by Amanda Quick
“As a way of getting you into my bed, damn it.”
She smiled hopefully. “Well, your intentions might not have been, strictly speaking, entirely honorable at the start.”
“You may be certain they were not.”
“But you changed them quickly; that is the important thing. Your intentions became honorable when you got to know me.”
“Damnation. You will not see the truth when it is before your very eyes.” Gabriel reached for his breeches and put them on with quick, savage movements. “My intentions did not improve after I discovered you were Clarington’s daughter. If anything, they became worse.”
“Worse?”
He made a small gesture of disgust. “Phoebe, when I learned your true identity, I sought you out with the express purpose of using you to gain revenge against your family. I was going to seduce you in order to humiliate your father. There. Now do you comprehend?”
She blinked back tears and smiled bravely. “Perhaps revenge was your initial goal, but you did not go through with your scheme, did you? You married me instead.”
He faced her, his hands on his hips. “So I did.”
“Which means that your inherently noble nature ultimately guided your actions,” Phoebe concluded.
“Damnation. If that’s what you want to believe, who am I to contradict you?”
“You married me because of your naturally chivalrous nature.” Phoebe caught her trembling lip between her teeth. “But you do not love me, do you, my lord?”
His eyes glittered. “Do not accuse me of having misled you on that score. That is one sin you cannot lay at my door. I never claimed to love you. I told you I wanted you, and that is the truth. The whole truth.”
“You married me to save me from a potential scandal.”
“I assure you I am not that noble,” he growled. “All my knightly impulses were burned out of me eight years ago. Life in the South Seas did nothing to revive them. I am no heroic champion of love and justice.”
“Then why did you marry me?” she shouted.
“I married you because I think you will make me a good countess,” he roared back. “Your bloodlines are impeccable. More importantly, your reckless ways, as irritating as they are, bespeak courage and daring. Those are qualities I intend to breed into my sons. Furthermore, I find you vastly more interesting than any other lady I have encountered in recent memory. And I want you.”
“But you do not love me.”
“I never claimed to love you.”
“No, but I hoped you could learn to do so,” Phoebe explained. “That is why I took the biggest risk I have ever taken in my life today.”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “You call marrying me the biggest risk you have ever taken?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a damned insult,” Gabriel said. “I fully intend to be a good husband to you.”
“Do you?”
He took a step forward, looming over her. “Yes, I do. And in return I expect a proper wife, by God.”
Phoebe tilted her head to one side, studying him intently. “What constitutes a proper wife in your eyes?”
He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. His gaze glittered with outrage. “I do believe you are deliberately provoking me, madam. Nevertheless, I shall tell you precisely what I want from you. I want the respect and obedience a proper wife is expected to show her lord.”
“I do respect you, Gabriel. But obedience has never been my forte.”
“Well, you can bloody well learn the skill.”
“For goodness’ sake, Gabriel, you needn’t look so threatening. We both know you aren’t going to beat me into submission.”
“You think not?”
She smiled fleetingly and stepped back from his hand. “Your naturally chivalrous nature would prevent you from using violence against a woman.”
“For your own sake,” he bit out, “I suggest you stop trying to convince yourself that I possess a chivalrous nature.”
“I do hope you will not deprive me of my one remaining illusion.” She went to the bookcase and opened the glass doors.
“What the devil do you mean by that?” Gabriel demanded.
“You have told me that Neil Baxter, the only man who ever claimed to love me with a pure and noble heart, lied to me.” Phoebe plucked The Lady in the Tower off the shelf. “I find myself married instead to a man who claims he does not love me at all, the one fate I have always vowed to avoid. All things considered, my lord, it has not been the wedding day of my dreams.”
“Phoebe—”
“Good night, my lord.” Clutching the heavy volume to her breast, Phoebe walked to the door.
“Damnation, Phoebe, I wish to talk to you.”
“About what? The nature of chivalry? Believe me, I am now well acquainted with it. I have no need of further instruction on the matter.”
She unlocked the door and started down the spiral staircase. The stone steps were very cold beneath her bare feet.
Chapter 13
Why the devil hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? Gabriel tossed aside his pen and gave up trying to write. He got to his feet and went to the window. It was raining. The rope he had used to descend from the roof last night still swung lazily against the glass.
Yes, he should most definitely have kept his mouth shut last night when he had awakened and seen Phoebe staring at her copy of The Lady in the Tower in his bookcase.
He was right to have told her the truth about how he had acquired The Lady in the Tower and about Neil Baxter, but he should never have told her the rest.
He winced as he recalled his short lecture on respect and obedience. Reminding a wife of such things on her wedding night was probably not the best way of convincing her that her marriage had been a brilliant match.
If she wanted to believe he had fallen in love with her at the start and that his intentions had been honorable all along, who was he to disabuse her of the notion?
Why had he felt the need to shatter all her illusions about him? he wondered.
Gabriel had been brooding over the matter all day and he was still not entirely certain of the answer.
He had been furious when she had run off yesterday morning. He had been angrier still when she had locked herself in the tower room last night. And with the anger there had been fear. He could not deny it. He had been afraid that she would see The Lady in the Tower before he could explain everything to her.
He did not want her crediting him with a noble heart and a chivalrous nature, but he did not want her to believe that he had been a murderous pirate, either.
He simply wanted there to be honesty between them, Gabriel told himself.
His jaw tightened as he turned away from the window. For better or worse, she now knew the truth. There was certainly plenty of honesty between them after last night.
She had married a man who initially had intended only to bed her and who had then decided to use her for revenge. In the end he had married her because of her bloodlines, her courage, and the fact that she would make him an interesting companion.
If that was not enough to shatter a lady’s most cherished illusions of love, nothing else would. Gabriel winced. He should have kept his mouth shut. Matters would have been so much simpler.
But perhaps it was better this way. After all, he prided himself on his pragmatic, realistic approach to life. He was no longer a sentimental, trusting, romantic youth. He was a man who dealt with the world as it was.
It was important that Phoebe understand she could not continue to lead him about on her adventures as if he were a pet dog. He had been playing the role of her knight-errant long enough. She was his wife now and she needed to know the true nature of her husband.
Gabriel went back to his desk and picked up his pen. He occupied himself for a few minutes sharpening the nib with a small knife. Then he sat down and tried to tidy up one or two passages in A Reckless Venture.
An hour later, surrounded by several sheets of
discarded foolscap, Gabriel gave up the effort. He went downstairs to see what Phoebe was doing.
He finally located her in the library.
He opened the door soundlessly and studied her for a moment, his insides tightening as he remembered the events of his wedding night.
Phoebe was curled up in a chair near the window, her slippered feet tucked under the skirts of her pumpkin-colored gown. The watery sunlight filtering in through the narrow windows formed a warm halo around her dark hair. There was a prim little white ruffle around her throat.
Gabriel felt the sharp stab of guilt. She had probably been crying all morning.
“Phoebe?” he said gently.
“Yes, my lord?” She did not look up from the book in her lap.
“I came to see what you were doing.”
“I am reading.” She still did not look up. She seemed totally consumed by whatever it was she was studying.
“I see.” Gabriel closed the door and walked forward. He came to a halt near the fireplace and stood gazing down at her bent head. He realized he did not know what to say next. He sought desperately for the right words. “About last night …”
“Hmm?”
Her obvious lack of interest in the subject left him floundering again for words. He took a deep breath. “I apologize if it was less than you might have wished for in a wedding night.”
“You must not blame yourself, my lord,” she said, head still bent over the book. “I am certain you did your best.”
Her condescending tone took him back slightly. “Yes. Well, that is true. Phoebe, we are husband and wife now. It’s important that there be complete honesty between us.”
“I understand.” Phoebe turned the page in her book. “I had not planned to complain, mind you, because you really did try very hard to make the experience a pleasant one. But since you believe so keenly in honesty, I am willing to be blunt.”
He frowned. “You are?”
“Of course. To be perfectly frank, my lord, it was all something of a disappointment.”
“Yes, I know, my dear, but that is only because you had some highly unrealistic notions about married life.”
“I suppose so.” Phoebe turned another page and studied an illustration. “But that was partly your fault. After what happened that night in Brantley’s maze, I’m afraid I assumed I would experience the same interesting sensations when we actually engaged in the marital act. I had quite looked forward to it and no doubt my expectations were far too high.”
Gabriel felt himself turn a dull red as it struck him that she was talking about his lovemaking, not the conversation which had followed. “Phoebe, for God’s sake, I’m not discussing that.”
“Weren’t you, my lord?” She looked up at last, her gaze politely quizzical. “I’m sorry. What were you discussing?”
He wanted to shake her. “I’m talking about the conversation we had after you found The Lady in the Tower.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that. Damnation, woman, as far as the love-making is concerned, you need have no fears on that account. I told you it would improve mightily for you the next time.”
Phoebe pursed her lips in a considering fashion. “Perhaps.”
“There is no perhaps about it.”
“Then again, perhaps not.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I should take you straight upstairs to your bedchamber and demonstrate.”
“No, thank you.”
“Why not?” Gabriel’s hand clenched around the edge of the mantel. It was either that or he would find himself wrapping his fingers around her throat. “Because it’s the middle of the afternoon? Don’t tell me my reckless Veiled Lady has suddenly turned prim and proper. Have I married a little prig?”
“It’s not that.” She returned her attention to her book. “It’s simply that I do not believe the experience will improve until I can be certain that you truly love me. I have therefore decided there will be no more such incidents until you have learned to do so.”
His fingers were clamped so fiercely around the mantel that it was a miracle he had not cracked the marble. He stared at her angelically bent head. “You little devil. So that is your game, is it?”
“I assure you I am not playing any games, my lord.”
“You think you can continue to manage me the way you did before our marriage? I am no longer your personal knight-errant, madam. I am your husband.”
“I have come to the conclusion that knights-errant are a great deal more fun than husbands.”
He must not lose his temper, Gabriel told himself. He must not let his self-control slip. If he was to gain the upper hand in this domestic skirmish, he was going to have to stay cool under fire.
“You may be right, madam,” Gabriel said evenly. “I have no doubt that a headstrong, willful female such as yourself would find an obedient knight-errant vastly more amusing than a husband. But it is a husband you have got now.”
“I would prefer to keep the relationship in name only.”
“Hell and damnation. Have you gone mad? There is absolutely no possibility of that. I will not allow you to manipulate me in such a fashion.”
“I am not trying to manipulate you.” Phoebe finally looked up from her book. “But I am determined that you learn to love me before you make love to me again.”
“You do realize men have beaten their wives for less cause than this?” Gabriel asked very politely.
“We have already been through this, Gabriel. You will not beat me.”
“There are other ways of exercising my husbandly rights. I found a means last night, did I not?”
She sighed. “I was under a misapprehension last night. When you took that terrible risk of climbing down from the roof, I thought you were proving your love for me. In future I will not be so easily fooled. You need not bother to risk your neck again in that fashion.”
“I see.” Gabriel inclined his head with icy civility. Two could play at this game, he decided. “Very well, then, madam. You have made your position clear. You may be certain I will not force myself on you.”
She looked surprised. “I did not think you would.”
He took a grip on his temper. “When you are ready to resume your duties as a wife, be so good as to let me know. In the meantime, rest assured you will receive every courtesy as a guest here at Devil’s Mist.” He started toward the door.
“Gabriel, wait, I did not mean to say I considered myself a guest in your home.”
He paused briefly, careful to hide his satisfaction. “I beg your pardon? I thought that was the sort of relationship you wished.”
“No, of course it isn’t.” She scowled in consternation. “I want us to get to know each other better. I feel certain you can learn to love if you will only give yourself a chance. I mean for us to live as man and wife in all other respects save in the bedchamber. Is that too much to ask?”
“Yes, Phoebe, it is. As I said, let me know when you are ready to be a wife. In the meantime I shall consider you a guest.”
Gabriel went out into the hall without a backward glance and stalked through the rows of armor suits to the staircase. He was going to get some writing done this afternoon if it killed him. He was determined that the day would not be a total loss.
Three days later Phoebe retreated again to Gabriel’s magnificent library and curled up in her favorite chair.
She gazed out a window and acknowledged that she was in serious danger of losing the grimly polite war that was going on between Gabriel and herself. Indeed, she did not know how much more she could stand of it. Gabriel’s will was proving more than a match for her own.
Perhaps she had been doomed to lose from the beginning simply because she was more vulnerable than he. After all, she loved him with all her heart and he knew it. The knowledge definitely gave him the advantage, she realized glumly. Gabriel was clever enough to reason that if he simply waited, her defenses would collapse.
The worst of it was that
as far as Phoebe could tell, she was not making any headway at all in teaching Gabriel to love her.
It was not that he was ignoring her, she reflected. It was that he insisted on treating her with an awful politeness that almost brought her to the point of tears. He no longer argued with her or lectured her or complained about her lack of wifely obedience.
He was treating her as a guest, just as he had said he would, and it was enough to make Phoebe grind her teeth in frustration.
Yesterday, in search of common ground, she had attempted to discuss a volume she had discovered in his magnificent library. She had brought the matter up at dinner.
“It is an absolutely magnificent copy of Malory’s Morte d’Arthur” she remarked as she nibbled at her boiled rabbit smothered in onion sauce.
“Thank you,” Gabriel said. He forked up a bite of boiled potato.
Phoebe tried again. “I recall that on the night we visited Mr. Nash you asked him if he had a specific copy of Malory’s book. One that had an inscription on the flyleaf. Why would you want that particular book when you have such a fine copy of your own?”
“The copy I asked Nash about was the one my father gave me when I was ten,” Gabriel said. “When I left England I was forced to sell it.”
Phoebe was stricken. “You had to sell a book your father had given you?”
Gabriel looked at her, his eyes cold. “I was obliged to sell all the books I had inherited from him as well as the entire contents of my own library. I needed the money to finance my trip to the South Seas and to set myself up in business there.”
“I see.”
“A man who intends to survive cannot afford to be overly sentimental.”
“How terrible for you to have to sell off the things that meant the most to you.”
Gabriel had shrugged. “It was all part of the lesson I learned at the time. The bullet your brother lodged in my shoulder and the manner in which your father crushed my investment ventures concluded my instruction. I have never again allowed my emotions to rule my head.”
Phoebe sighed as she recalled the conversation. Teaching Gabriel to love was going to be a more formidable task than she had first imagined. She stared out the library window into the gray mist and wondered if there was any hope at all of convincing Gabriel to trust his emotions again.
