Reckless

Chapter 5

The Marchioness of Frowbridge set a delicate stitch in the hem of a little muslin dress. "You need not be quite so cool with Lord Kilbourne, you know, Phoebe. I am certain he is going to offer for you soon. You may give him some encouragement now without fear of anyone thinking you overbold."

Phoebe poured another cup of tea and made a face. Her sister did not notice. Meredith was too busy concentrating on the flower she was embroidering onto her daughter's tiny gown.

It occurred to Phoebe, not for the first time, that anyone looking at Meredith saw a paragon of wifehood and motherhood. It was not an illusion. Meredith was a paragon. But few people outside the immediate circle of her family were aware of the amazing talent for business and financial matters that lay beneath the breathtakingly perfect surface. In addition to being a devoted wife and mother, she was an active advisor to her husband in his many investments.

An inclination for such matters was a common trait in Phoebe's family. Her father, the earl, was a mathematician who loved to apply his principles to both his investments and his scientific experiments. Her brother, Anthony, Viscount Oaksley, had inherited his father's abilities. He now ran the Clarington empire, freeing the earl to concentrate on his experiments.

Phoebe's mother, Lydia, Lady Clarington, was also skilled with numbers. But unlike the others, she preferred to apply her talents at the card tables of her friends. Most of the time she won. Occasionally, however, she did not. In either event she was careful to keep her lord uninformed about her activities. Clarington would have been shocked to know of his wife's predilection for games of chance.

Phoebe, the youngest in the family, was the only one who had not shown any ability in the fields of mathematics or investments. Early on it had become obvious to everyone including Phoebe that she had not inherited the family talents.

The others loved her dearly, but they did not know quite what to make of her. She was different, and that difference frequently baffled everyone except her mother, who generally seemed unfazed by Phoebe's ways.

Phoebe was the changeling in the family. The others reached conclusions based on logic. Phoebe used intuition. She read novels while the others studied the stock exchange summaries in The Gentleman's Magazine. She was reckless where the others were cautious. She was enthusiastic where the others were wary. She was eager where the others tended to be disinterested or disapproving. And she was, of course, the youngest.

The result had been an overprotective attitude toward Phoebe from everyone else in the family except her mother. They all spent a great deal of time fretting about her impulsive ways. That attitude had intensified after the carriage accident that had left her with a badly injured leg.

The accident had occurred because of Phoebe's reckless attempt to save a puppy from being crushed by the vehicle. It was Phoebe, not the pup, who had ended up beneath the carriage wheels.

The doctors had gravely informed Clarington that his youngest child would never walk again. The family had been devastated. Everyone had hovered. Everyone had worried. Everyone had tried to keep eight-year-old Phoebe confined to a sickroom.

Phoebe, being Phoebe, had resisted the efforts to turn her into an invalid. She had defied the doctors by secretly teaching herself to walk again. To this day she still remembered the pain of those first tottering steps. Only her determination not to be bedridden for the rest of her life had made the effort possible. Her family, unfortunately, had never quite recovered from the shock of the accident. For them it was only one incident, albeit the most memorable, in a series of incidents that proved Phoebe needed to be protected from her reckless ways.

"I do not want Kilbourne to buffer for me," Phoebe said. She propped her slippered feet on a small footstool and absently massaged her left leg, which was a bit sore from riding that morning.

"Nonsense. Of course you want him to offer for you." Meredith set another stitch. She was two years older than Phoebe and the two were as opposite in both appearance and temperament as night and day. Blond, blue-eyed, and as dainty as a piece of fine porcelain, Meredith had once been a shy, timid creature who had quaked at the thought of the intimate embrace she would encounter in the marriage bed.

Years ago when she had been on the brink of her debut into Society, Meredith had confided quite seriously to Phoebe that she wished to take religious vows in order to escape the demands of a husband. Phoebe had agreed that joining a holy order might be quite interesting, provided one got to live in an ancient, haunted abbey. The notion of encountering a few genuine ghosts had a certain appeal.

It was just as well Meredith had not followed her religious inclinations, Phoebe decided. Marriage had been good for her. Today Meredith was a cheerful, contented woman who reveled in the adoration of her indulgent husband, the Marquess of Trowbridge, and the love of her three healthy children.

"I'm serious, Meredith. I do not wish to marry Kilbourne."

Meredith looked up, her crystal-clear blue eyes wide in surprise. "Good heavens. What on earth are you saying? He's the fourth in the direct line. And the Kilbourne fortune is at least as large as Trowbridge's. Certainly it is equal to Papa's. Mama is so thrilled at the possibilities."

"I know." Phoebe sipped her tea and gazed gloomily at the magnificently stitched hunt scene on the wall. "It will be a coup for her if Kilbourne makes an offer. She will have another wealthy son-in-law to act as a private banker for her on those occasions when her luck runs low at the card tables."

"Well, we both know she can hardly ask Papa to cover her debts of honor. He would never approve of her gaming. And you and I cannot continue to go to her rescue. Our allowances are not large enough to cover some of her losses." Meredith sighed. "I do wish she were not quite so enamored of cards."

"She usually wins."

"Yes, but not always."

"Even the most skilled of gamesters has a bit of bad luck now and then." Phoebe was inclined to be far more sympathetic with her mother's enthusiasm for gaming than Meredith was. From her own experience in the world of rare books, Phoebe understood what it was to be cursed with expensive passions.

Meredith bit her lip. "I fear Trowbridge was a little impatient the last time I asked him to oblige her."

Phoebe smiled ruefully. "Hence Mama's fervent wish to marry me off to Kilbourne. Poor man. He has not the least notion of what he is attempting to take on. Perhaps I should tell him about Mama's weakness for gaming before he makes his offer."

"Don't you dare."

Phoebe sighed. "I had hoped Mama and Papa had quite given up on getting me married off. I am getting rather advanced in years."

"Nonsense. Twenty-four is not so very old."

"Be honest, Meredith. I am dangerously close to twenty-five and you and I both know that the only reason I'm still attracting the occasional offer at my age is due entirely to the size of my inheritance."

"Well, you cannot accuse Lord Kilbourne of being interested in you solely because of your fortune. He has estates scattered from Hampshire to Cornwall. He does not need to marry for money."

"Ah-hah. So why is he interested in me when he can have his pick of the new crop of beauties available this Season?" Phoebe demanded.

She pictured Kilbourne in her mind, studying the image closely in an effort to decide just why she was not particularly attracted to him.

Kilbourne was tall and distinguished with cool gray eyes and light brown hair. She had to admit he was handsome in an aloof, dignified manner. Given his stature in the ton, he was a catch any ambitious mama would relish. He was also a crashing bore.

"Perhaps he has developed a tendre for you, Phoebe."

"I fail to see why. It is not as though we have a lot in common."

"Of course you do." Meredith selected new thread and started a leaf on the flower she was embroidering. "You both come from good families, you both move in the best circles, and you both have respectable fortunes. What's more, he is of a proper age for you."

Phoebe cocked a brow. "He's forty-one."

"As I said, a proper age. You need someone older and more stable than yourself, Phoebe. Someone who can provide you with mature guidance. You know very well that there are too many occasions when we all quite despair of your impulsive nature. One of these days you will get into more trouble than you can handle."

"I have survived very nicely thus far."

Meredith sent a pleading glance toward heaven. "By luck and the grace of the Almighty."

"It's not that bad, Meredith. In any event, I believe I'm maturing very nicely on my own. Just think, in a few more years I'll be forty-one myself. If I can hold out long enough, I will be as old as Kilbourne is now and I won't need his guidance."

Meredith dismissed Phoebe's small attempt at humor. "Marriage would be good for you, Phoebe. One of these days you really must settle down. I vow, I cannot comprehend how you can be content with your life. Always gadding about, chasing after those silly old books."

"Tell me truthfully, Meredith, do you not find Kilbourne a trifle cold? Whenever I am talking to him and happen to look straight into his eyes, I get the impression there is nothing of substance behind them. No warm emotion, if you take my meaning. I do not think he has any strong feeling for me at all."

"What an odd thing to say." Meredith frowned delicately. "I do not find him cold. It is merely that he is a very refined sort of gentleman. He displays a very nice sense of the proprieties. Your problem is that you have been reading far too many of those books you collect."

Phoebe smiled bleakly. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do. All that nonsense about chivalry and knights-errant dashing about slaying dragons to win their ladies cannot be good for your brain."

"Perhaps not. But it is amusing."

"It is not in the least amusing," Meredith declared. "Your fondness for old legends has not only made your imagination far too active, it has given you an unrealistic view of the married state."

"I do not think it unrealistic to want a marriage based on true love," Phoebe said quietly.

"Well, it is. Love comes after the wedding. Just look at Trowbridge and myself."

"Yes, I know," Phoebe agreed. "But I do not want to take such a risk. I want to be certain that I am being married for love and that I can return that love, before 1 commit myself to something as dreadfully permanent as marriage."

Meredith slanted her an exasperated glance. "You do not want to take the risk? That is rather humorous, coming from you. I know of no female who takes more risks than you do."

"I draw the line at a risky marriage," Phoebe said.

"Marriage to Kilbourne is not a risk."

"Meredith?"

"Yes?" Meredith set another stitch with exquisite precision.

"Do you ever think about that night you ran off with Gabriel Banner?"

Meredith gave a start. "Oh, dear. I have pricked my finger. Would you hand me a handkerchief, please? Quickly. I don't want to get blood on this dress."

Phoebe put down her teacup and got to her feet.

She handed her sister a linen handkerchief. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I am fine. What were you saying?" Meredith set aside her embroidery and wrapped the handkerchief around her finger.

"I asked if you ever thought about Gabriel Banner. He is now the Earl of Wylde, you know."

"I understood he has returned to England." Meredith picked up her tea and took a dainty swallow. "And to answer your question, I try very hard never to think of the appalling events of that night. What a little idiot I was."

"You wanted Gabriel to rescue you from marriage to Trowbridge." Phoebe sat down again and propped her feet back on the footstool. The skirts of her bright lime-green muslin gown flowed over her ankles. "I remember it all very well."

"You should," Meredith said dryly. "You not only encouraged me in my foolishness, you helped me knot the sheets I used to descend from my bedroom window."

"It was so exciting. When Gabriel raced off with you into the night, I thought it was the most romantic thing I had ever seen."

"It was a disaster," Meredith muttered. "Thank God Anthony discovered what had happened and came after us immediately. I vow, I have never been so glad to see our dear brother in my life as I was that night, although he was in a towering rage. I had come to my senses by the time we reached the outskirts of London, of course, but Gabriel was still intent on saving me from Trowbridge."

"Even though you had changed your mind?"

Meredith shook her head. "You would have to have known Gabriel to understand how difficult it was to deflect him from his chosen course of action. When I asked him to turn the carriage around and take me home, he thought I was merely succumbing to my own fears. I suppose I cannot blame him for that conclusion. I was such a timid little wren in those days. I still cannot believe I actually agreed to run off with him in the first place."

"You were very frightened of marriage to Trowbridge."

Meredith smiled reminiscently. "So silly of me. Trowbridge is the finest husband a woman could ever hope to have. The problem was that I did not really know him at that point. Heavens, I had only danced with him on one or two occasions and I was quite awed by him."

"So you asked Gabriel to save you?"

"Yes." Meredith wrinkled her nose. "Unfortunately, his notion of saving me was somewhat different than my own. Gabriel made it quite clear after we were under way that he intended to marry me at Gretna Green. I was horrified, naturally. I had not realized that was his plan."

"What did you think he intended when he agreed to save you?"

"I'm afraid I had not thought very far ahead at all. I was merely bent on escape and Gabriel was the sort of man one instinctively turned to for help in an adventure. Fie gave one the impression he could manage such things."

"I see." Gabriel had apparently changed over the years, Phoebe thought grimly. He had certainly not managed that business with the highwayman in Sussex very well. Still, she had to admit her adventure with him had been exciting.

"I soon realized that in agreeing to run off with Gabriel, I had jumped from the frying pan into the fire," Meredith concluded.

"You do not regret coming back home that night?" Phoebe asked carefully.

Meredith glanced around the elegantly furnished sitting room with deep satisfaction. "I thank God every morning of my life that I escaped being carried off by Wylde. I am not entirely certain Papa and Anthony were correct when they said he was only after my fortune, but I am convinced he would have made me a perfectly dreadful husband."

"Why?" Phoebe asked, unable to stop herself.

Meredith gave her a look of mild surprise. "I am not precisely certain, to be perfectly truthful. All I know is that he frightened me. He displayed no proper notion of gentlemanly behavior. He quite terrified me during that dreadful trip north, if you must know. Within the first few miles I had taken a complete disgust of him. I was in tears."

"I see." Phoebe recalled the one brief moment she had spent in Gabriel's arms. Angry though she had been at the time, she had certainly not been in the least disgusted by the threat of his embrace.

In fact, all things considered, Gabriel's kiss had to rank as the most thrilling moment of her entire life. Phoebe had lain awake until dawn thinking about that searingly sensual embrace. The memories still haunted her.

"Do you think that, now he is back in England and has a title, he will ever venture into Society?" Phoebe asked softly.

"I pray he does not." Meredith shuddered. "For the past eight years I have feared his return. The very thought of it is enough to give me the vapors."

"Why? You are safely wed to Trowbridge now."

Meredith gave her a direct look. "Trowbridge knows nothing of what almost happened eight years ago, and it must stay that way."

"I realize that," Phoebe said impatiently. "No one outside the family knows anything about it. Papa hushed up the matter very nicely. So why are you frightened at the thought of Wylde's return?"

"Because I would not put it past Wylde to humiliate us all by somehow resurrecting the events of that night," Meredith whispered. "Now that he has the title, he would soon command the attention of the gossips of the ton, were he to enter Society."

"I take your point," Phoebe murmured. Meredith was right. As an earl, even an earl without a fortune, Gabriel would not go unnoticed in Society. If he chose to spread tales about the wife of the Marquess of Trowbridge, there would be plenty of people who would listen.

"I could not bear to have Trowbridge embarrassed by my actions eight years ago," Meredith said tightly. "At the very least I am certain he would be deeply hurt to know that I had tried to run off to avoid marriage to him. Papa would be enraged to have the scandal made public. Anthony might take it into his head to risk his neck in another duel."

"I do not believe it would be all that bad," Phoebe said. "Surely Wylde would not tell tales. He is a gentleman, after all." She bit her lip, reminding herself silently that she could no longer be certain of that. The stark truth was that Gabriel had changed during the past eight years. Her illusions of him had received a severe blow the other night in Sussex.

"Wylde is no gentleman. Still, we must look on the bright side." Meredith picked up her embroidery. "I seriously doubt he will attempt to enter Society. He never had much taste for it, and he certainly does not have the money for it."

"His financial situation might have changed by now." Phoebe frowned thoughtfully. She knew very well that the income he was receiving off the sale of The Quest would not be enough to enable him to go about much in Society. But there was all that time he had spent in the South Seas. And Gabriel had an undeniable air of competence.

'"Everyone knows there was no fortune to go with the title he inherited," Meredith said crisply. "No, I think we are reasonably safe."

Phoebe thought of the expression on Gabriel's face as he had reluctantly freed her from his kiss. Safe was not a word that came to mind.

Deep inside she was afraid that he might make good on his vow to find her, return the manuscript, and accept the quest. And equally afraid that he might not.

Meredith eyed her sharply. "You are in an odd mood today, Phoebe. Is it because you arc thinking about how to deal with Kilbourne's offer?"

"I have already decided how to deal with it. Assuming he makes one."

Meredith sighed. "Surely after all this time you are not still hoping that Neil Baxter will miraculously return to England with a fortune and sweep you off your feet."

"I am well aware that Neil has been dead for over a year."

"Yes, I know, but you have not been able to accept that, have you?"

"Of course I have. But I fear his death will be on my conscience for the rest of my life," Phoebe admitted.

Meredith's eyes widened in alarm. "You must not say that. You had nothing to do with his death."

"We both know that if it had not been for me, Neil would never have gone off to the South Seas to seek his fortune. And if he had not gone to the islands, he would not have been killed."

"Dear heaven," Meredith whispered. "I had hoped you had put aside your foolish sense of responsibility. Neil chose his own destiny. You must not continue to blame yourself."

Phoebe smiled sadly. "It is easier said than done, Meredith. I think the fact that I considered him a friend, not a potential husband, is what makes it all so very difficult. He never accepted that all I wanted was friendship from him."

"I remember how he called himself your own true Lancelot and how he claimed he had dedicated himself to your service." There was strong disapproval in Meredith's voice. "He was rather attractive. I'll give you that much. But other than his looks, I do not know what you saw in him."

"He danced with me."

Meredith gazed at her in amazement. "Danced with you? What on earth do you mean by that?"

Phoebe smiled ruefully. "We both know that very few men ever ask me to dance. They fear I will make an awkward partner because of my bad leg."

"They do not wish to see you embarrassed on the dance floor," Meredith said firmly. "They refrain from asking you to partner them out of gentlemanly consideration."

"Rubbish. They don't want to humiliate themselves by being seen with a clumsy partner." Phoebe smiled reminiscently. "But Neil did not give a fig for his own appearance on the floor. He waltzed with me, Meredith. He actually waltzed with me. And he did not mind that I was a bit clumsy. As far as I was concerned, he really was my own true Lancelot."

The only way she would find any peace of mind, Phoebe knew, was if she found Neil's murderer. She owed him that much. Then, perhaps, she would be able to put the past to rest.

"Phoebe, regardless of how you feel about Kil-bourne, I beg you to wear something a bit more subdued in color than you usually do tonight. There is no sense putting him off entirely with one of your more inappropriate gowns."

"I was planning on wearing my new chartreuse and orange silk," Phoebe said thoughtfully.

"I was afraid of that," Meredith said.

"Have you read The Quest, by any chance, my lord?" Phoebe looked up at Kilbourne as he led her sedately back to the ballroom from the cold buffet. Out of sheer boredom she had just consumed three lobster patties and some ice cream.

"Good lord, no." Kilbourne smiled his most condescending smile. He was looking very distinguished, as usual, in his immaculately tailored evening clothes. "Such tales are not to my taste, Lady Phoebe. Don't you think you're getting a little old for that sort of thing?"

"Yes, and getting older by the minute."

"I beg your pardon?"

Phoebe smiled quickly. "Nothing. Everyone has read the book, you know. Even Byron and the Regent." Primarily because she had made a point of having Lacey send them copies, Phoebe thought smugly. She had known she was taking a chance in doing so, but she had been fortunate. Both Byron and the Regent had read The Quest and told their friends that they had enjoyed it. When word got out, the book had been catapulted to the heights of success.

Kilbourne had to be one of the few people in London who had not read Gabriel's book.

Whenever she envisioned marriage with the stuffy Kilbourne, she foresaw a lifetime of irritating conversations such as the one she was having now. Marriage between herself and Kilbourne would never work. She could only hope he would not offer for her and thus oblige her to refuse him. What a tempest in a teapot that would create. Her whole family would be aghast.

"I must say I am surprised at the popularity of that ridiculous novel." Kilbourne surveyed the crowded ballroom. "One would have thought Society had more edifying things to do with its time than read such nonsense."

"Surely one cannot complain about the highminded tone of The Quest. It is a tale of adventure that draws its inspiration from notions of medieval chivalry. It deals with honor and nobility and courage. And I must tell you that the subject of love is handled in a very inspiring fashion."

"I imagine our ancestors were every bit as practical as we are when it came to the subject of love," Kilbourne said. "Money, family, and property are the important factors in matrimonial alliances. Always have been. And as for honor and nobility, well, I suspect that such notions were considerably less refined in medieval times than in our own."

"You may be correct. But it seems to me that the important thing is the idea of chivalry. Perhaps it never really did exist in a perfect state, but that does not mean the notion should not be encouraged."

"It is all a lot of foolishness suitable only for the minds of young women and children. Now, then, Lady Phoebe, perhaps we could change the subject. I wonder if I might have a word with you out in the garden." Kilbourne's fingers tightened under her arm. "There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you."

Phoebe stifled a groan. The last thing she wanted was an intimate discussion out in the garden with Kilbourne. "Some other time, if you don't mind, my lord. I believe I see my brother. There is something I must say to him. Please excuse me."

Kilbourne's jaw tightened. "Very well. I will escort you over to your brother."

"Thank you."

As Clarington's only male heir, Anthony held the title of the Viscount Oaksley and was in line for the earldom. He was thirty-two and cut a strong, athletic figure. In addition to his gift for mathematics and business, he had inherited his father's fair hair and strong-boned features.

Anthony had also inherited the cool aristocratic self-confidence that came from knowing he had several generations of wealth, breeding, and power behind him.

Phoebe was quite fond of her brother, but there was no denying that Anthony could be almost as autocratic and overbearing as Clarington himself. She tolerated both of them with good humor, for the most part, but there were occasions when their overly protective attitudes toward her were more than she could bear.

"There you are, Phoebe. I was wondering where you had got to. Evening, Kilbourne." Anthony nodded pleasantly at the older man.

"Oaksley." Kilbourne inclined his head politely. "Your sister says she has a message for you."

"What's that, Phoebe?" Anthony reached for a glass of champagne as a livened servant walked past with a tray.

Phoebe thought quickly, searching for some remark that sounded reasonable. "I wanted to know if you are planning to attend the Brantleys' masquerade on Thursday. Mama and Papa are not going, and neither is Meredith."

"And you need an escort?" Anthony chuckled indulgently. "I know how much you love masquerade balls. Very well. I shall stop by for you at nine o'clock. Won't be able to stay, however. Got other plans for the evening. But don't worry, I shall make arrangements with the Mortonstones for you to be taken home in their carriage. Will you be there, Kilbourne?"

"I had not planned on it," Kilbourne admitted. "I do not care for fancy dress balls. All that dashing about in a mask and cloak is very irritating, if you ask me."

Nobody had asked him, Phoebe thought resentfully.

"But if Lady Phoebe is planning to attend," Kilbourne continued magnanimously, "I shall, of course, make an exception."

"There is no need to disturb yourself on my account, my lord," Phoebe said hastily.

"It will be a pleasure." Kilbourne inclined his head. "After all, we gentlemen must humor the whims of our ladies. Isn't that right, Oaksley?"

"Depends on the whim," Anthony said. He started to smile at Phoebe, and then his glance fell on the staircase that descended into the ballroom from the balcony. His smile vanished in an instant. "Well, I'll be damned." His blue eyes turned icy cold. "So the rumor is true. Wylde is in town."

Phoebe froze. Her eyes flew to the red-carpeted stairs. Gabriel was here.

She could hardly breathe. Surely he would not recognize her. He could not possibly have had a clear view of her face in the moonlight the other night in Sussex. He'd had no way of discovering her name.

Still, he was here. Right here at the very same ball where she was. It had to be a coincidence. At the same time she knew in her heart it could not be a coincidence.

She watched in stunned fascination as he came down the steps into the crowd. There was such dangerous arrogance in him. Phoebe's stomach was churning with excitement. Perhaps she should not have eaten so many lobster patties, she thought.

Gabriel was dressed all in black with only a brilliant white cravat and a pleated white shirt for contrast. The stark color suited him. It emphasized his fierce, aquiline features and the predatory grace of his movements. His ebony hair gleamed beneath the chandeliers.

At that moment Gabriel looked out across the room full of elegantly dressed people and captured her gaze.

He knew who she was.

Excitement soared through Phoebe. The only reason Gabriel could possibly be here tonight was that he had decided to accept her quest.

She had found herself a knight-errant.

There were a few potential problems, to be sure. Judging from her recent experience with him, she was forced to conclude that Gabriel's armor badly needed polishing, to say nothing of his manners and his attitude.

But in her relief at seeing him, Phoebe was not about to be cast down by such trivial details. Knights-errant were extremely scarce on the ground these days. She would work with what was available.