Clarington was alarmed. "See here, now, I told you the whole truth, not just bits and pieces."
"Good-bye, Papa." Phoebe paused at the door. "Oh, by the way, I am planning a wonderful house party at Devil's Mist at the end of the Season. I am anxious for you and Mama and everyone else to see my new home."
"We shall certainly be there," Clarington assured her swiftly. He hesitated. "Phoebe, you won't give Wylde any unnecessary trouble, will you? He's a good man, but I don't know how patient he'll be if you make life difficult for him. He's accustomed to issuing orders and having them obeyed. Give him time to get used to your ways."
"Do not concern yourself, Papa. I would not dream of giving Wylde any unnecessary trouble." Only the absolutely necessary amount, she added silently.
Phoebe was still mulling over the conversation in her father's study later that day when she alighted from the carriage in front of Green's Bookshop. George, the footman who had accompanied her on the shopping expedition, held the door open for her and her maid.
Phoebe glanced across the street as she was handed down from the vehicle. A small man in a green cap was watching her intently. When he saw her look at him, he jerked his eyes away from her and pretended to study the contents of a shop window.
"Betsy, do you know that man?" Phoebe asked as they started up the steps of the bookshop.
Betsy glanced at the small man and shook her head. "No, ma'am. Is somethirt' wrong?"
"I don't know," Phoebe said. "But I am almost certain I saw him earlier when we came out of the milliner's. I had the feeling he was watching me."
Betsy frowned. "Shall I tell George to run him off?"
Phoebe eyed the little man thoughtfully. "No, let's just wait and see if he is still about when we come out of Green's."
Phoebe went on up the steps and into the bookshop. She forgot all about the mysterious little man as Mr. Green came forward to greet her. The elderly bookshop owner was smiling in satisfaction.
"Welcome, welcome, Lady Wylde. I am delighted you have come so quickly. As I said in my note, I have the volume you requested."
"The precise copy?"
"I am certain of it. You may examine it at once."
"Wherever did you find it?" Phoebe asked.
"Through a contact in Yorkshire. Wait here and I shall fetch it."
Mr. Green disappeared into his back room and reappeared a moment later with an old volume bound in red Moroccan leather. Phoebe opened the book carefully and read the inscription on the flyleaf:
To my son Gabriel, on the occasion of his tenth birthday, in the hope that he will live by the honorable code of chivalry all of his life. John Edward Banner.
"Yes," Phoebe said as she reverently closed the copy of Malory's Morte d'Arthur. "This is the right book. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Green."
"It was a pleasure," Green assured her. "I look forward to doing business with you again in the future."
The little man in the green cap was still about when Phoebe and her maid walked back out of the shop.
"He's still there, ma'am," Betsy hissed in a conspiratorial tone. "Standin' in front of the glass shop."
Phoebe glanced across the street. "So he is. I wonder what this is all about. I sense a mystery."
Betsy's eyes widened. "Perhaps he means to follow us home and murder us in our beds, ma'am."
"Perhaps he does," Phoebe said. "This has all the signs of a dangerous situation." She turned to the footman. "George, tell the coachman that I believe we are being followed by a thief who means to rob us. We must contrive to escape him in the traffic."
George stared at her. "A thief, ma'am?"
"Yes. Hurry along, now. We must be on our way. I want to make certain that little man is not able to pursue us."
"The streets are crowded, ma'am," George pointed out as he handed her up into the coach. "He can keep up with us easily enough on foot."
"Not if we are very clever." Phoebe thought quickly as she sat down. "Tell the coachman to turn left at the next street and then turn right and then left again. He is to continue such a pattern until we are certain there is no sign of that little man in the dark green hat."
"Yes, ma'am." Looking seriously alarmed, George closed the carriage door and vaulted up onto the seat beside the coachman.
A moment later the carriage lurched off at a brisk pace. Phoebe smiled at Betsy in satisfaction as the vehicle dodged a high-perch phaeton and swung to the left. "This ought to take care of the matter. Whoever he is, that man in the green hat will not be expecting us to turn into this street."
Betsy peered out the window. "No, ma'am, he certainly won't. I only hope he isn't quick enough to follow us."
"We shall soon be rid of him," Phoebe predicted. "Wylde will no doubt be extremely impressed by our brilliant handling of a potentially dangerous situation."
Chapter 17
"You lost her?" Gabriel stared at the little man in the green hat. "What the devil do you mean, you lost her? I'm paying you to keep an eye on her, Stinton."
"I'm aware of that, yer lordship." Stinton drew himself up and gave Gabriel an affronted look. "And I'm doin' me best. But ye didn't tell me her ladyship had a habit of dashin' in all directions. Beggin' yer pardon, but she's sorta unpredictable, ain't she?"
"Her ladyship is a woman of impulse," Gabriel said through set teeth. "Which is precisely why I hired you to look after her. You came highly recommended from Bow Street. I was assured I could entrust my wife's safety to your care, and now you tell me you could not even keep up with her on a simple shopping expedition?"
"Well, no offense, m'lord, but it weren't exactly a simple shoppin' trip," Stinton said. "I'm proud to say I kept up with her in the Arcade and managed to hang on to her in Oxford Street even though we was all over the place. The last stop was a bookshop. It was when she came out of there that she up and bolted like a fox runnin' from a pack of hounds."
It took every ounce of willpower Gabriel possessed to keep a grip on his temper. "Do not ever again refer to Lady Wylde as a fox, Stinton."
"Right ye are, yer lordship. But I got to say I never seen a lady move that fast. Fast as any pickpocket I ever chased into the rookeries around Spital-fields."
Gabriel was feeling more uneasy by the minute. "You are quite certain you saw no one else around her?"
"Just her maid, the footman, and the coachman."
"And when she disappeared, she was in her own coach?"
"Yes, sir."
"There was no sign of anyone else following her?"
"No, yer lordship. Just me. And, quite frankly, if I couldn't keep up with her, no one else could, either."
"Damnation." Gabriel's imagination was already conjuring up a hundred different calamities that might have befallen Phoebe. He reminded himself that she was not alone. She had her maid, a footman, and the coachman with her. Nevertheless, all he could think about was the fact that Neil Baxter was out there somewhere, no doubt plotting revenge. Lancelot to his Arthur.
Stinton cleared his throat. "Beggin' yer pardon, yer lordship, but will you be wantin' me to continue followin' her ladyship around?"
"I'm not sure there is much point." Gabriel was disgusted. "Not if you cannot keep up with her."
"Well, sir, as to that, next time I'll stay a bit closer. Now that I'm on to her tricks and all, I won't be surprised the way I was today."
"My wife does not play tricks," Gabriel said grimly. "She is merely somewhat high-spirited and impulsive."
Stinton coughed discreetly. "Yes, sir. If you say so, sir. Seemed a bit tricky to me, though, m'lord, if you don't mind my sayin' so."
"I do mind. I mind very much, as a matter of fact. Stinton, if you intend to keep on in this post, you had better stop making insulting statements about my wife."
A commotion in the hall interrupted Gabriel before he could get around to wringing Stinton's scrawny little neck. A wave of relief went through him as he heard Phoebe's voice.
The library door was flung open and
Phoebe rushed in, bonnet strings flying. She was carrying a package in her hand. The muslin skirts of her bright green-and-yellow-striped gown swung around her small ankles. Her face was alight with excitement.
"Gabriel, we have had the most amazing adventure. Just wait until I tell you about it. I believe we were very nearly followed home by a thief. He might even have been a murderer. But we foiled his plans quite brilliantly, I must say."
Gabriel got to his feet. "Calm yourself, my dear."
"But Gabriel, it was very odd. There was this little man in a green hat." Phoebe came to an abrupt halt as she caught sight of Stinton. Her eyes widened. "Good heavens, it's him. It's the man who was following us."
"Didn't do too good a job of it," Stinton said. He smiled with approval, displaying several gaps in his yellowed teeth. "Must say, yer ladyship managed to slip away with the sort of skill I usually see exhibited by professional villains."
"Thank you." Phoebe gazed at him with intense curiosity in her eyes.
Gabriel swore and turned on Stinton. "Kindly refrain from drawing comparisons between my wife and members of the criminal class."
"Yes, sir," Stinton said politely. "Didn't mean no offense, yer ladyship. You was right clever, you was, ma'am."
Phoebe gave him a pleased smile. "Yes, I was, wasn't I?"
"Almost caught up with you after that first turn, but I never stood a chance after you had yer coachman make that second turn."
"I plotted it all out quite carefully," Phoebe assured him.
"Like I said, it was real professional," Stinton said.
Phoebe smiled warmly. "I must admit, I had a bit of luck. After the third turn we were in strange territory. There's no telling where we might have ended up if the coachman had not been familiar with the streets."
"That," Gabriel interrupted, "is quite enough from both of you." He glanced at Stinton. "You may go."
"Yes, m'lord." Stinton rotated his green hat in his hands. "And will ye be needin' me in the future?"
"I suppose I have no real alternative. God help us, I'm told you're the best that's available. You will report to work tomorrow morning when Lady Wylde goes out."
Stinton grinned. "Thank ye, yer lordship." He clapped his hat on his head and walked to the door with a jaunty step.
Gabriel waited until he and Phoebe were alone before he pointed to the chair across from his desk. "Sit down, madam."
Phoebe blinked. "Gabriel, what on earth—"
"Sit."
Phoebe sat. She put her package in her lap. "Who was that little man, Gabriel? What was he doing following me today?"
"His name is Stinton." Gabriel sat down and folded his hands together on his desk. He would stay calm and rational about this if it killed him, he promised himself. He would not lose his temper. "I hired him to follow you about when you went out."
"You hired him to follow me?" Phoebe's lips parted in amazement. "And you did not tell me?"
"No, madam, I did not. I saw no reason to alarm you."
"Why should I have been alarmed? Gabriel, what is going on here?"
Gabriel studied her for a moment, wondering how much to tell her. The problem was that she was now aware of Stinton. He had no real choice except to explain the rest. She would pester him about it until he did. "I have hired Stinton to make certain you do not have any problems with Baxter."
Phoebe looked at him in stunned silence. Her hands clenched around the package in her lap. "With Neil?" she finally managed, her voice sounding half strangled.
"I think it very likely Baxter will attempt to contact you at some time when I am not around."
"I do not understand, my lord."
Gabriel felt his grip on his temper start to slip. "I fail to see why it isn't perfectly obvious, Phoebe. Baxter is a danger to you because he hates me. I have already told you that. I am merely taking prudent steps to be certain he does not get close to you."
"You're afraid that I'll believe whatever he tells me, aren't you?" Phoebe's gaze was suddenly shrewd. "You don't trust me to accept your version of events out there in the islands."
"I'm not going to take any chances." Gabriel surged to his feet and stalked over to the small table where the brandy sat. "I know Baxter too well. The man is a consummate liar."
"But it does not follow that I would believe his lies."
"Why not?" Gabriel swallowed brandy and slammed the glass down on the table. "You did once before."
Phoebe got to her feet, clutching her package to her breast. "That's not fair. I was a much younger woman then. I had not had the experience of the world that I have now."
He swung around to face her. "Experience of the world? You think you have enough experience of the world to deal with men like Neil Baxter? You are a reckless, naive, impulsive little fool. Believe me when I say you're no match for the Baxters of this world."
"Do not talk to me like that, Gabriel."
"I will talk to you any way I wish."
"No, you will not. Furthermore, I do not want you hiring little men to follow me around without my knowledge. It is very unpleasant and I will not tolerate it. If you wish to have someone keep an eye on me, then you must discuss the matter with me first."
"Is that right?"
Phoebe's chin came up swiftly. "Yes, it is. I will decide if I want someone trailing around behind me. But I must say, since the only thing that concerns you is the thought of Neil talking to me, I do not see any need for Stinton."
"Then you are even more naive than I had thought."
"Bloody hell, Gabriel. I am perfectly capable of dealing with Neil."
Gabriel took a step forward and captured her defiant little chin on the edge of his hand. "You do not know what you are saying, madam. You do not know your golden-haired Lancelot the way I do."
Her face flushed. "He is not my Lancelot."
"He was once."
"That was three years ago," Phoebe stormed. "Everything has changed now. Gabriel, you must believe me, I am not in danger of being seduced by Neil Baxter. You must trust me."
Gabriel saw the desperate appeal in her eyes and felt his resolution waver. "It is not a question of trust. It is a question of caution."
"That's not true. It is a question of trust. Gabriel, you have made it clear you do not yet love me. If you do not trust me, either, then we have nothing at all between us."
Nothing at all between us. Talons of anguish and rage,gripped him, sinking deep into his gut, piercing his soul. Gabriel fought to hold on to his self-control. "On the contrary, madam. We have a great deal between us."
"Such as what?" she challenged.
"Such as a marriage," he said coldly. "You are my wife. You will do as I say and you will accept the precautions I deem prudent. That is all there is to the matter. Henceforth, you are not to attempt to evade Stinton."
She looked at him with reckless fury. "And if I do?"
"If you do, you will not be allowed to go out at all. I will confine you to the house."
Phoebe stared at him in dawning shock. There was anger and something else in her eyes. Gabriel thought that the other emotion might have been grief. For a moment she just stood there, clinging to the package she had brought with her.
"So it is true," she finally said, her voice dulled with intense sadness. "We do not even have trust and mutual respect between us. We have nothing at all."
"Goddamn it, Phoebe."
"Here. This is for you." She shoved the package into his hands. Then she turned on her heel and walked toward the library door.
"Phoebe, come back here."
She did not turn around. She went out the door without a word.
Gabriel stared at the closed door for a long while. Then he went back behind his desk and sank wearily down into his chair.
He was aware of a strange numbness somewhere deep inside himself. He looked at the package in front of him for a few minutes and then he slowly and mechanically unwrapped it.
When he had finished peeling off the brown
paper, he sat gazing at the familiar volume for a long while. It occurred to him that this was the first gift Phoebe had ever given him. No, he thought, that was not true. The first gift had been the gift of herself. This was the second gift she had given him.
To date he had not given her anything of importance at all.
Phoebe was still wide awake at midnight. Dressed in her nightgown and wrapper, she sat in the chair near the window and gazed out into the darkness. She had opened the window earlier to let in the cool night air. It helped her to think.
She had been thinking intently for hours.
She had stayed in her room all afternoon and evening and she was getting increasingly restless. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was not much suited to sulking. Apparently she did not have the temperament for it.
Certainly she had had a good cry immediately after the scene in the library, but after that, she had gotten rather bored. When she had refused to go down for dinner, she had half expected Gabriel to pound on her door to order her downstairs. Instead he had seen to it that tea and toast had been sent to her room. As a consequence, Phoebe was now extremely hungry.
She was aware that Gabriel had dined at his club. He had been gone for some time before returning home a few minutes ago. She knew he was in his bedchamber now. She had heard him dismiss his valet. Phoebe glanced wistfully at the closed door that connected her room to Gabriel's. Her intuition told her he would not open it tonight. His pride would not allow him to do so.
Phoebe considered her own pride very carefully. It had seemed a very large obstacle earlier in the day, but now it did not appear to be quite so terribly important.
Gabriel was proving to be a perfectly infuriating husband, but there were mitigating circumstances. In his own way he had been trying to protect her. Her reasons for failing to appreciate that protection clearly baffled him.
It was obvious they each had a lot to learn about the other.
Phoebe got up slowly and went to the connecting door. She put her ear to the wood panel and listened carefully. There was no sound from the other room. Gabriel was probably in bed. It would likely never occur to him that he was the one who should apologize. The man could be incredibly dense about some things.