Reckless

  “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 wails. 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 rathe
r 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.”

  “It’s in the blood,” she assured him cheerfully. “In my case it just took a bit longer to reveal itself.”

  “When are you going to tell your family that you are Lacey’s partner?”

  “Eventually.” Phoebe laughed up at him. “But first there is something I wish to tell you.”

  Gabriel eyed her warily. “Another little secret you have forgotten to mention?”

  “A very little secret.” Phoebe blushed. “I believe I am with child, my lord.”

  Gabriel stared at her for a few dumbfounded seconds. His green eyes became very brilliant and he gave her a slow smile. “I did not think I could be any happier than I already am, my love. But I see I was wrong.” He pulled her into his arms.

  “For goodness’ sake, Gabriel.” Phoebe was shocked in spite of herself. She hastily glanced around in alarm. “What on earth do you think you are doing? You would not dare kiss me here in front of all these people.”

  Gabriel looked up at the motto etched in stone above his head. AUDEO. He grinned. “Now, that is where you are wrong, my love. I would most certainly dare. And what is more, you will kiss me back because you are just as daring and just as reckless as I am.”

  He captured her mouth, kissing her with the love he had been saving up all of his life. Phoebe wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  “I think,” she whispered, “that I would like to name our first son Arthur.”

  “Of course,” Gabriel agreed, warm, loving laughter gleaming in his eyes. “What else would we call him? And when we have our Arthur, we shall set about creating an entire Round Table to accompany him.”

  “So long as you don’t mind the fact that some of our young knights will be female,” Phoebe stipulated.

  “Not in the least.” Gabriel’s arms tightened around her again. “I won’t pretend that I don’t find the idea of having several daughters who take after their reckless lady mother somewhat daunting, but I expect I will rise to the challenge.”

  “I am sure you will, my lord. You always do.”

  About the Author

  AMANDA QUICK, a pseudonym for Jayne Ann Krentz, is a best-selling, award-winning author of contemporary and historical romances. There are twenty-five million copies of her books in print, including Seduction, Surrender, Scandal, Rendezvous, Ravished, Reckless, Dangerous, Deception, Desire, Mistress, Mystique, Mischief, Affair, With This Ring, I Thee Wed, and Wicked Widow. She makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, Frank.

  Look for Amanda Quick’s novel

  Wicked Widow

  Available now

  She’s known as the Wicked Widow, for rumors abound that she had dispatched her husband to the next world. But Madeline Deveridge has a more vexing problem than her scandalous reputation. Her husband’s ghost is haunting her! There’s only one thing to be done—get rid of it—and there’s only one man who can do it: Artemas Hunt. As the owner of the Dream Pavilions, London’s favorite pleasure gardens, Artemas is no stranger to the exotic, the sumptuous, and the mysterious. So he agrees to join Madeline in her unusual enterprise, never expecting to find himself in the thrall of true passion. But that passion may be extinguished too soon—for the ghost is a real menace … and intent on using Madeline for a deadly purpose.

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of the meeting between Madeline and Artemas the day after he helped the Wicked Widow rescue her kidnapped maid, Nellie.

  He examined the small house at the end of the lane as he went up the steps. It was not large but it had well-proportioned windows to admit the light and provide a fine view of the park. The neighborhood appeared to be quiet and sedate, but it was not what anyone would call fashionable.

  Mrs. Deveridge might control the not inconsiderable inheritances left to her by her father and husband, but she had not spent her money on a lavish mansion in a stylish neighborhood. From what Henry had been able to determine, she lived an almost reclusive life with her aunt.

  The mysteries surrounding the lady grew more intriguing with each passing moment, Artemas thought. So did his anticipation at the thought of seeing her for the first time in the full light of day. Memories of eyes provocatively veiled by black lace had kept him awake for several hours last night.

  The door opened. Latimer loomed in the small hall. He looked even larger in the daylight than he had last night in the fog.

  “Mr. Hunt.” Latimer’s eyes brightened.

  “Good day, Latimer. How is your Nellie?”

  “Hale and hearty, thanks to you, sir. She don’t remember much about what ’appened, but I expect that’s for the best.” Latimer hesitated. “I want to tell ye again, sir, how grateful I am for what ye did.”

  “We made a good team, did we not?” Artemas stepped over the threshold. “Please tell Mrs. Deveridge that I am here to see her. I believe I am expected.”

  “Aye, sir. She’s in the library. I’ll announce ye, sir.” He turned to lead the way.

  Artemas glanced back at the shutters on the windows. They were heavily barred and fixed with stout locks and tiny bells that would tinkle a warning if anyone attempted to force them open. When they were closed at night, they would prove a sturdy defense against intruders. Did the lady fear ordinary housebreakers or some greater threat?

  He followed Latimer down a long corridor to the rear of the house. The big man halted at the entrance to a room that was crammed from floor to ceiling with leather-bound books, journals, notebooks, and papers of every description. The handsome windows that looked out onto a well-tended but severely pruned garden were also fitted with barred shutters, locks, and bells.

  “Mr. Hunt to see you, ma’am.”

  Madeline rose from behind a heavy oak desk. “Thank you, Latimer. Do come in, Mr. Hunt.”

  She wore a black gown cut in a fashionable, high-waisted style, but there was no lace veil to conceal her features that morning. Artemas looked at her and knew that Henry had been right about the depth of his interest in this woman. It went far beyond curiosity and into the dangerous realm of fascination. His awareness of her
seemed to shimmer in the air around him. He wondered if Madeline sensed it.

  There was a startling mix of intelligence, determination, and wariness in her clear blue eyes. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and bound at the back of her head in a neat, no-nonsense style. She had a soft, full mouth, a firm chin, and a self-possession that presented a subtle challenge to everything that was male in him.

  Latimer hovered in the doorway. “Will you be needin’ anything, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you,” Madeline said. “You may leave us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Latimer let himself out of the library and closed the door.

  Madeline looked at Artemas. “Please be seated, Mr. Hunt.”

  “Thank you.” He took the japanned and gilded beech wood armchair she indicated. A glance at the rich carpet, heavy drapes, and elegantly carved desk confirmed Leggett’s assessment of Mrs. Deveridge’s finances. The house was small, but the furnishings were of excellent quality.

  She sat down behind her desk. “I trust you have recovered your hearing, sir?”

  “My ears rang for a time, but I am happy to tell you that my senses all appear to be completely restored.”

  “Thank heavens.” She looked genuinely relieved. “I would not have wanted to be responsible for an injury to your person.”

  “As it happens, there was no permanent damage done, either to me or”—he raised his brows slightly—“to the villain you attempted to shoot.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I am actually a rather decent shot, sir. But the carriage was moving and it was dark and you had seized my arm, if you will recall. I fear the combination of so many impediments took its toll on my aim.”

  “I pray you will forgive me, madam. Violent solutions have their place from time to time, but as a general rule, I prefer to avoid that sort of thing.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I find that somewhat surprising, given your training.”

  “If you know anything at all about the ancient arts of Vanza, you must know that subtlety is always stressed over the obvious in the philosophy. Violence is hardly subtle. When the occasion does call for it, the strategy should be crafted with precision and carried out in such a way that the results do not leave a trail that leads directly back to the one who initiated the action.”