Phoebe hesitated. “She was going to hold me for ransom.”
“She wanted money?”
“No. She wants The Lady in the Tower.”
“Good God, why?” Gabriel asked.
“Because Neil wants it and she will do anything to get revenge on him. He did not keep his promise to marry her, you see. He left her in hell while he went off to the South Seas. She will never forgive him.”
“Damnation,” Gabriel whispered, trying to sort it all out. “There have been two people, not one, after the book all this time.”
“So it appears.”
“It was probably Baxter who searched my town house library before our marriage.” He searched her face. “Why in God’s name were you climbing down those sheets into Baxter’s arms?”
“I was trying to escape. I didn’t know he was in the alley until I had started down the side of the wall. Gabriel, what is this all about?”
“Revenge, I think. But there’s something more. Something to do with that damned book.” Gabriel forced himself to take his hands off Phoebe’s bare shoulders. He paced across the room to the window.
“It always comes back to The Lady in the Tower, doesn’t it?”
“The thing is,” Gabriel said, thoroughly frustrated, “the book simply isn’t all that valuable. It’s not worth this kind of trouble.”
Phoebe considered that for a moment. “Perhaps it’s time we took a closer look at it.”
He glanced around sharply. “Why? There’s nothing unusual about it.”
“Nevertheless, I think we should look at it again.”
“Very well.”
Phoebe crossed the room and took The Lady in the Tower from the bottom drawer of her wardrobe.
Gabriel watched as she put the book on the table and leaned over to examine it closely. Candlelight gleamed on her dark hair and lit her intelligent face. Even in a whore’s red dress she looked like a lady. There was an innate, womanly nobility about her that no gown or circumstance could alter. This was a woman a man could trust with his life and his honor.
And she had chosen him.
“Gabriel, there truly is something different about this book.”
He frowned. “You said it was the very one you gave to Baxter.”
“It is, but something has been done to it. I believe the binding has been restitched in places. See? Some of it looks new.”
Gabriel examined the thickly padded leather covers. “It was not this way when you gave it to Lancelot?”
Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “Don’t call him that. And to answer your question, no, it was not this way. The stitching was uniformly old when I gave it to Neil.”
“Perhaps we had better have a look beneath the leather.”
Gabriel took a small penknife from Phoebe’s escritoire and carefully slit the newly stitched leather. He watched intently as Phoebe lifted one edge. She peeled it back slowly to reveal soft, white cotton.
“What on earth?” Phoebe cautiously lifted aside the cotton.
Gabriel saw the gleam of dark moonlight, diamonds, and gold, and knew at once what he was looking at. “Ah, yes. I wondered what had become of it.”
“What is it?” Phoebe asked in amazement.
“A necklace I had made up in Canton using some very special pearls.” Gabriel lifted the glittering thing out of the book. “With any luck there will be a matching bracelet, a brooch, and a set of earrings.”
“It’s beautiful.” Phoebe stared at the gems. “But I have never seen pearls of that color before.”
“They’re very rare. It took me years to collect this many of this quality.” He held the necklace close to the candle flame. The diamonds sparkled with an inner fire, but the pearls glowed with a mysterious dark light. It was like looking into an endless midnight sky.
“I thought at first they were black pearls,” Phoebe observed. “But they are not black at all. It’s almost impossible to describe the color. They are some fantastic combination of silver and green and deep blue.”
“Dark moonlight.”
“Dark moonlight,” Phoebe repeated in wonder. “Yes, that’s a perfect description.” She fingered one gently. “How extraordinary.”
Gabriel looked down at her candlelit skin. “They will look magnificent on you.”
She looked up quickly. “This necklace truly belongs to you?”
He nodded. “It did once upon a time. Baxter took it when he attacked one of my ships.”
“And now you have it back,” Phoebe said with satisfaction.
He shook his head. “No. You found it, my sweet. As of now it belongs to you.”
Phoebe stared at him, obviously flustered. “You cannot mean to give me such a gift.”
“But I do mean to give it to you.”
“But Gabriel—”
“You must indulge me, Phoebe. I have given you very little thus far in our marriage.”
“That’s not true,” she sputtered. “Not true at all. Why, just this evening you bought me this beautiful gown.”
Gabriel looked at the awful gown and started to laugh.
“I fail to see what is so amusing about this, my lord.”
Gabriel laughed harder. A fierce joy crashed through him as he gazed at Phoebe in her cheap, gaudy dress. She looked so incredibly lovely, he thought. Like a princess out of a medieval legend. Her eyes were huge and luminous and her mouth promised a passion that he knew belonged only to him. She was his.
“Gabriel, are you laughing at me?”
He sobered quickly. “No, my sweet. Never that. The necklace is yours, Phoebe. I had it made for the woman I would someday marry.”
“The fiancée who betrayed you in the islands?” she asked suspiciously.
He wondered who had told her about Honora. Anthony, most likely. “At the time I had it fashioned, I was not engaged. I did not know whom I would marry,” Gabriel said honestly. “I wanted to have a suitable necklace to give my future wife, just as I wanted a suitable motto for my descendants.”
“So you invented the family jewels, just as you did the family motto.” She glanced at the necklace and then back at him. “I’m certain you mean well, as usual, but I do not want such a spectacular gift from you.”
“Why not?” He took a step toward her and stopped when she retreated an equal distance. “I can afford it.”
“I know you can. That’s not the point.”
He took another step forward, crowding her back against the wall. He clasped the necklace around her throat and then braced his hands on either side of her head. He kissed her forehead. “Then what is the point?”
“Damnation, Gabriel, do not try to seduce me now. ’Tis not a necklace I want from you, and you know it.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You know very well what I want. I want your trust.”
He smiled slightly. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“What don’t I understand?” she breathed.
“I trust you, my sweet.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes full of dawning hope. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“In spite of all our little misunderstandings?”
“Maybe because of them,” he admitted. “No woman who was deliberately trying to deceive me would make such a hash of it time after time. Leastways not a woman as clever as you are.”
She smiled tremulously. “I’m not certain that is a compliment.”
“The problem,” Gabriel said, his voice roughening, “is not whether I trust you. What has torn my guts apart for days is that I didn’t know whether you would continue to trust me.”
“Gabriel, how could you think I would lose my faith in you?”
“The evidence was mounting against me. I did not know in the end if you would choose to believe your golden-haired Sir Lancelot or your increasingly short-tempered, overbearing, dictatorial husband.”
Phoebe slowly twined her arms around his neck. Her eyes gleamed with love and mischief. “I could say th
at I came to a conclusion similar to your own. After all, surely no man who was out to charm and beguile me into trusting him would have been so appallingly heavy-handed.”
He smiled ruefully. “You think not?”
“Let me put it this way. I was not certain if Neil was the victim of a misunderstanding, but I have never doubted you, Gabriel. I knew which man to trust tonight when I found myself suspended between you and Neil.”
Gabriel was exultant. “What gave you the clue?”
Phoebe brushed her lips lightly against his. “Neil made the mistake of playing the chivalrous, gallant knight right to the very end.”
“I heard him,” Gabriel muttered.
“You, on the other hand, were acting much more like a genuinely frantic husband trying to save his wife. In that moment you did not even try to charm me. You were far too desperate to think of such a ruse.”
Gabriel eyed her with a disgruntled expression. “I suppose that is true enough.”
Phoebe laughed softly and reached up to frame his face between her soft hands. “I believe, my lord, that in all the ways that truly count, we do trust each other.”
At the sight of the tender warmth in her eyes, an aching hunger seized Gabriel. “Yes. God, yes, Phoebe.”
With a low exclamation he scooped her up and carried her over to the bed. The crimson skirts of her tawdry gown billowed around his boots as he covered her body with his own.
Phoebe’s eyes were brilliant as she looked up at him through her lashes. Gabriel thought he would drown in that gaze. He kissed her with a desperate passion. His tongue surged into her mouth in an act of possession that presaged the even more intimate one that would soon follow.
“I will never be able to get enough of you,” he whispered thickly. He lowered his head to taste one rosy nipple that had been revealed by a shifting black lace flower.
Phoebe arched herself against him with a sensual generosity that seared Gabriel’s already inflamed senses. He tugged the bright crimson gown down to her waist so that he could savor the sight and feel of her breasts. Phoebe opened his shirt and twisted her fingers gently in the hair on his chest.
“I love you,” she said against the side of his face.
“For God’s sake, don’t ever stop loving me,” Gabriel heard himself plead in a tortured voice he hardly recognized. “I could not bear it.”
He pushed the red skirts up over her thighs so that they bunched at her waist. The cheap satinet gleamed as richly as Italian silk in the candlelight. He looked down at the soft curls that shielded her softness and closed a hand over them for a moment. She was already damp.
Phoebe shivered at his touch. He could feel the rising heat in her. He could also feel his manhood straining against his breeches. He reached down to unfasten his clothing, freeing his shaft.
“Gabriel? Aren’t you even going to take off your boots?”
“I cannot wait that long for you.” He moved between her soft thighs and fitted himself to her. “Hold me and do not let go. Ever.”
He eased himself carefully into her hot, snug passage. He felt her tighten around him as he lowered his head to recapture her mouth. Her arms wrapped him close and her legs gripped him. She gave herself up to him and Gabriel was overwhelmed by the gift.
He drove himself deeply into her as if he could somehow become a part of her.
And for that moment out of time, he was.
• • •
Phoebe stirred a long while later. She was conscious of Gabriel’s strong, warm thigh lying alongside hers. His arm curved around her. She realized he was awake.
“Gabriel?”
“Ummm?”
“What are you thinking about?”
He squeezed her gently. “’Tis nothing, sweet. Go back to sleep.”
“There is not a chance of that.” She sat up abruptly. The crushed satinet of her crimson gown made a rustling noise. She glanced down in horror. “Oh, no, Gabriel, look at my beautiful dress. I hope it is not ruined.”
He folded his arms behind his head on the pillow and eyed the gown with amusement. “I imagine it was constructed to withstand rough treatment.”
“Do you think it will be all right?” Phoebe scrambled off the bed and slipped the gown down over her hips. She stepped out of it, shook out the folds of the crumpled satinet, and studied the dress with an anxious gaze.
“I think it will survive. If it does not, I shall buy you another.”
“I doubt if we shall find another one in this beautiful shade of red,” Phoebe said wistfully. She spread the gown out carefully on the foot of the bed. “It’s a little rumpled, but otherwise intact.”
Gabriel’s gaze slipped over her body, which was clad only in her thin chemise. “Do not concern yourself about the dress, Phoebe.”
She straightened and glanced at him, her eyes searching his face. “What were you thinking about, Gabriel?”
“It isn’t important. Come back to bed.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed instead. “Tell me. Now that we have declared our trust in each other, we must tell each other everything.”
Gabriel winced. “Everything?”
“Absolutely.”
He smiled. “Very well. I suppose you will find out sooner or later, anyway. I was thinking about the best way of setting a trap for Baxter.”
Phoebe stilled. “The way you did the last time?”
“Not quite.” Gabriel’s mouth hardened and his eyes went cold. “This time he will not escape.”
A tiny shiver went through Phoebe. “How will you do it?”
“He does not know we have discovered the necklace inside The Lady in the Tower,” Gabriel said slowly. “I have no doubt but that he will make another try to get his hands on the book. I am thinking of making it easy for him.”
“You intend to capture him when he makes his next try?”
“Yes.”
“I see. How do you plan to lure him into this trap?”
“That’s the difficulty.”
Phoebe brightened as a thought struck her. “I know how we could lure him into this trap of yours.”
Gabriel cocked a brow. “Yes?”
“Use me as bait.” Phoebe smiled triumphantly.
Gabriel stared at her. “Have you gone mad? That is absolutely out of the question.”
“But it would work, Gabriel. I know it would.”
He sat up, swung his booted feet to the floor, and stood. Hands on his hips, his shirt hanging open, he leaned over her with an expression as forbidding as midnight. “I said,” he repeated evenly, “that using you as bait is absolutely out of the question. I meant it.”
“But Gabriel—”
“I do not want to hear another word on the subject.”
She glared up at him. “Really, Gabriel. That is going a bit too far. It was only a suggestion.”
“A damned ridiculous suggestion. Don’t even think of mentioning it again.” He walked over to the table and stood gazing down at The Lady in the Tower. “I need to find a way to make Baxter believe the book is vulnerable.”
Phoebe considered that. “You could arrange for it to be sold.”
“What did you say?”
“If Neil thought we had sold the book, he might try for it when it was transferred to its new owner. It would be vulnerable then.”
Gabriel’s smile was slow and wicked. “My dearest wife, allow me to tell you that you would have done very well hunting pirates in the South Seas. That is a truly brilliant notion.”
Phoebe was filled with an elated warmth. “Thank you, my lord.”
Gabriel began to pace the room, his face intent. “I suppose we could arrange to sell the book to our old friend Nash. His insistence on doing business in the middle of the night might be extremely useful. If Baxter thought the book was being taken by carriage along a lonely country lane at midnight to be delivered to an eccentric collector, he might try his hand at a little road piracy.”
“You mean he might try to waylay t
he carriage?”
“Precisely. We would, of course, be ready for him.”
“Yes, indeed.” Phoebe was filled with enthusiasm for the project. “I could wear men’s clothing and pretend to be the agent hired to take the book to Nash. You could be disguised as the coachman. When he stopped the carriage, we would be ready for him.”
Gabriel came to a halt directly in front of her, clamped his hands around her shoulders, and hauled her up off the bed. “You,” he said, “are not going to be anywhere near that damned book when Baxter makes his try. You will not be involved in this scheme in any way whatsoever. Understood?”
“Gabriel, I want to share this adventure with you. I have a right to do so.”
“A right?”
She glared up at him mutinously. “The Lady in the Tower belongs to me.”
“No, it does not. I took it from Baxter after I attacked his ship. It’s mine by right of the law of the sea.”
“Gabriel, that is not a valid argument, and you know it.”
“Then I claim the bloody book as part of your dowry,” he growled. “There. Does that satisfy you?”
“No. I still insist on being part of this plan to trap Neil.”
“You may insist all you like. I will not allow you to be put in danger.” He kissed her roughly and set her aside. “Now, then, I must think some more on this. Your idea of selling the book is sound, but I’m not certain I like the notion of trying to trick Baxter into waylaying the carriage. Too many uncontrollable elements in the situation.”
Phoebe glared at him resentfully. “Well, don’t expect me to come up with any more brilliant notions. Not if you intend to keep me from sharing in the adventure.”
He ignored her. “Yes, I like the idea of selling the book.” He paused by the table, picked up the knife, and began cutting through the stitching of the back cover binding. “Perhaps to someone else besides Nash, however. A book dealer here in London might work.”
“That’s true,” Phoebe agreed, unable to resist working on the plan even though she was annoyed at being told she would not be allowed to help implement it. “Neil might believe he could steal it rather easily from a bookshop.”
“We could let it be known through the gossip mills that you have decided to sell the book because you have become superstitious about it.”