Reckless

Chapter 8

It represents an entirely new species of novel … does not rely on the supernatural element for effect … very inspiring treatment of the subject of love.

Phoebe's words were still ringing in Gabriel's head that afternoon as he strode into Lacey's Bookshop. They were very familiar words. They were, in fact, almost the exact words Lacey had used in his letter saying he wished to publish The Quest. Gabriel had read that letter several times, committing the approving phrases to memory.

Ever since leaving Phoebe at Hammond's Bookshop that morning, a suspicion had been growing in his mind. At first it had seemed too outrageous to even contemplate, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it all made a strange sort of sense.

If his suspicion was correct, it would certainly explain how Phoebe had known so much about him right from the start. It would also mean there was no limit to Phoebe's daring.

The man behind the counter inside the bookshop peered at him. "May I help you, sir?"

"Where's Lacey?" Gabriel asked bluntly. He had met Lacey once before, shortly after the beginning of their association. On that occasion Gabriel had made it clear that he expected Lacey to respect his request for anonymity.

The clerk blinked and then coughed discreetly. "I'm afraid Mr. Lacey is busy, my lord."

"You mean he's drunk as a wheelbarrow?"

"Of course not, sir. He's working."

Gabriel heard a noise from the room directly behind the front counter. "Never mind, I'll find him myself."

He walked around the counter, pushed open the door, and stepped into the room where Lacey housed his printing press.

The smell of ink and oil was thick in the air. The massive iron press stood silent. Lacey, a stout, bald man with a florid face full of overgrown whiskers, was in the corner. He was examining a bundle of paper. He wore a leather apron over his ink-stained clothes. A bottle of gin was poking out of one of the apron pockets.

"Lacey, there is something I wish to discuss with you," Gabriel said, closing the door.

"What's that?" Lacey turned his head and glared at Gabriel with rheumy eyes. "Oh, it's you, m'lord. Now, see here, if you've come to complain about not getting paid enough for your last book, you're wasting your time. I told you my partner has put all that sort of thing into the hands of a solicitor. I don't worry about the damned money anymore."

Gabriel smiled coldly. "It's not the money that concerns me, Lacey."

"Well, now, that's a relief." Lacey straightened and pulled the bottle out of his apron pocket. He scowled at Gabriel as he took a healthy swig of gin. "You wouldn't believe how many authors get difficult when it comes to money."

"What interests me is the name of your partner."

Lacey choked on his mouthful of gin. He swallowed frantically and then burst out in a fit of coughing. "Afraid I cannot discuss it, m'lord. Anonymous. Just like you."

"I want the name, Lacey."

"Now, see here, what gives you the right to pry into my private business?"

"If you don't give me the name of your partner, I shall see to it that my new manuscript, which is almost completed, is delivered to another publisher."

Lacey stared at him in horror. "You wouldn't do that, my lord. After all we've done for you?"

"I don't want to take A Reckless Venture elsewhere, but if you force me to do so, I shall."

Lacey sat down hard in a wooden chair. "You're a hard man, m'lord."

"I'm a cautious man, Lacey. I like to know who I'm dealing with when I do business."

Lacey squinted at him and wiped his nose on the back of his stained sleeve. "You won't tell her I told ye? She's real insistent on keeping her name a secret. Her family wouldn't approve of her getting involved in trade."

"Trust me," Gabriel said grimly. "I can keep a secret."

Thursday morning Gabriel sat at his desk and worked on the last scenes of A Reckless Venture. He was rather pleased with the story. In a few days he would have it delivered to his publisher.

He would then await the letter of acceptance or rejection. It would certainly be interesting to see what Lacey's partner had to say about the manuscript.

Gabriel reluctantly looked up from his work when his new butler, Shelton, opened the door.

"Two ladies to see you, sir." Shelton did not look as though he approved of the visitors. "They would not give me their names."

"Show them in, Shelton." Gabriel put down his pen and got to his feet.

He smiled to himself. The only woman he knew who would be bold enough to pay a call on a man was Phoebe. She no doubt wanted to give him more orders, directions and suggestions. He wondered whom she had brought with her. Her maid, no doubt.

He was aware of a sense of anticipation, just as he had been on Tuesday when he had met her at Hammond's Bookshop. The feeling was a decidedly sensual one. He had a sudden vision of himself making love to Phoebe right here in his library. It just might be possible, he concluded.

If the little fool was silly enough to risk her reputation by coming here today, he certainly had no qualms about putting her reputation even more at risk.

After all, the lady was a born deceiver. She had been weaving her illusions right from the start.

At that moment the door opened again and two elegantly gowned and heavily veiled women appeared in the doorway. Gabriel experienced a sharp stab of disappointment. Although he could not see their faces, he knew immediately that neither of them was Phoebe.

He would know Phoebe anywhere now, veiled or unveiled. It was not just her slight limp that marked her. There was something about the way she held her head, something about the way her colorful, high-waisted gowns framed her breasts and skimmed the contours of her hips that he would always recognize.

He slanted a wistful glance at the green velvet sofa near the hearth. So much for his budding plans to spend the next hour seducing his outrageous lady.

"Good morning, ladies." Gabriel quirked a brow as his two visitors took seats in front of the desk. "I see that a taste for the veil runs in your family. Perhaps all the Clarington females have a heretofore unacknowledged religious vocation."

"Don't be ridiculous, Wylde." Lady Clarington lifted her veil with gloved fingers and secured it on top of her clever little blue hat. "I have no more interest in the religious life than you do."

Meredith raised her veil also and fastened it atop her fashionable flower-trimmed bonnet. She gazed at Gabriel with reproachful blue eyes. "You always did have an odd sense of humor, Wylde."

"Thank you, Lady Trowbridge." Gabriel inclined his head. "I have always thought that some sense of humor was better than none at all."

Meredith blinked uncertainly. "I never did understand you."

"No, I am aware of that fact." Gabriel sat down and clasped his hands together on his desk. "Shall we continue to exchange amusing jests, or will you two ladies condescend to tell me the reason for this visit."

"I would have thought the reason for our visit was obvious," Lydia said with a sigh. "We're here about Phoebe, of course. Meredith insisted."

Meredith cast her mother a chiding glance and then turned her attention back to Gabriel. "We have come to plead with you, Wylde. We are here to throw ourselves at your mercy and beg you not to ruin Phoebe's life."

"Assuming that is your intention, of course," Lydia murmured. She peered intently around the library, unconsciously squinting. "Don't suppose you managed to pick up a fortune out in the South Seas, did you?"

Gabriel gave her a deliberately bland look of inquiry. "Why do you ask, Lady Clarington?"

"Would have made things so much simpler," Lydia said. "That way you could marry Phoebe and no one would bat an eye. We wouldn't be going through all this nonsense."

"Mama, please try to comprehend what is happening here," Meredith said tightly. "His lordship does not love Phoebe. He is plotting to use her."

"Doubt that will work," Lydia said bluntly. "Very difficult to use Phoebe unless she wants to be used. She's much too strong-minded for that sort of thing."

Meredith's dainty jaw was rigid. She folded her hands together in her lap and faced Gabriel. "Sir, I know that you have struck up this friendship with Phoebe so that you can use her to punish the rest of us. I beg you to consider that she had nothing to do with what happened eight years ago. She was a mere child at the time."

"You told me that night that she was the one who figured out how to tie the bedsheets together so that you could lower yourself out the window," Gabriel could not resist saying.

Tears shimmered in Meredith's lovely eyes. "Surely you would not punish her for that. She did not understand. She thought it was all a grand adventure. She had been reading those books you were forever giving to me and she had some childish notion that you were a modern-day knight of the Round Table. Heavens, I think she saw you as King Arthur himself."

Lydia looked suddenly alert. "Do you know, I believe you may be on to something, Meredith. Looking back on it, I do believe that was about the time Phoebe developed her lamentable enthusiasm for medieval legends and such. Yes, it all makes sense now." She frowned at Gabriel. "It is all your fault, Wylde."

Gabriel gave her a sharp look. "My fault?"

"Yes, of course." Lydia squinted thoughtfully. "You were the one who got her started on that nonsense. As far as I am concerned, you have already very nearly ruined her life."

"Now, hold on one minute here." It occurred to Gabriel that he was losing control of the situation. "I have done nothing to ruin Phoebe's life. Not yet, at any rate."

Meredith's eyes widened in shock as the implication of his last words sank in.

"Yes, you have," Lydia said, ignoring the implied threat. "She has never married because of you. I blame her current status as a spinster entirely on you."

"Me?" Gabriel stared at Lydia, trying to follow her crazed logic. "You can hardly blame me for the fact that you have not been able to marry her off."

"Yes, I can. Her interest in that medieval nonsense caused her to become far too particular when it came to suitors. None of them could equal the knights in those silly stories she was forever reading."

"Now, see here," Gabriel began.

"Furthermore," Lydia continued, "she has always complained that none of her suitors shared her interest in medieval lore. Except for that dreadful Neil Baxter, of course. Is that not right, Meredith?"

"Quite correct, Mama," Meredith agreed grimly. "But I do not think that is what we wish to discuss with his lordship. There are more pressing problems."

"Good heavens." Lydia frowned. "I cannot imagine anything more pressing than getting Phoebe married off to a suitable husband." She gave Gabriel a conspiratorial look. "In spite of the damage you have done, we still have great hopes for bringing Kilbourne up to scratch, you know."

"Do you, indeed?" Gabriel found the information irritating. Phoebe had not mentioned that Kilbourne was on the verge of making an offer. He discovered he did not care for the notion.

Meredith gave her mother a repressive look. "Mama, if Wylde ruins Phoebe, we shall never get her married off to anyone at all, let alone to Kilbourne."

"Oh, dear." Lydia squinted at Gabriel. "See here, you're not actually planning to ruin my daughter, are you?"

Meredith jerked a lace hankie out of her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. "Of course he is, Mama. That is what this is all about. It is his notion of revenge." She looked up at Gabriel, eyes brimming with crystal tears. "I beg you to give it up, my lord."

"Why should I?" Gabriel asked politely.

"For the sake of what we once had," Meredith cried.

"We did not have all that much, as I recall." Gabriel studied her beautiful, tear-filled eyes and wondered offhandedly what he had ever seen in Meredith. He reflected briefly on the narrow escape he'd had eight years ago and sent up a small prayer of gratitude to whichever saint watched over naive young men.

"Please, my lord. Think of Phoebe."

"It is difficult not to," Gabriel admitted. "She is a very interesting female."

"And an innocent one," Meredith put in quickly.

Gabriel shrugged. "If you say so."

Meredith stared at him in shocked outrage. "Are you implying otherwise, sir?"

"No." Gabriel thought about Neil Baxter, wondering not for the first time just how deeply Phoebe had cared for the man. "Phoebe and I have never discussed the matter in detail."

"I should hope not," Lydia said sternly. "My daughter may be a trifle eccentric, sir, but she is a perfectly respectable young female. Her reputation is unstained."

"Eccentric? I would suggest she is more than a trifle eccentric," Gabriel retorted.

Lydia shrugged elegantly. "Very well. She has a few unusual interests, the blame for which I lay at your door. But I am certain those can be overlooked by the right man."

"It is not just her unusual interests that would concern me if I were responsible for her," Gabriel said.

"Oh, all right. I will admit she is a bit strong-minded on occasion," Lydia conceded. "Perhaps even a shade willful. And she does have a certain independent attitude that some might find objectionable, but there is nothing significant in that."

"Good lord." Gabriel realized Phoebe's family had no notion of just how outrageous she had become. He wondered what Lady Clarington would say were he to inform her that her youngest daughter had taken to meeting men at midnight and setting out on quests to find murderers.

Meredith gave Gabriel a piteous glance. "Sir, will you please give us your word that you will not continue to encourage this friendship with my sister? We both know you are not sincere in it."

"Is that right?" Gabriel asked.

Meredith sniffed into her hankie. "I am not a fool, sir. And neither are the other members of my family. We all know you have revenge in mind. I beg you on bended knee to reconsider that notion. Phoebe does not deserve to suffer for what happened."

"Perhaps not, but one must work with the material that is available," Gabriel said.

At ten-thirty that evening Gabriel propped one shoulder against the wall of the Brantleys' magnificent ballroom and sipped champagne. He was wearing a simple black mask and a black cloak over his evening clothes. Many of the guests, however, were dressed in amazingly elaborate costumes.

He had spotted Phoebe a few minutes ago, shortly after he had arrived. Given what he knew of her interests and her taste in colors, it had not been difficult to find her in the crowd.

She was wearing a high, wide medieval headdress and a gold half mask. Her sleek, dark hair was bound up in a net that glittered with gold thread. Her brilliant turquoise and gold gown was also medieval in style. Her gold satin dancing slippers sparkled as she moved through the crowd on the arm of a man in a brown domino.

Gabriel recognized her companion at once. The brown half mask and matching cloak did not do much to conceal Kilbourne's fair hair or the painfully polite expression on his face.

Gabriel smiled to himself. Phoebe was obviously having a good time, but it was apparent that Kilbourne was merely enduring the masquerade.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed as he watched Kilbourne attempt to pull Phoebe closer to his side. The sight of Phoebe's fingers resting on the earl's sleeve annoyed him. He recalled what Lady Clarington had said about the prospects of Kilbourne making an offer.

Gabriel put down his champagne glass and walked across the crowded room to where Kilbourne and Phoebe stood talking.

Phoebe looked up as he approached. He saw her topaz eyes flash with recognition behind her half mask. Her soft mouth curved into a delighted smile.

"Good evening, Lord Wylde," Phoebe said. "Are you acquainted with Kilbourne?"

"We've met." Kilbourne nodded brusquely. "Same clubs, I believe."

"Good evening, Kilbourne," Gabriel said. He turned to Phoebe. "I wonder if I might have the next dance, Lady Phoebe?"

"Now, see here, sir," Kilbourne sputtered. "Lady Phoebe is not entirely comfortable on the dance floor."

"Rubbish," Phoebe declared. "I would love to dance." She smiled cheerfully at Kilbourne. "Perhaps I shall see you later, sir."

Kilbourne's irritation was obvious as he inclined his head politely over her hand. "I shall be eagerly awaiting another opportunity to converse with you, Lady Phoebe. As I was saying a moment ago, I would like to speak to you in private later this evening."

"We shall see," Phoebe said noncommittally as she accepted Gabriel's arm.

Gabriel felt a surge of satisfaction at having successfully removed Phoebe from Kilbourne's vicinity. He swung her into the first turn of the waltz, sensed her momentary awkwardness, and steadied her instantly. It was an easy task. She was as light as thistledown.

Phoebe glowed up at him. "I am pleased to see you here, my lord. Have you any news for me of our quest?"

Gabriel's hand tightened on her waist. "Is your quest all you can think about, Phoebe?"

"What else would you have me think about?"

"How about Kilbourne's impending offer? I should think that would be a subject of some interest to you."

Phoebe blinked behind her golden mask. "What do you know of Lord Kilbourne's intentions?"

"Your mother informed me today that she is hoping he can be brought up to scratch."

"Good heavens. My mother came to see you?"

"And your sister."

Phoebe chewed anxiously on her lower lip. "I do hope you were not put off the quest by anything they had to say, sir. I assured you I would manage my family. You must not let them intimidate you."

"Believe me, Phoebe, I am not intimidated by your family. But I was interested to hear that you are on the point of marriage."

Phoebe chuckled. "I am nowhere near the point of marriage, my lord. I can assure you that if and when Kilbourne gets around to making an offer, I shall politely refuse."

"Why?" Gabriel demanded. He realized he suddenly had to discover all he could about Phoebe's relationship with Kilbourne.

Phoebe rolled her eyes behind her mask. "If you have known Kilbourne for any length of time at all, you must see that he would make me an abominable husband."

Gabriel scowled. "He's a marquess and, from all accounts, an extremely wealthy one at that."

"The man is a prig. Believe me, I recognize the species and I have no intention of marrying one, I cannot imagine being tied to such a pompous, unbending creature for the rest of my life. It would be hell on earth."

"In other words," Gabriel said, "you fear he will not allow you to continue in your reckless ways, is that it? No more midnight meetings with strangers and no more quests."

"Kilbourne would not stop there. He is a very straitlaced, very disapproving sort of man. He tries to hide it now, because he is courting me, but I know-that if we were to marry, he would try to choose my friends and dictate the cut of my gowns. I would have no freedom whatsoever."

"And you value your freedom?"

"Very much. Mama assures me that it is possible for an intelligent woman to manage a man such as Kilbourne, but I am not taking any chances." Phoebe smiled. "Do you know, my lord, that Kilbourne does not even approve of books such as yours? I believe he would actually try to prohibit me from reading them."

Something inside Gabriel untwisted. Pie smiled slowly. "In that case I must agree with you. Kilbourne would make you an abominable husband."

Phoebe laughed in delight and her eyes gleamed gold behind her golden mask. The glittering threads in her net twinkled in the light of the chandeliers. Gabriel looked down at her and wondered for an instant if he was holding a real woman or a sorceress.

He feared he was half bewitched. Desire pulsed in his veins. Instinctively he tightened his grasp on Phoebe. Most definitely she could not marry Kilbourne.

"My lord?" She tilted her head slightly, studying his masked face. "Is something wrong?"

"Let's go out into the gardens and get some fresh air," Gabriel muttered.

Phoebe did not resist as he swept her to a halt near the French windows. She lost her balance as he drew her out into the night.

"Not so fast, my lord." She grasped his arm to steady herself.

"I have you," he said quietly. He pulled her closer against his side. And I am going to keep you. he added silently. At least until I have finished my business with your family.

"The Brantley gardens are quite magnificent," Phoebe said conversationally as they walked along a graveled path. "Have you ever seen them?"

"No." Gabriel took a deep breath of the cool night air. He tried to quell the sensual need that was making his insides clench.

"They are quite extensive. There is an orangery and a maze and a pond with fish in it." Phoebe peered into the shadows. "One cannot see much at night, of course, but I have visited during the day and I was most impressed."

"Phoebe?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"I am not in the mood to discuss gardens."

"I knew it," Phoebe said with cheerful enthusiasm. "You have brought me out here to discuss your investigations, have you not? Tell me, sir, what have you learned? Are we any closer to our goal?"

"That depends on your point of view." Gabriel tugged her away from the lights of the house, deeper into the shadows of the large garden. "I think I can say with some certainty that success is probable."

"Excellent." Phoebe looked up at him. "What have you discovered? Have any of your bookshop contacts supplied you with new information? Have you learned anything in your clubs?"

"There are one or two avenues of inquiry which I intend to pursue." Gabriel realized they were out of sight of the mansion now. He slowed his pace.

Around them loomed great hedges cut into fanciful shapes. The moonlight revealed giant topiary figures in the form of mythical beasts. The graveled path wound through a night-shrouded forest of strange winged animals and snarling dragons.

"I am pleased to hear that, my lord." Phoebe hesitated, glancing around at the bizarre topiary. "This garden is truly spectacular, but it gives one chills at night, does it not?" She stepped closer to Gabriel. "During the day it is all very amusing, but in the darkness, one's imagination takes hold."

"Your imagination is more active than most," Gabriel said.

"You have no room to talk, sir. You are the one who makes a living writing imaginative books."

"Books that Kilbourne would no doubt try to prevent you from reading, were he your husband." Gabriel brought her to a halt in the deep shadows of a giant green Pegasus.

Phoebe smiled whimsically. "I have just explained that there is very little chance Kilbourne will ever become my husband. Why do you harp on the subject, my lord?"

"Damned if I know." Gabriel felt himself giving in to his hunger. The lady had followed him willingly enough out into the night. She had no sense of decorum. She was reckless and overbold and she was Clarington's daughter.

She deserved what she got.

Gabriel pulled her abruptly into his arms and kissed her.

Phoebe's soft cry of startled surprise was quickly muffled. She did not resist the embrace. Instead, she moved tentatively closer.

Gabriel felt her arms steal slowly up around his neck, and a sense of triumphant excitement washed through him. She wanted him. He cradled the nape of her neck in one hand and deliberately deepened the kiss. He bent his head to kiss her throat. She shivered in response.

"Gabriel." Phoebe's voice was infused with a womanly excitement that captivated him.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, tightening with unmistakable urgency. Gabriel felt his already swollen manhood start to throb.

"Do you like this?" Gabriel asked, his lips on the warm skin of her throat. "Tell me you like this."

"Oh, yes." Phoebe sucked in her breath as he closed his teeth carefully around her earlobe.

"Tell me how much you like it," he insisted. He was intoxicated with her response. She was trembling with it and her reaction made him shudder with his own need.

"I like it very much. I have never felt like this before, Gabriel."

He eased her deeper into the shadows of the looming hedges. His only thought now was to find as much privacy as possible. He could not wait to discover the treasures of her body.

Gabriel heard Phoebe's sharp little gasp of surprise when he lowered the sleeve of her gown. She turned her head into his shoulder, clutching at him as moonlight fell across her bared breast.

Gabriel looked down and thought he had never seen anything more lovely in his life. "Phoebe, you are perfect."

"Oh, Gabriel." She kept her face buried against his shoulder.

"Perfect." He cupped her sweet, apple-shaped breast in his hand and drew his thumb across the nipple. It budded instantly.

Gabriel bent his head and took the firm fruit into his mouth. Phoebe's reaction was immediate. She cried out softly and clung to him as if he were rescuing her from drowning.

Gabriel thought that he was the one who was drowning. He was lost in Phoebe's warmth and softness. Her scent filled his head, claiming his senses. He wanted to know the taste of her, the feel of her lying naked beside him. He ached to know what it would be like to be deep inside her. He longed to feel her shiver with release.

He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Phoebe.

In the grip of a passion that he refused to deny, Gabriel pulled Phoebe deeper into the exotic greenery. He stopped, shrugged out of his cloak, and spread it on the grass.

Phoebe trembled, but she did not protest as he lowered her onto the cloak and came down beside her. She touched his face. His mask, like hers, concealed only his eyes. Her fingers were achingly gentle on his cheek.

"Gabriel, I think I must be dreaming."

"So am I. We will dream this dream together." He lowered his head and took her nipple gently between his teeth.

She arched herself against him, moaning softly. He stroked his hand down the length of her, reveling in the curve of her hip and thigh.

Gabriel found the hem of the turquoise and gold gown and raised it slowly. He moved his palm up the length of her leg, over her stockings, past the garter which was tied just above the knee. Then he explored farther, letting his fingers drift up the warm skin of her inner thigh. He could feel the heat of her and it nearly drove him mad.

Phoebe gave a small, muffled gasp when he closed his hand around the hot, damp place between her legs.

"Gabriel."

"Hush, love." He kissed her throat and then her breast again. "Let me touch you. You're already wet. I can feel your honey on my fingers."

"Oh, my God," she whispered. Her eyes were very wide in the moonlight and her lips were parted in wonder.

Gabriel raised his head to watch her masked face as he slowly and carefully opened the soft, plump folds that guarded her secrets. He saw her touch the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth. She clutched nervously at his shoulders.

When he gently eased one finger inside her, he almost lost what was left of his self-control. She was so tight. So hot. So ready for him.

Phoebe froze, her mouth open, her eyes glazed. "Gabriel?"

Gabriel knew for certain then that she had never been this intimate with a man. He felt a glorious thrill at the knowledge. Whatever Neil Baxter had meant to her, she had not allowed him to make love to her. He suddenly felt a fierce need to protect her even as he introduced her to her own passion.

"Calm yourself, sweet. I will be very careful with you." Gabriel sealed the solemn vow with a shower of small kisses across her breasts. "I won't hurt you. You're going to want me as much as I want you."

He moved his finger gently within her, easing it slowly out of her tight passage. She flinched in reaction, but she did not pull away from him. He entered her slowly again with his finger. Then he touched the tiny mound of sensitive flesh that was concealed within the soft thatch of hair. Phoebe stiffened and cried out against his jacket. He stroked her again.

"Gabriel, I do not … I cannot think …»

"This is not a time to think. This is a time to feel. Shall I tell you how you feel to me? You feel sweet. So sweet and soft and so responsive. My God, it's like touching liquid fire."

"I, oh, Gabriel, this is so strange …»

He felt her body gradually begin to tighten demandingly around his finger. He continued to stroke her, enthralled by her response. When she began to lift herself against his hand, silently asking for more, he felt as if he had been handed a priceless treasure.

Phoebe was breathing more quickly now. Gabriel could feel her untutored body striving toward a release it did not yet recognize. He wanted to shout his own satisfaction from the rooftops. After tonight she would look at him as she had never looked at him before.

After tonight she would not dream of Neil Baxter.

Gabriel heard the soft crunch of shoes on gravel an instant before Phoebe went up in flames in his arms. He reacted instinctively, aware that Phoebe had heard nothing. She was too deeply enmeshed in the coils of the passionate spell he had woven for her. It was too late to call her back to the real world.

Gabriel did the only thing he could. He crushed Phoebe's mouth with his own just as she shuddered and convulsed in his arms. He barely managed to swallow her soft scream of release.

Then he swiftly pulled her close and wrapped the black cloak around her, holding her tightly as the small tremors rippled through her.

There was a moment of screaming silence and then Phoebe went limp.

Gravel crunched on the other side of the hedge. Phoebe tensed in Gabriel's arms. He realized she must have heard the sound. She stilled abruptly and huddled against him.

"Lady Phoebe?" Kilbourne's voice called loudly in the darkness. "I say, are you out here?"

Gabriel felt Phoebe's stunned reaction. He leaned his head down and whispered soundlessly into her ear. "Hush."

She nodded frantically to indicate she understood.

Kilbourne's shoes came closer. Gabriel continued to hold Phoebe pressed against him. He glanced around and realized that they were surrounded by the green walls formed by the high hedges. With any luck, Kilbourne would not come this way.

The sound of footsteps on gravel drew closer. Gabriel held his breath, willing Kilbourne to move on. There was a muttered oath on the other side of one hedge. Then Kilbourne's footfalls receded into the distance. Gabriel relaxed as he realized Kilbourne was returning to the house.

Gabriel waited a moment longer until he was certain the marquess was out of hearing range. Then he unwrapped Phoebe from the folds of his black cloak.

She sat up looking delightfully bedraggled. Her elaborate headdress was askew and a lock of her hair had escaped the golden net that had bound it. Her mask had slipped down over her nose.

"Gracious, that was a close thing," Phoebe muttered as she attempted to adjust her headdress. "I shudder to think what a disaster it would have been if Kilbourne had seen us."

Gabriel, his body still throbbing with desire and the battle-ready tension inspired by Kilbourne's approach, was inexplicably annoyed by the comment. "It's a bit late to be worrying about your reputation, madam."

Phoebe paused, her hands resting on the rim of the headdress. "I suppose you are right. It was a very narrow escape. Just think, if Kilbourne had seen us in that extremely compromising situation, you would have had to announce our engagement tomorrow."

Gabriel got to his feet and pulled her up beside him. "The thought of me announcing our engagement alarms you so much, madam?"

"Certainly it does." She looked up at him as she straightened her mask.

"Because your family would be outraged?"

"My family's reaction is not the issue. I am twenty-four years old and I do as I please. For the most part. The thing is, Gabriel, I have no overwhelming interest in marriage, although I see now that there are some benefits I had not fully comprehended."

"Hell and damnation."

"But if I were to marry," she continued relentlessly, "I would want to do so for love, not because I had been caught rolling about in the Brantleys' hedges."

Gabriel's outrage increased tenfold. He took a step forward and deliberately loomed over her. "It was a hell of a lot more than a matter of rolling about in the hedges, madam. And what, may I ask, makes you think I would have felt it necessary to announce our intention to marry if we had been caught?"

"Oh, you would have done the honorable thing, Gabriel. It's your nature."

"Your faith in me is sadly misplaced, madam. Once and for all, I am not the knight of your dreams. I am no King Arthur."

Phoebe smiled slightly at that. She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth across his. "Your armor may be slightly tarnished, but underneath I believe you are still the same man you were eight years ago. You would not be helping me in my quest if that were not so."

"Damn it, Phoebe—"

"I know that eight years ago you loved my sister, and I know that I am not in the least like her, so it is very unlikely you will ever love me."

"Phoebe, you don't know what you're talking about," Gabriel said.

"Yes, I do. I always know what I am talking about. Now, as I do not wish to marry a man who does not love me, and as I am well aware that a man of your nature would not wish to marry without love, either, we must have no more adventures together such as the one we shared tonight."

Gabriel stared at her, thunderstruck. "You expect me to just agree to that?"

"Do not misunderstand me, my lord," she said quickly. "It was all really quite pleasant."

"Pleasant.

"Well, perhaps even better than pleasant. But I am certain you can comprehend the danger involved. Surely you do not wish to find yourself tied to me for the rest of your life because of a fleeting indiscretion."

"I don't believe this is the same woman who met me on that road in Sussex at midnight."

"Yes, well, it is. I know you find me reckless, but I am not a complete idiot."

"It strikes me that your mother has a sound point," Gabriel said. "She complained that you have been entirely too particular when it comes to your suitors. You don't want to marry a man like Kilbourne who will try to guide you—"

"Bully me is more like it. And no, I most certainly do not want to marry a man like him." Phoebe shuddered delicately.

Gabriel glowered at her. "And you don't want to marry any man who will not get down on his knees to vow his undying love—"

"Of course not."

"Your mother believes you're looking for a goddamned knight straight out of a legend."

She smiled brilliantly up at him. "Why should I settle for less?"

"You, madam, are too damn choosy for a woman of your advanced years. Good God. Why am I standing here talking to you of marriage?"

"I don't know. Why are you talking to me about it, my lord?"

"Never mind. We shall discuss this matter at another time. Rest assured that sooner or later we shall both repeat the experience we shared tonight. And a bit more into the bargain." Gabriel grabbed her hand and started down the narrow aisle shaped by the hedges.

"There is really nothing to discuss, Gabriel. I fear I must be quite firm about this matter. W7e must not take such risks in the future."

"There damn well is more to discuss. A great deal more. If you think that I am going to keep my hands off you after this, you're mad." He scowled as he realized he had come to the end of the hedge aisle and was facing another hedge. "What the devil?"

"Oh, dear." Phoebe glanced around at the looming walls of green. "I believe we have wandered into Lord Brantley's maze. He is quite proud of it. No one has ever found his way out on his own. Only Brantley knows the secret route."

Gabriel slammed his hand against the hedge in disgust. "Christ. This is all it needed."

"I fail to see the problem here, Gabriel." Phoebe smiled encouragingly at him in the moonlight. "I believe the hero of your book found himself trapped in a maze on page three hundred and four."

"So he did. What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

"He found his way out through some very clever reasoning, as I recall," Phoebe said. "I have complete faith that you can get us out of here using the same process. You had best hurry, however. We must return to the ball before someone else besides Kilbourne misses me."