a shaft of moonlight lit the interior of the barn. He walked over to the stall. The horse blew softly and thrust its head out over the gate.

"You've had a busy night of it, haven't you?" Gabriel took off his glove and stroked the horse's damp neck and shoulder. "You're still warm from that last gallop. How do you like being a highwayman's nag? Lots of excitement in the job, I imagine."

Gabriel gave the animal's neck a last pat and then made his way back out of the barn. As he walked toward the rear door of the cottage, he removed the pistol from the pocket of his coat.

He was mildly surprised to find the door unbarred. The highwayman had evidently been in a hurry when he had returned from his business on the road. Gabriel opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.

Mrs. Stiles was at the sink. She whirled around in shock at the sound of the door. Her eyes widened in recognition and then her mouth opened on a scream.

"Hush. Not a word, if you please, Mrs. Stiles." Gabriel did not bother to point the pistol at her. He held it quietly at his side. "I merely wish a few words with your master. You needn't bother with tea. I will not be staying long."

Mrs. Stiles's lips snapped shut. "I knew no good would come of this mad scheme. Told him so meself."

"Yes. Well, now I am going to tell him the same thing. We shall see if my advice makes a more lasting impression."

Mrs. Stiles gave him a beseeching look. "Ye won't have the master arrested, will ye? He only did it on account of he needs the money and he cannot bear to part with those books of his. If they send him to prison, I don't know what I'll do. Work is hard to come by in these parts. Mr. Nash don't always pay me my wages, but there's plenty to eat and he lets me take some home to me family."

"Do not concern yourself, Mrs. Stiles. I have no intention of putting you out of work. Is Nash still in the parlor?"

"Yes, sir." Mrs. Stiles's hands twisted in the folds of her apron. "Are you certain you don't plan to have him arrested?"

"Reasonably certain. I understand Mr. Nash's dilemma and I sympathize. Still, I cannot allow him to get away with his little scheme in this instance. The lady was most upset."

Mrs. Stiles sighed. "I cannot see why the lot of ye bookish types set so much store by them old manuscripts and such. Nothin' but useless trash, if ye ask me. Waste of time readin' and collectin' them dirty things."

"The desire to collect old books is difficult to explain," Gabriel admitted. "I suspect it is an affliction of sorts."

"Too bad there ain't a remedy."

"Perhaps. On the other hand, it is not an unpleasant ailment."

Convinced that the housekeeper was going to stay out of the matter, Gabriel nodded politely to her and made his way down the hall. The door of the parlor was closed, but he could hear loud voices from inside the room. The first voice was that of an irate young man.

"Damnation, Pa, I did it just like we planned it. Just like we did it the last time. How was I to know she'd have that big cove with her? What does it matter, anyhow? He didn't give me any trouble."

"Ye should've backed off when ye saw there was a gentleman with her," Nash growled back in response.

"I told ye, he didn't even put up a fight." There was a snort of derision. "Handed the damn box over as nice as ye please. It was the lady I was worryin' about. I swear, if she'd had a pistol, I'd have been done for. Stop frettin', Pa. We got the manuscript and the money the lady paid for it."

"I cannot help but fret," Nash retorted. "I did not like the looks of that gentleman who accompanied the lady. Something about him made me uneasy. Strange eyes. Green as emeralds, they were. And just as cold. Had a dangerous look to 'em. Never saw a man with eyes like that."

"Calm yourself, Pa. I told ye, he wasn't a problem."

Gabriel opened the door quietly. Nash was seated at his desk, his head in his hands. A thickset young man with heavy features was striding angrily back and forth across the small space left between aisles of books. A dashing black cape lay across a chair.

"I fear I am going to be something of a problem, after all," Gabriel said gently. He kept the pistol at his side, visible but not overtly threatening.

Both men whirled to face him. The young man's expression was one of dawning horror. Mr. Nash, after a brief start, looked gloomily resigned to his fate.

The young man recovered rapidly. "Here, now, what do ye mean by walkin' in on us without so much as a by yer leave? This is trcspassin'. I'll have ye taken up by the magistrate for this."

Gabriel glanced at him without much interest. "You must be Egan. The helpful son who sees to things around here."

Egan's eyes bulged. "How did ye know that?"

"Never mind." Gabriel looked at Nash. "How often have you played this particular trick?"

"This was only the second time." Nash sighed wearily. "Worked bloody well the first time."

"So you decided to try it again."

"Had to." Nash gestured with his hand. "Out of money, ye see. And there's a bookseller I know who's offering an absolutely splendid copy of Guido delle Colonne's Historia Trojana. What could I do? I was desperate."

"I see your point," Gabriel said. "And I quite understand. Naturally you did not wish to part with a rather choice item from your own collection in order to finance the new purchase, if you could avoid it."

Nash's eyes flickered. "I knew when I saw you with the lady that there was going to be trouble."

"A bit," Gabriel conceded. "But if it's any consolation to you, I have been put to a great deal more trouble than you have. In fact, I have come to the conclusion that the lady is nothing but trouble."

"Right fierce little thing," Egan muttered. "Worried me, the way she kept badgering you to put up a fight."

"It worried me, too." Gabriel glanced at the box on Nash's desk. "I congratulate you on your scheme, gentlemen. Unfortunately, you picked the wrong victim this time. I really must insist that the lady's manuscript be returned. She is desolate at its loss. Surely you can understand."

"I suppose yer goin' to summon the magistrate?" Nash said.

"I see no reason to go to extremes." Gabriel walked forward and picked up the box. He kept the pistol in full view. "I shall be content as long as I get what I want."

"Well, you've got it," Nash muttered. "Take yerself off."

"There's one more thing," Gabriel murmured.

Nash glowered at him. "If ye want the lady's money back, yer too late. She paid in advance and I already sent off an order to that bookseller I told ye about."

"You're welcome to keep the money," Gabriel assured him. "What I want is the name and direction of the lady."

"Huh?" Egan stared at him. "Ye don't know her? But ye was with her."

"She is something of a mystery, I'm afraid. I was only along to protect her and the manuscript. She did not tell me her name."

"Bloody hell." Egan looked amazed.

Nash frowned. "Can't help ye. Don't know her name."

Gabriel eyed him intently. "She corresponded with you regarding the purchase of this manuscript.

And she sent you a draft on her account to pay for it. You must know who she is."

Nash shook his head. "All the correspondence was through a solicitor. He deposited the funds at my bank. I never dealt with the lady direct until she showed up here tonight."

"I see." Gabriel smiled. "The name of her solicitor will do, then."

Nash shrugged. Then he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a letter. "This is the last message I had from him. Said to expect her tonight. Man's name is Peak."

Gabriel glanced at the London address. "This will do. My thanks, sir. And now you must excuse me. I have a great deal of work ahead of me."

"Work?" Egan looked more alarmed than ever. "What work? Are ye goin' to summon the magistrate, after all?"

"No, I have a far more pressing task awaiting me." Gabriel placed the letter carefully in his pocket as he strode toward the door. "Like it or not, I appear to be involved in a quest."

Five days later Gabriel sat alone in the tower room he used for his writing. His right shoulder ached, but that was not unusual when he sat at his work for extended periods of time. The old wound sometimes reacted to damp weather and the strain of long bouts of writing.

The important thing was that the words were flowing freely this morning. His second novel, which he had titled A Reckless Venture, was taking shape nicely. His pen moved across the foolscap with easy assurance as he sent his latest hero into combat against an evil villain. At stake was a magnificent inheritance and the love of a fair maiden.

In the tales Gabriel wrote, the fair maiden always went to the noble fool who was naive enough to fight for her.

Gabriel was well aware that in real life things seldom worked out that way. A man who trusted in the promises of a fair maiden was an idiot.

He had learned long ago that money, a title, and social standing were far more important assets than a noble heart and a chivalrous nature for a man who was hoping to interest a fair or even an unfair maiden. The beautiful Meredith Layton, daughter of the brilliant, powerful Earl of Clarington, had taught him that. He had never forgotten the lesson.

The earl had punished Gabriel very thoroughly for the crime of attempting to save Meredith from an arranged marriage to the Marquess of Trowbridge. Within days after the ill-fated rescue attempt, Clarington had set about destroying Gabriel financially.

The men Gabriel had convinced to back him in a small but potentially lucrative shipping venture mysteriously reneged on their agreements after Clarington spoke to them. They demanded that the money be repaid immediately. At the same time, the loan that Gabriel had obtained to finance the purchase of some London property suddenly came due early. Clarington had advised the investor to withdraw.

The combined effect had been disastrous. Gabriel had been forced to sell off virtually everything he owned, including his beloved books, in order to repay his debts. In the end he had been left with barely enough money to purchase passage on board a ship bound for the South Seas.

Knowing that there was no future for him in England, Gabriel had sailed for the islands where a man could dream new dreams.

He took a grim satisfaction now in knowing that he had spent the past eight years ridding himself of such unnecessary encumbrances as a noble heart and a chivalrous nature. Vowing he would never again be at the mercy of his own emotions, he had sweated blood to secure a fortune in the South Seas pearl trade, and he had been extraordinarily successful. The venture had nearly cost him his life on more than one occasion, but he had survived and flourished.

While in the islands he had encountered the aggressive, ambitious Americans, whose ships now traded in every corner of the globe. Using those contacts, he had built a shipping empire. His vessels now routinely plied the trade routes between England and America.

During his time in the South Seas Gabriel's lessons in reality had continued. He had learned that illusion was the rule, not the exception in the real world. People were rarely what they seemed and few men honored the code of conduct that had governed the fictional knights of King Arthur's court.

The real world, Gabriel had discovered, was a place where cutthroats masqueraded as gentlemen and women betrayed the men they had sworn to love.

Survival amid such perils required ice in one's veins and realistic expectations of human nature. Only a fool put his trust in others. And an intelligent man did not make the mistake of putting either his trust or his honor, let alone his heart, into a woman's hands. A man who intended to survive in the real world had to be cautious.

But that did not mean he could not enjoy what pleasures the world had to offer. As long as he kept his heart and his emotions out of the matter, Gabriel reasoned, he could allow himself a harmless dalliance with an intriguing woman such as the Veiled Lady.

He could even allow himself a wife.

In fact, a wife was a necessity.

Gabriel frowned at the thought. It was true that one of these days he must marry, not only because of his duty to the title, but because he had grown weary of his self-imposed solitude. He needed a woman to bear his heirs and warm his bed. He wanted someone to talk to in the evenings.

But he saw no reason why he could not manage a wife with the same coolheaded, detached approach that he would use with a mistress.

A vision of the Veiled Lady as both mistress and wife stole into Gabriel's head and wrapped itself around his thoughts. He put down his pen and gazed unseeingly out the tower window.

The Veiled Lady as his wife? Gabriel's mouth twisted wryly even as he felt the stirring in his groin. It was a crazed notion. He could not possibly consider making one of Baxter's castoffs the Countess of Wylde. A man in Gabriel's position was expected to marry a woman with an unblemished reputation. A virgin.

But virgins were no more trustworthy than experienced ladies of the night, Gabriel knew. Thus, virginity would not be the chief criteria he would use when it came time to select a wife. There were other, more important assets to look for in a woman.

The Veiled Lady did not meet those criteria, — either.

Gabriel had decided long ago that when he eventually chose a wife, he would take care to select a biddable female, one who would respect a husband's authority.

A woman who had been raised to honor a man's right to be master in his own home would be more manageable than an independent, reckless hoyden such as the Veiled Lady. A woman who had been brought up with proper notions of female duty would be easier to protect from the risks and temptations of the world.

Even if he managed to find that pearl among women, a manageable, obedient female, Gabriel knew he would always remain cautious. He might indulge her, but he would certainly never make the mistake of trusting her completely.

When it came to dealing with females, he had concluded, it was better to be safe than sorry. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

The matter of choosing a wife was a problem to be dealt with in the future, however. Gabriel turned his thoughts back to the Veiled Lady. Locating her was his first priority.

Unfortunately, finding the Veiled Lady meant going into Society. Gabriel swore at the thought. He did not much care for the Social World. He had not bothered to go into Society since his return to England a few months ago.

But the Veiled Lady obviously moved in the best circles of the ton. If he was going to hunt her, he, too, would have to go into the world of the Haute Monde.

Gabriel allowed himself a slow smile as he envisioned the expression on the Veiled Lady's face when she realized he had pursued her into the heart of the Social World. The huntress was about to become the hunted.

He got to his feet and stretched, working out the stiffness in his muscles. He rubbed his right shoulder absently with his left hand. He had been at work since shortly after dawn and it was now nearly eleven. He needed a long walk along the cliffs.

His gaze fell on the manuscript box he had collected from Nash. The sight of it sitting on a nearby table amid a stack of papers and books made him grin with anticipation. Soon he would have the pleasure of returning The Knight and the Sorcerer to its owner.

And then he would tell her that he would accept her quest. He had no interest in helping her discover Baxter's killer, but he definitely wanted the lady. He freely admitted to himself that her reckless, daring ways intrigued and fascinated him even as he condemned them. Perhaps it was his fate as a lover of ancient legends to respond to a woman whose bold manner bespoke a courage that was both rare and dangerous in females. A troubadour could have created a very interesting legend based on the Veiled Lady.

Whatever the reason for his compelling desire for her, it was clear that the only way to obtain the lady was to pretend to become involved in her mad scheme. It was bound to be an interesting task, to say the least.

After all, he already knew who owned the manuscript of The Lady in the Tower she sought. The trick would be to keep her from discovering that fact while he lured her into his bed.

Gabriel paused beside a row of bookcases that contained some of the most interesting items in his collection. He opened the glass doors, reached inside, and removed a volume bound in thickly padded leather.

He carried the surprisingly heavy book over to the desk. There he put it down carefully and undid the tiny lock that secured the thick covers around the gilded vellum pages. He opened the book carefully and turned to the last page.

For a moment he stood gazing thoughtfully down at the colophon, which was in Old French:

Here ends the tale of The Lady in the Tower. I, William of Anjou, have written only the truth. A curse on he who would steal this book. May he drown beneath the waves. May he be consumed by flames. May he spend an eternal night in hell.

Gabriel Closed The Lady in the Tower very carefully and put it back in the case. The game he intended to play with his Veiled Lady was not without its risks.

He wondered how she could have ever thought herself in love with Neil Baxter.

She must still care a great deal for the bastard, Gabriel reflected with a frown. That was unfortunate. Baxter had not been worthy of such a spirited female.

But Baxter had had a way with women, as Gabriel knew to his cost.

He decided his initial goal would be to make the Veiled Lady forget her previous lover. Gabriel looked forward to the challenge.

He let himself out of the small tower room and went down the narrow spiral staircase. His booted heels rang on the old stone.

He was aware of a chill in the empty rooms of the third floor as he walked down the hall. It was almost impossible to keep Devil's Mist properly heated. When the castle had been built, the comfort of its occupants had not been a high priority. There was no getting around the fact that Gabriel had a monstrosity of a house on his hands. Refurbishing it would take years.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that at least there was plenty of room for his books. There was also room to house his father's magnificent library, which Gabriel was in the process of rebuilding. And the castle certainly provided a suitable setting for his growing assortment of medieval armor.

Nevertheless, the devil alone knew why he had succumbed to the whim that had made him buy the crumbling pile of stone here on the Sussex coast. The place was huge and he had no one to share it with except the members of his staff.

Not that being alone was anything new to Gabriel. He had spent most of his life alone. His father had been a brilliant scholar who, after the death of Gabriel's mother, had devoted himself to the treasures in his library. He had been kind enough in his fashion, but there was little doubt but that he had preferred his books to the task of rearing a motherless son.

Left to his own devices and the care of servants, Gabriel had learned early to create his own private world. He had done so from the age of five, populating it with a cast of characters from the Arthurian legends. When he had devoured all the tales he could find that dealt with the glories of ancient knighthood, he had begun writing his own.

He had not kept any of his childish scribblings. They had been disposed of along with most of the rest of his worldly possessions when he had left England. But two years ago, when he had decided to make a serious attempt to write a real novel, he had recalled those early efforts.

The knights of the Round Table had been good company for a young man. Unfortunately, they had not been able to teach him life's hard, realistic lessons. Those he had been forced to learn on his own.

Gabriel had purchased Devil's Mist shortly after returning to England. Something about the magnificent towers, turrets, and ramparts had appealed to him. When he looked out of the narrow windows, he could almost see knights in full battle armor mounted on huge destriers riding through the massive gates.

Devil's Mist was not a rich man's architectural folly, like so many other grand houses. Built in the thirteenth century, it had once been a working castle whose lord had apparently had a taste for secret passages and doors that were operated by hidden mechanisms. After taking up residence, Gabriel had spent weeks exploring the catacombs beneath the castle. The project had given him much inspiration for his newest novel.

Gabriel went down another twisting flight of stone steps and strode into the vast hall. Rollins, the butler, materialized from a side door.

"My lord, the post has arrived." The salver Rollins held out with grave formality contained only a single letter. Devil's Mist did not receive a great deal of mail. Most of the letters recently had been from the Veiled Lady.

Gabriel paused beneath a particularly fine thirteenth century battle shield that was one of several hanging from the hall ceiling. "Thank you, Rollins. I'll read it on my walk."

"Very good, sir." Rollins turned and moved off between two stately rows of highly polished armor suits. At the far end of the hall he opened the huge doors.

The motto carved into the stone over the doors had not been there when Gabriel had purchased the castle. He had ordered it engraved shortly after moving into Devil's Mist. Gabriel was rather pleased with it. It was succinct and to the point.

It was not the traditional motto of the earls of Wylde. There was no traditional Wylde motto. Gabriel had invented this one for himself and for his heirs. Now that the title had come to his side of the family, he had every intention of keeping it there.

It occurred to him that whatever else might be said about the Veiled Lady, she certainly suited the Wylde motto.

Gabriel examined the letter he had received as he walked out the door. A flicker of excitement coursed through him. It was from his London solicitor. With any luck it would contain the information for which he had been waiting.

The world of solicitors was a small one and money talked loudly in it, just as it talked in every other world. Gabriel had been certain his man would know Peak, the solicitor who handled the affairs of the Veiled Lady. There could not be that many women in London who collected medieval books.

He tore open the letter as he went down the stone steps and out into the chilly April sunshine. The name that leaped off the carefully penned page made him stop short. He stood gazing down at it in a gathering fury.

Lady Phoebe Lay ton, youngest daughter of the Earl of Clarington.

"Hell and damnation." Gabriel could not believe his eyes. Rage poured through him. His mysterious, illusive, fascinating Veiled Lady was none other than Clarington's youngest chit.

Gabriel crumpled the letter savagely in his fist.

The youngest daughter. Not the one who had begged him to save her from an arranged marriage eight years ago. Not the one who had nearly gotten him killed in a duel with her brother. The other one. The one he had never met because she had still been in the schoolroom at the time.

She would have been no more than sixteen when Clarington had destroyed Gabriel financially and forced him out of England. She would have been a mere girl when Gabriel had been forced to sell off the contents of his father's library, the only legacy he had from his parent, in order to survive.

Right years ago. The Veiled Lady was no more than twenty-four at the most. Yes, it all fit.

"Bloody hell," Gabriel said through his teeth. He stalked across the courtyard and out through the old stone gate. Another Clarington chit. As if he had not already had enough of Clarington women to last him a lifetime.

She had a hell of a nerve playing her games with him, he thought. Did she assume she could follow in her sister's footsteps? Did she believe she could safely amuse herself with him?

"Damnation."

Gabriel paced to the edge of the cliffs and stood gazing down into the churning sea. The desire that had burned in him for the Veiled Lady was as hot as ever. He would have her, he promised himself. Yes, he would definitely have her. But on his own terms.

How did she dare try her wiles on him after what her family had done to him? he wondered. Was she really so reckless or so arrogant? The frustration and fury he had felt eight years ago roared back into life as if it had all happened yesterday.

But it had not happened yesterday, he thought grimly. He was not the same idealistic, penniless fool he had been then. Lady Phoebe's father could not protect her this time the way he had protected his other daughter eight years ago.

The Veiled Lady was more vulnerable than she could have possibly imagined. And so was her family.

The wealth Gabriel had brought back with him from the South Seas was more than a match for the Clarington fortune. And that wealth was now coupled to a title that was the equal of Clarington's. With that kind of fortune and status came power. Great power.

Of course, Gabriel reminded himself suddenly, the Veiled Lady had no inkling of just how wealthy he was. No one knew him or anything about him. He was as anonymous to the Social World as he was to the readers of his novel.

Lady Phoebe Layton wanted his assistance on a quest. Gabriel's hand closed into a fist. Very well, she would have it. And the price she would pay for his services would be high, indeed.

He would use her to punish Clarington for everything that had happened eight years ago.