Reckless (3 page)

For the first time since she had begun the reckless quest to lure Gabriel into helping her, Phoebe felt momentarily overwhelmed by the challenge. He was right. He was not a man with whom an intelligent woman played games. Perhaps her scheme was not going to work, after all. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she was still safely concealed behind her veil.

"Is something wrong?" Gabriel asked softly. His eyes skimmed over her bright purple habit. He looked amused.

"No. Nothing." Phoebe lifted her chin as she turned away from him to follow the housekeeper. What did it signify if the purple shade of her habit was a trifle livid in tone? She was well aware that her taste was not appreciated by many. Her mother and sister were always lecturing her about her love of what they termed inflamed colors.

The housekeeper showed them into a small room that was even more crowded than the hall. Bookcases took up all the available wall space. Each was filled to overflowing. Volumes were stacked waist high on the floor, forming meandering paths. Heavy trunks, lids open to reveal more books and papers, were stationed on either side of the hearth.

A portly man dressed in overly snug breeches and a faded maroon coat sat at a desk piled high with books. He was hunched over an aging volume. Candlelight illuminated his bald head and thick gray whiskers. He spoke without looking up from the page in front of him.

"What is it, Mrs. Stiles? I told ye I was not to be bothered until I have finished translating this text."

"The lady has come for her manuscript, sir." Mrs. Stiles did not seem perturbed by her master's gruff manner. "Brought a friend with her, she has. Shall I make tea?"

"What's this? There's two of 'em?" Nash threw down his pen and surged to his feet. He turned toward the door and glowered at his visitors through a pair of silver-framed spectacles.

"Good evening, Mr. Nash," Phoebe said politely as she stepped forward.

Nash's scowling gaze was drawn briefly to Phoebe's left leg. He refrained from commenting on her limp, however. His already florid face turned a darker shade of red as he looked at Gabriel. "Here, now. I'm only sellin' the one manuscript tonight. How come there's two of ye?"

"Do not concern yourself, Mr. Nash," Phoebe said soothingly. "This gentleman is with me merely because I did not like the thought of coming out alone at this hour."

"Why not?" Nash glared ferociously at Gabriel. "No harm will come to ye in this neighborhood. Nothin' ever happens around this part of Sussex."

"Yes, well, I am not as familiar with the local situation as you are," Phoebe murmured. "I am from London, if you will recall."

"About the tea," Mrs. Stiles began firmly.

"Never mind the damn tea," Nash growled. "They won't be stayin' long enough for it. Take yer-self off, Mrs. Stiles. I've got business to attend to."

"Yes, sir." Mrs. Stiles disappeared.

Gabriel's gaze was speculative as he surveyed the room full of books. "My compliments on your extensive library, Nash."

"Thank you, sir." Nash's gaze followed Gabriel's. Pride gleamed briefly in his eyes. "Rather pleased with it, if I do say so."

"You would not, by any chance, be in possession of a particular copy of Malory's Morte d'Arthur, would you?"

"What copy?" Nash asked suspiciously.

"A 1634 edition. Rather poor condition. Bound in red Moroccan leather. There is an inscription on the flyleaf that begins 'To my son.' "

Nash frowned. "No. Mine is an earlier edition. Excellent condition."

"I see." Gabriel looked at him. "Then we had best be getting on with our business."

"Certainly." Nash opened a desk drawer. "I expect ye'll be wantin' to see the thing afore you take it away, won't ye?"

"If you don't mind." Phoebe cast a swift glance at Gabriel.

He had picked up a fat book from a nearby table, but he put it down at once when he saw Nash lifting a wooden box out of the desk drawer.

Nash lifted the lid off the box and reverently removed the volume inside. The gold on the edges of the vellum sparkled in the candlelight. Gabriel's eyes gleamed a very brilliant shade of green.

Phoebe almost smiled in spite of her new fears. She knew exactly how he felt. A familiar rush of excitement shot through her as Nash placed the manuscript on the desk and carefully opened the thick leather covers to reveal the first page.

"Oh, my goodness," Phoebe whispered. All of her immediate concerns about the wisdom of asking Gabriel's assistance in her quest faded as she looked at the magnificent manuscript.

She moved closer to get a better view of the four miniatures placed together on the top half of the page. An intricate ivy-leaf border surrounded the ancient illustrations. Even from this distance the illuminations glowed like rare jewels.

"It's a beauty, right enough," Nash said with a collector's pride. "Got it from a bookseller in London a year ago. He bought it from some Frenchman who fled to England on account of the Revolution. Makes me bilious to think of all the fine book collections that must have been broken up or destroyed on the Continent during the past few years."

"Yes," Gabriel said quietly. "War is not good for books or anything else." He walked ovefrto the desk and stood gazing intently down at the illuminated manuscript. "Bloody hell. It is quite remarkably beautiful."

"Wonderful." Phoebe studied the glittering miniatures. "Absolutely fantastic." She glanced at Nash. "May I examine it more closely?"

Nash hesitated and then shrugged with obvious reluctance. "Ye paid fer it. It's yers. Do what ye like."

"Thank you." Phoebe was aware of Gabriel hovering over her shoulder as she reached into her skirt pocket for a clean lace handkerchief. The intense, controlled eagerness in him amused her because it was so similar to her own emotions in that moment.

She and Gabriel were as one in this particular passion, she reflected. Only another book collector could appreciate a moment such as this.

She used the handkerchief to turn the vellum pages. The Knight and the Sorcerer was a richly decorated manuscript. It had obviously been commissioned by a wealthy medieval French aristocrat who had appreciated the illuminator's art as well as the story the scribe had set down.

Phoebe paused to study some of the old French, noting the exquisite script. When she got to the final page, she concentrated intently for a moment to translate the colophon.

"Here ends the tale of The Knight and the Sorcerer"

Phoebe read aloud. "I, Philip of Blois, have told only the truth. This book has been created for my lady and belongs to her. If anyone takes this book from this place, he shall be cursed. He shall be set upon by thieves and murderers. He shall hang. He shall be condemned to the fires of hell."

"I'd say that covers everything," Gabriel said. "Nothing like a good old-fashioned book curse to make one think twice about engaging in a bit of book theft."

"One can hardly blame the scribes for trying everything possible to keep these gorgeous works of art from being stolen." Phoebe carefully closed the volume. She glanced up at Mr. Nash and smiled. "I am well satisfied with my purchase, sir."

"'Tis only a romance of the Round Table," Nash muttered. "A foolish story written down for some spoiled court lady. Not as important as the copy of the Historia Scholastica that I picked up at the same time, of course. Still, 'tis a pretty thing, ain't it?"

"It is quite outrageously beautiful." Phoebe carefully replaced the manuscript in its box. "I will take excellent care of it, Mr. Nash."

"Well, ye'd best take it and be gone." Nash tore his gaze away from the box containing the manuscript. "I've got work to do tonight."

"I understand." Phoebe picked up the heavy container.

"I'll take that for you." Gabriel deftly removed the manuscript box from Phoebe's hands. "Somewhat awkward for you to manage, don't you think?"

"I can manage it very well, thank you."

"Nevertheless, I'll be happy to carry it for you." Gabriel smiled enigmatically. "You have engaged my services as an escort tonight, if you will recall. It is my privilege to be of service to you. Shall we go?"

"Yes, yes, take yerselves off," Nash grumbled. He sat down at his desk and picked up his pen. "Mrs. Stiles will see you to the door."

Unable to think of any alternative, Phoebe was obliged to walk past Gabriel and out into the crowded hall. She did not like the taunting look in his eyes.

Surely he would not actually attempt to take the manuscript from her by force, she assured herself. She refused to believe for one minute that her gallant knight had turned into a genuine villain. He was teasing her, she thought.

Mrs. Stiles was waiting at the front door. She eyed the box in Gabriel's hand. "Well, that'll be one less book to dust.’Course, the master will probably go out and buy ten more to replace it. I'll be lucky to get my wages this quarter."

"The best of luck to you, Mrs. Stiles," Gabriel said. He took Phoebe's arm and guided her out into the night.

"Once I am mounted, I can handle the manuscript," Phoebe said quickly.

"You do not trust me to keep it safe for you?"

"It is not a matter of trust." She refused to allow him to make her any more anxious than she already was. "I know you are a gentleman, after all."

"So you keep telling me." He put the box down on a stone, grasped Phoebe around the waist, and swung her up onto the sidesaddle. His hands lingered around her as he looked up at her veiled face. "You seem to think you know a great deal about me."

"I do." She realized she was clutching his shoulders. Hastily she jerked her fingers away and picked up the reins.

"Just how much do you know, madam?" Gabriel released her to collect the stallion's reins. He vaulted lightly into the saddle and proceeded to secure the manuscript box beneath the heavy folds of his greatcoat.

The time had come to talk. Phoebe chose her words carefully as they started down the lane. She had lured the solitary knight out of his keep, but she had not yet accomplished her goal. She wanted him intrigued and curious enough to commit to the quest before she revealed herself.

"I am aware that you are only recently returned to England after an extended stay abroad," she said cautiously.

"An extended stay abroad," Gabriel repeated. "That is certainly one way of putting it. I was out of the country for eight bloody long years. What else do you know about me?"

She did not like the new tone in his voice. "Well, I have heard that you came into your title rather unexpectedly."

"Very unexpectedly. If my uncle and his sons had not all been lost at sea a year ago, I would never have inherited the earldom. Is there more, my Veiled Lady?"

"I know that you have a great interest in chivalry and legends."

"Obviously." Gabriel looked at her. His green eyes were colorless in the moonlight, but there was no mistaking the challenge in them. "Anything else?"

Phoebe took a grip on her nerves. She had to use more potent weapons, she decided. "I know what a great many members of the fashionable world would kill to discover. I know you are the anonymous author of The Quest."

The effect of that announcement was immediate. Gabriel's controlled anger was palpable. His eyes narrowed swiftly. "Damnation. You have indeed been busy. How did you learn that?"

"Oh, I have my sources," Phoebe tried to say lightly. She could hardly tell him the full truth. Not even her family knew her deepest, darkest secret.

Gabriel abruptly reined in his stallion. He shot out a hand and caught hold of Phoebe's wrist. "I asked you how you came by the knowledge. I will have an answer, madam."

A tremor went through Phoebe. His fingers were locked tightly around her wrist and his face was stark in the shadows. She knew he meant exactly what he said. He would have his answer.

"Is it such a great offense?" she asked breathlessly. "Everyone is wondering about the identity of the author of the most popular book of the Season."

"Did my publisher tell you who it was? Bloody hell, madam, did you bribe Lacey?"

"No, I swear I did not." She could hardly tell him that she was the mysterious backer who had rescued Josiah Lacey's faltering bookshop and publishing business last year. She had done so using money she had saved from the generous quarterly allowance provided by her father and the income she had made selling some of her precious books to other collectors. No one knew the truth, and Phoebe knew it had to stay that way. Her family would be horrified to learn that she was, for all intents and purposes, in trade.

The arrangement she had made with Lacey worked very well, for the most part. Phoebe selected the manuscripts to be published and Lacey handled the printing of them. Between the two of them and with the assistance of a young solicitor and a couple of clerks, Lacey's Bookshop was flourishing. Their first big success had been The Quest, which Phoebe had insisted on publishing the instant she had finished reading the manuscript.

"You must have crossed Lacey's palms with silver," Gabriel said. "But I did not think that old drunken sot such a fool. He knows better than to cross me in this matter. Surely he is not stupid enough to risk the future profits he intends to make on my next book."