by Amanda Quick
“I got your message,” Gabriel said without any preamble. “What is this about?”
“I don’t rightly know, yer lordship.” Stinton lifted his mug and took a deep swallow of beer. “But you asked me to hire a boy to keep an eye on yer town house while I was tryin’ to dig up information on Mr. Baxter. I took the liberty of usin’ my son for the job. Might as well keep the income in the family, if you see what I mean.”
“I don’t give a damn who you hired. Has something happened?”
“Could be nothin’ at all. Might be somethin’ interestin’. Hard to know.”
Gabriel made a bid for his patience. “What are you talking about, man?”
“My boy says a message arrived at the back door of yer town house about an hour ago.”
“What sort of message?” Gabriel demanded, exasperated.
“Don’t know. He just said a message was delivered. Thought you’d like to know.”
Gabriel was disgusted. “It could have been anything. One of the maids might be exchanging love notes with a footman in another household.”
“Don’t believe this was a love note, yer lordship.” Stinton looked thoughtful. “Or if it was, it weren’t directed to one of yer maids. My boy heard the messenger say it was for the lady of the house.”
Gabriel surged to his feet and flung a few coins on the table. “Thank you, Stinton. That will cover your beer. Keep working on the other matter.”
“Not havin’ much luck in that department.” Stinton sighed. “No one seems to know much about Mr. Baxter. Appears to have disappeared sometime during the past few days.”
“Dig deeper.” Gabriel was already halfway to the door.
Twenty minutes later he went up the steps of the town house. Shelton opened the door at once.
“Where is her ladyship?” Gabriel asked quietly.
“In her bedchamber, I believe,” Shelton said. He took Gabriel’s curly brimmed beaver hat. “Shall I send a maid to inform her you are at home?”
“That will not be necessary. I shall tell her myself.”
Gabriel went past the butler and started up the staircase. He took the steps two at a time.
When he reached the landing, he strode quickly down the hall to Phoebe’s door. He opened it without bothering to knock.
Phoebe, dressed in a bright violet gown trimmed in yellow, was sitting at her little gilt escritoire. She looked up, startled, as Gabriel stalked into the room.
“Gabriel. What on earth are you doing here? I did not know you were home.”
“I understand you received a message a short while ago.”
Her eyes widened in dismay. “How did you know?”
“That is not important. I would like to see the note, if you please.”
Phoebe looked stricken. At the sight of her face, Gabriel’s worst fears were confirmed. Whatever had been in the note was dangerous.
“My lord, I assure you, the note was insignificant. Merely a message from an acquaintance,” Phoebe said quickly.
“Nevertheless, I wish to see it.”
“But there is no need for you to concern yourself with it.” Phoebe swallowed visibly. “Indeed, I am not certain I still have it. I probably tossed it away.”
Gabriel’s fears rose like flames, threatening to consume him. He quashed them beneath a cold, disciplined anger. “The note, Phoebe. I want it. Now.”
Phoebe got to her feet. “My lord, I assure you, it would be better if you did not read it. I am certain it will only serve to annoy you.”
“I appreciate your concerns,” Gabriel said grimly. “But you will give me the note immediately, or I shall start searching for it.”
Phoebe sighed. “I vow, my lord, you are turning into an extremely trying sort of husband.”
“I am well aware I am not the man you once believed me to be,” Gabriel said. “But as you yourself pointed out this afternoon, you are stuck with me now,” He smiled thinly. “I am a member of the family, if you will recall.”
“Only too well,” Phoebe grumbled. She yanked open the small drawer in the center of her escritoire and pulled out a sheet of folded foolscap. “Very well. I was not going to show this to you because I knew it would alarm you, but since you insist …”
“I insist.” He stepped forward and snatched the paper from her hand. He opened it and read the message swiftly.
My dearest Phoebe:
I grow increasingly concerned for your safety as each day passes. I recently learned how close you came to drowning and I know about the fire in your bedchamber. I fear for your life, my dear.
I have concluded your husband seeks to murder you in such a way that your family will believe it to be an accident. Like the pirate he is, Wylde wishes to seize your inheritance. He is using the methods spelled out in the curse at the end of The Lady in the Tower, Have you noticed?
You have married a cruel and dangerous monster who has always had a taste for the macabre. Just ask any of the handful of men who survived his vicious attacks at sea.
My dearest Phoebe, I must speak with you. I must have a chance to explain everything. I have no doubt but that Wylde has told you nothing but lies about me. I know you will not believe his malicious tales, but you undoubtedly have questions. For the sake of what we once meant to each other, let me answer those questions. I have proof. Let me save you from him.
I remain your most devoted admirer,
Lancelot
“Bastard.” Gabriel crumpled the note savagely in his fist. He narrowed his eyes as he gazed down into Phoebe’s anxious face. “You do not believe him, of course.”
“Of course not.” She stared at him as if she were trying to see beneath the surface of his skin. “Gabriel, are you angry?”
“What do you think? Baxter is attempting to seduce you into believing that he is innocent and that I am a villain who is attempting to murder you for the sake of your inheritance. Furthermore, he makes it clear he is still determined to play the role of Lancelot.”
“I told you once, I am no Guinevere,” Phoebe said proudly. “I am a great deal smarter than she was. Gabriel, you must trust me.”
He smiled grimly. “Really? Tell me, my dear, when would you have gotten around to showing me this note?”
She paled. “I told you that I did not wish to alarm you with it.”
“I assure you, I am far more alarmed by the fact that you had no intention of showing it to me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand only too well,” Gabriel said. “I have got to find Baxter. And I must do so quickly. I must put a stop to this nonsense.”
A knock on the door of Phoebe’s bedchamber broke the tension in the room.
“What is it?” Phoebe called.
The door was opened by a maid who gave a quick curtsy. “Beggin’ yer pardon, madam. Lady Clarington is downstairs askin’ to see you at once.”
“I’ll be right down,” Phoebe said. She glanced at Gabriel as she started toward the door. “Perhaps you should come also, my lord,” she said coolly. “Mama may have news for us.”
“Phoebe, wait.” Gabriel started to put out a hand to restrain her and then changed his mind. He knew he had hurt her again, but he did not know what to do about it. Damn Baxter, he thought. This is all his fault.
Without a word Gabriel went downstairs with an equally silent Phoebe. She brightened up at once, however, as they walked into the drawing room.
Lydia, a vision of high fashion in soft peach, was seated on the sofa. She was bubbling over with eagerness. “There you are, Phoebe. I am glad Wylde is here, too. This should interest him.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Clarington,” Gabriel said formally.
“Mama, what have you found out?” Phoebe demanded as she seated herself.
“I played cards at Lady Clawdale’s this afternoon,” Lydia said. “Lost two hundred pounds, but it may have been worth it. I brought up Baxter’s name very casually in the course of the conversation.”
Ga
briel frowned. “What did you learn?”
Lydia’s eyes sparkled. “It seems that Lady Rantley recalls something about Neil Baxter having a mistress shortly before he left London three years ago. Apparently the woman was an actress.”
“A mistress.” Phoebe was plainly insulted. “Do you mean to say that while he was playing the part of my devoted Lancelot, he was keeping a mistress? Of all the bloody nerve.”
Lydia met Gabriel’s eyes and winked. Gabriel smiled ruefully. He definitely owed his mother-in-law a favor, he thought. She had done more to demolish Baxter’s reputation in Phoebe’s eyes in the past ten seconds than he had succeeded in doing in the past several days.
“Did Lady Rantley know anything specific about Baxter’s bit of muslin?” Gabriel asked. He was aware that Phoebe was silently fuming.
“Not much,” Lydia said. “Only that she later went on to bigger and better things after Baxter left town.”
“What biggerand better things?” Phoebe asked.
Lydia smiled triumphantly. “Apparently she opened one of the more popular brothels. Lady Rantley did not know where it was, naturally. But I have given the matter some thought and I see no reason why it would have closed. I’ll wager it’s still doing business.” She looked at Gabriel. “Perhaps if you locate it and talked to Baxter’s ex-mistress, you might learn something of import.”
“I might, indeed.” Gabriel was already heading toward the door. This was definitely information that could narrow the search.
“Hold one minute, my lord,” Phoebe ordered. “Where do you think you are going?”
“To find out what I can about Baxter’s mistress.”
“But that means you will be going to a brothel. Perhaps more than one,” she protested. “I do not want you anywhere near such a place.”
Gabriel gave her an impatient look. “Have no fear, madam. I do not intend to sample the wares, I am merely going to look for information.”
“I do not want you going alone,” she said quickly. “I shall go with you.”
Lydia groaned. “Don’t be an idiot, Phoebe. There is no way you can go with him.”
“Your mother is right,” Gabriel agreed immediately, grateful for Lydia’s support. He walked over to Phoebe and took her hand in his. He could not help smiling at her obvious jealousy. It warmed his heart. “Calm yourself, my dear. I appreciate your concerns, but there is nothing in this that need alarm you. Trust me.”
Her brows rose coolly. “I am to trust you even though you do not trust me? That does not seem particularly fair, Wylde.”
Gabriel dropped his smile and her hand. “I shall no doubt be late getting home tonight. You need not wait up for me.”
Phoebe glowered at him. “Lovely. I can look forward to another jolly evening at home alone with the servants. I am getting fed up to the teeth with this business, Wylde.”
“That reminds me,” Lydia interrupted smoothly. “I was wondering if you might consider releasing Phoebe from prison for the evening, Wylde. Meredith and I are going to the theater. Anthony will accompany us. Is there any reason Phoebe could not join us?”
Phoebe brightened. “No reason at all.” She turned to Gabriel. “I shall be perfectly safe in the bosom of my family, my lord. Surely you cannot object.”
Gabriel hesitated. He did not like the idea, but he realized he had no sound reason to forbid her from going out tonight. She would be surrounded by her family, and her brother would be along in the event of trouble.
“Very well,” he said reluctantly.
Phoebe made a face. “Your gracious generosity quite overwhelms me, my lord. Who would have thought that I would find myself in the position of having to beg my husband’s permission to go to the theater? I vow, you have changed my life, sir.”
“Then we are even,” he said. “Because you have certainly changed mine.” He glanced at Lydia. “I am in your debt, madam.”
“I know.” Lydia chuckled. “Never fear, I shall collect.”
Phoebe groaned aloud and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Never say I did not warn you, Wylde.”
Gabriel grinned ruefully. He inclined his head toward his bright-eyed mother-in-law. “I believe you said you lost two hundred pounds in the course of gaining the information about Baxter’s mistress, madam. You must allow me to cover your losses.”
“I would not dream of it,” Lydia murmured.
“I insist,” Gabriel said.
“Well, in that case,” Lydia said, “I suppose I shall have to let you do as you see fit. And to think that some would have us believe the age of chivalry has gone.”
Phoebe glared at Gabriel. “Some are going out of their way to bury it. Wylde, I do not care for this business of you investigating brothels.”
“Think of me as being on a quest, my dear,” Gabriel went out the door.
Phoebe gazed out at the crowded theater with satisfaction. “I vow, an evening at the opera has never seemed quite so entertaining before,” she said to Meredith.
Meredith, seated beside Phoebe in the plush box, adjusted the pale blue skirts of her evening gown. “I suspect it merely seems more entertaining than usual because you have been feeling somewhat confined of late.”
“That is putting it mildly,” Phoebe said. “I have been imprisoned of late.”
“Come, now, Phoebe.” Meredith smiled. “You make it sound as if you have been held captive for months rather than a mere day. Besides, you know Wylde was only doing what he thought was best.”
“I fear I am fated to be surrounded by people who think they know what is best for me.” Phoebe studied the rows of boxes full of glittering theatergoers. “What a crush. We shall be an hour waiting for the carnage after the performance is over.”
“Not unusual at the height of the Season,” Lydia observed. The pink plumes that decorated her satin headband bobbed as she raised her opera glass to her eyes. “I do believe I see Lady Markham. I wonder who that handsome young man is with her. Certainly not her son. I wonder if she has acquired another paramour. I am told she has only just got rid of the last.”
Meredith looked disapproving. “Mother, you are always a source of the most amazing gossip.”
“I do my best,” Lydia said proudly.
The velvet curtain at the back of the box twitched as Anthony entered. Phoebe’s brows rose when she saw that he was scowling. “Did you bring us some lemonade?”
“No, I did not. A much more pressing issue has arisen.” Anthony dropped down onto one of the velvet-cushioned chairs. “I just ran into Rantley. He and two of his friends were talking about Wylde.”
Phoebe asked. “What were they saying?”
Anthony’s mouth hardened. “They changed the topic the moment I arrived, but I overheard their earlier remarks. They were discussing the possibility that your husband may have made his fortune as a pirate rather than as a legitimate businessman while out in the islands.”
“How dare they?” Phoebe stormed. She shot to her feet. “I shall find them and correct that notion at once.”
“What’s this?” Lydia lowered her opera glass and frowned at Phoebe. “Sit down, my girl. You are not going anywhere.”
Meredith gave Phoebe a quelling glance. “Mother is quite right. Sit down at once. Do you want people staring at this box and wondering what is going on?”
Phoebe reluctantly sat. “We must do something about this dreadful gossip. I cannot stand by and allow people to speculate about Wylde in this manner.”
“You will accomplish nothing by chasing after the gossip mongers,” Lydia said sternly.
“What do you suggest I do?” Phoebe snapped.
Lydia’s smile was filled with the happy anticipation of battle. “We shall let them come to us, of course.”
Phoebe blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mama is quite right,” Meredith said calmly. “It is always preferable to fight the enemy on one’s own ground.”
Phoebe looked helplessly at Anthony. “Do you know what they
are talking about?”
Anthony chuckled. “Mo, but I have utmost respect for Mama and Meredith when it comes to dealing with this sort of thing.”
Lydia nodded with satisfaction. “I doubt that we will have long to wait for the first skirmish.” She raised her glass to her eye again. “Ah, yes. Lady Rantley is leaving her box at this very moment. I’ll wager she’s on her way over here.”
“Do you think she intends to ask rude questions about Wylde’s past?” Phoebe demanded.
“I think it highly likely, given that her lord is talking about it to his friends.” Lydia assumed a thoughtful expression. “The interesting thing about Eugenie is that she is the one who makes all the financial moves in the Rantley household. Rantley merely carries out her instructions. You will remember that when she gets here, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mama,” Meredith said.
Anthony grinned. “I understand.”
“Excellent.” Lydia paused. “I wonder who started that rumor of piracy.”
“Baxter, no doubt,” Anthony said. “Wylde really is going to have to do something about him. He’s becoming more than a nuisance. Wylde says he has a mesmerizing effect on females. Apparently his former fiancée fell under Baxter’s spell.”
Phoebe stared at her brother. “What former fiancée?”
Anthony winced. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s all finished. She’s married to someone else.”
“What former fiancée?” Phoebe repeated grimly.
“Just someone he was engaged to for a while out in the islands,” Anthony said in soothing tones. “Wylde mentioned her in passing. It was not important.”
Phoebe felt slightly ill. “Not important,” she repeated under her breath. “Today I find out Wylde is pursuing a woman who runs a brothel and tonight I learn he was previously engaged to another woman. Someone he has never bothered to mention.”
“There are two types of men in the world, Phoebe.” Lydia peered through her glass. “The type who talk about their pasts incessantly and the type who rarely mention the subject. Be grateful you have got the latter sort. The former tend to become a bore over time.”
