Reckless (43 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The second drawer," Gabriel said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alice shook her head and took another step back.

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

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

Alice hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?" Alice asked.

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

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

She stepped around Phoebe and disappeared into the night.

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

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

But this was not the time.

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

Phoebe did not look at him.

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

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

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

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

She blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said you are magnificent."

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

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

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

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

"I'm glad," she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," Phoebe whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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