As if sensing her presence, Gabriel looked up and saw her. A slow smile edged his mouth as he took in the sight of her in her vivid gown. His eyes were very green in the morning light. Phoebe drew a deep breath and acknowledged to herself that this was why she had spent so long in front of her mirror this morning. She had been hoping to see exactly that look of approval in Gabriel's eyes.
Even as the realization dawned on her, she tried to quell it. Gabriel had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt eight years ago that his taste in women ran to delicate blue-eyed blondes who favored soft pastels.
"Good morning, Lady Phoebe." Gabriel walked across the room to greet her. "You're looking very bright and cheerful today."
"Thank you, Lord Wylde." Phoebe glanced around quickly and decided no one could overhear their conversation. "I got your message."
"So I sec. I thought you would be quite anxious to recover The Knight and the Sorcerer"
"You have it with you?"
"Of course." Gabriel led her back toward the counter, where a manuscript-shaped bundle wrapped in brown paper was sitting next to the volume he had been examining. "Proof of my skills as a knight-errant."
"Wylde, this is wonderful." Phoebe picked up the bundle. "I cannot tell you how impressed I am. I know you'll be of great assistance in my quest."
"I shall do my best." Gabriel indicated the open book on the counter and raised his voice slightly. "You might be interested in this, Lady Phoebe. A rather fine copy of an early sixteenth century history of Rome. Mr. Hammond says he acquired it recently from the estate of a collector in Northumberland."
Phoebe realized instantly that Gabriel was attempting to provide a reasonable excuse for them to continue talking. No one in the bookshop would think it odd that they were studying an interesting old book. Obediently she bent her head to take a closer look.
"Very nice," Phoebe declared in a strong voice as she caught sight of Mr. Hammond out of the corner of her eye. "Italian, I see. Not Latin. Excellent illuminations."
"I thought you might appreciate it." Gabriel turned a page in the book and read silently for a moment.
Phoebe took another quick look around and leaned closer on the pretext of reading over his shoulder. "My family is a trifle upset about all this, Wylde."
"I noticed." Gabriel turned another page and frowned thoughtfully as he studied it.
"They know nothing of my quest, so they naturally assume you and I have formed a friendship of sorts."
"Something more than a friendship, Lady Phoebe. They are afraid we are forming an attachment." Gabriel skimmed another page of text.
Phoebe blushed and glanced quickly around the shop again. Mr. Hammond was busy with another patron now. "Yes, well, I can hardly explain the truth to them. They would never approve of my quest. But I want to assure you that you need not worry about their concerns."
"I see. How, exactly, do you intend to assure them that we are merely acquaintances?"
"Don't worry. I shall manage Papa and the others. I have had a great deal of experience with that sort of thing."
"Headstrong," Gabriel said under his breath.
"I beg your pardon?"
Gabriel pointed to a word on the page in front of him. "I believe this is Italian for headstrong."
"Oh." Phoebe studied the word. "No, I do not believe so. I am quite certain that word translates as mule."
"Ah. Of course. My mistake. What was it you were saying?" Gabriel asked politely.
"You must not allow my family's suspicious notions to interfere with your investigations."
"I shall do my best to rise above their low-minded opinions, madam."
Phoebe smiled in approval. "Excellent. Some people can be quite put off by my father's somewhat dictatorial approach."
"You don't say?"
"He is really very nice, in his way, you know."
"No, I don't know."
Phoebe bit her lip. "I suppose your experience of him eight years ago cannot have left you with a. pleasant impression."
"No, it did not."
"Well, as I said, you must pay him no heed. Now, then, let us get down to business. I have secured some important invitations for you. The first is for the Brantleys' masquerade ball on Thursday."
"I take it I am being ordered to attend?"
Phoebe scowled. "It is an important affair. I shall be able to introduce you to a great many people and you will be able to begin your inquiries."
Gabriel inclined his head. "Very well, my lady. Your wish is my command."
"That's the spirit. Now, then, have you anything to report on your investigations thus far?"
Gabriel drummed his fingers on the counter. "Let me think. Thus far I have managed to secure a house for the Season. Not an easy task, I might add. I've also acquired a small staff. I have paid a visit to Weston's to order some new clothes, and I've been to Hoby's for boots. I think that about covers my accomplishments to date."
Phoebe glowered at him. "I was not speaking of those sorts of accomplishments."
"I must take care of such details before I can move about in Society, madam. Surely you realize that?"
Phoebe bit her lip. "You are quite right. I had not thought of such matters. Now that you have brought them to my attention, I must ask you a very personal question."
Gabriel slanted her a sidelong glance. "How personal?"
"Please do not take offense." Phoebe risked another quick look around before leaning very close. "Have you got enough money to cover your expenses?"
Gabriel paused in the act of turning another page. "That is indeed a very personal question."
Phoebe felt her face flame with remorse. Gabriel was a very proud man. She had not meant to humiliate him. Nevertheless, she had to be firm about this.
"Please do not be embarrassed, my lord. I am well aware that I am asking you to move in some very exclusive circles at the height of the Season, and I am equally aware that to do so you will need money. As I am the one who requested your assistance on this quest, I feel it is only fair that I cover some of your expenses."
"There is the income I received from the publication of The Quest," he reminded her.
Phoebe waved that aside. "I am well aware that the income a beginning writer receives from his work would not begin to finance a Season."
Gabriel kept his gaze focused on the old volume in front of him. "I believe I can handle my own finances without your assistance, madam. At least for the length of time it takes to complete this quest."
"You are certain of that?"
"Quite certain. I shall contrive to get by." Gabriel leaned one elbow against the counter and turned to study Phoebe with a sharp, assessing gaze. "It is my turn to ask a personal question, madam. How desperately did you love Neil Baxter?"
Phoebe stared at him in amazement. Then her eyes slid away from Gabriel's. "I told you that Neil and I were friends."
"How close was the friendship?"
"I do not see that it matters now."
"It matters to me."
"Why?" she shot back. "What difference does it make? Neil is dead. The only thing that matters now is finding his murderer."
"Murderers go unpunished every day of the week."
"This one shall not." Phoebe's hand tightened into a small fist on the counter. "I must find him."
"Why?" Gabriel asked softly. "Because you loved Baxter so much you cannot rest until justice has been done?"
"No," she admitted sadly. "I must find him because it is my fault he was killed."
Gabriel stared at her, clearly stunned. "Your fault? Why in God's name do you say that? The man died in the South Seas, thousands of miles away from England."
"Don't you understand?" Phoebe gave him an anguished look. "If it were not for me, Neil would never have gone off to the South Seas. He went there to seek his fortune so that he could come back and ask for my hand. I am to blame for what happened."
"Christ," Gabriel muttered. "That's an insane notion."
"I
t is not insane," Phoebe hissed, struggling to keep her voice low.
"It is an addle-pated, idiotic, and totally irrational conclusion."
Phoebe felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She searched Gabriel's fierce face. "I thought you of all people would understand my quest."
"It is foolishness."
Phoebe took a breath. "Does that mean you will not help me, after all?"
"No, by God," Gabriel said through his teeth. "I will help you find the owner of The Lady in the Tower. What you choose to believe about the man after you have located him will be your business."
"The man is a murderous pirate. Surely you will want to help me bring him to justice."
"Not particularly." Gabriel closed the book he had been examining. "1 told you that night in Sussex that I am no longer overly concerned with idealistic notions."
"But you have agreed to my quest," Phoebe pointed out.
"It intrigues me. I am occasionally amused by such puzzles. But do not assume that I intend to help you punish the man who killed your lover."
Phoebe wanted to argue further, but at that moment a young lady dressed in the height of fashion and accompanied by a maid walked into the shop. She went straight to the counter and waited impatiently as Mr. Hammond hurried over to serve her.
"I wish to purchase a copy of The Quest," the young lady announced in imperious tones. "All of my friends have read it, so I suppose I must read it also."
"I believe you will have to go to Lacey's Bookshop for that," Mr. Hammond murmured.
"What a nuisance." The young lady turned to Phoebe and Gabriel as Mr. Hammond disappeared into his back room. She looked at Gabriel through her lashes. "Have you read it, sir?"
Gabriel cleared his throat. He looked oddly ill at ease. "Uh, yes. Yes, I have."
"What did you think of it?" the young lady asked earnestly. "Is it really as clever as everyone says?"
"Well … " Gabriel looked helplessly at Phoebe.
Phoebe realized it was the first time she had ever seen Gabriel appear flustered. He was actually turning a dull red. She smiled at the young lady and coolly stepped into the breech.
"I am certain you will enjoy The Quest," Phoebe said. "In my opinion it represents an entirely new species of novel. It is full of adventure and incidents of chivalry and it does not rely on the supernatural element for effect."
"I see." The young lady looked dubious.
"The tone is very affecting," Phoebe continued swiftly. "The novel engages the most lofty of the sensibilities. Very inspiring treatment of the subject of love. You will be especially pleased with its hero. He is even more exciting than one of Mrs. Radcliffe's heroes."
The young lady brightened. "More exciting than one of Mrs. Radcliffe's?"
"Yes, indeed. I assure you that you will not be disappointed." Phoebe smiled and paused a second before adding the final touch. "Byron has read The Quest, you know. He recommended it to all his friends."
The young lady's eyes widened. "I shall go to Lacey's Bookshop at once."
Phoebe smiled with satisfaction. Another sale for Lacey's Bookshop. If she had not been standing in a room full of people, she would have rubbed her hands together in glee.
She might not have inherited her family's talent for mathematics and investments, but she could certainly pick successful novels out of a pile of manuscripts.
It was unfortunate that her family would not appreciate her peculiar version of the family talent.
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 wo
man 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."