The earl had punished Gabriel very thoroughly for the crime of attempting to save Meredith from an arranged marriage to the Marquess of Trowbridge. Within days after the ill-fated rescue attempt, Clarington had set about destroying Gabriel financially.

The men Gabriel had convinced to back him in a small but potentially lucrative shipping venture mysteriously reneged on their agreements after Clarington spoke to them. They demanded that the money be repaid immediately. At the same time, the loan that Gabriel had obtained to finance the purchase of some London property suddenly came due early. Clarington had advised the investor to withdraw.

The combined effect had been disastrous. Gabriel had been forced to sell off virtually everything he owned, including his beloved books, in order to repay his debts. In the end he had been left with barely enough money to purchase passage on board a ship bound for the South Seas.

Knowing that there was no future for him in England, Gabriel had sailed for the islands where a man could dream new dreams.

He took a grim satisfaction now in knowing that he had spent the past eight years ridding himself of such unnecessary encumbrances as a noble heart and a chivalrous nature. Vowing he would never again be at the mercy of his own emotions, he had sweated blood to secure a fortune in the South Seas pearl trade, and he had been extraordinarily successful. The venture had nearly cost him his life on more than one occasion, but he had survived and flourished.

While in the islands he had encountered the aggressive, ambitious Americans, whose ships now traded in every corner of the globe. Using those contacts, he had built a shipping empire. His vessels now routinely plied the trade routes between England and America.

During his time in the South Seas Gabriel's lessons in reality had continued. He had learned that illusion was the rule, not the exception in the real world. People were rarely what they seemed and few men honored the code of conduct that had governed the fictional knights of King Arthur's court.

The real world, Gabriel had discovered, was a place where cutthroats masqueraded as gentlemen and women betrayed the men they had sworn to love.

Survival amid such perils required ice in one's veins and realistic expectations of human nature. Only a fool put his trust in others. And an intelligent man did not make the mistake of putting either his trust or his honor, let alone his heart, into a woman's hands. A man who intended to survive in the real world had to be cautious.

But that did not mean he could not enjoy what pleasures the world had to offer. As long as he kept his heart and his emotions out of the matter, Gabriel reasoned, he could allow himself a harmless dalliance with an intriguing woman such as the Veiled Lady.

He could even allow himself a wife.

In fact, a wife was a necessity.

Gabriel frowned at the thought. It was true that one of these days he must marry, not only because of his duty to the title, but because he had grown weary of his self-imposed solitude. He needed a woman to bear his heirs and warm his bed. He wanted someone to talk to in the evenings.

But he saw no reason why he could not manage a wife with the same coolheaded, detached approach that he would use with a mistress.

A vision of the Veiled Lady as both mistress and wife stole into Gabriel's head and wrapped itself around his thoughts. He put down his pen and gazed unseeingly out the tower window.

The Veiled Lady as his wife? Gabriel's mouth twisted wryly even as he felt the stirring in his groin. It was a crazed notion. He could not possibly consider making one of Baxter's castoffs the Countess of Wylde. A man in Gabriel's position was expected to marry a woman with an unblemished reputation. A virgin.

But virgins were no more trustworthy than experienced ladies of the night, Gabriel knew. Thus, virginity would not be the chief criteria he would use when it came time to select a wife. There were other, more important assets to look for in a woman.

The Veiled Lady did not meet those criteria, — either.

Gabriel had decided long ago that when he eventually chose a wife, he would take care to select a biddable female, one who would respect a husband's authority.

A woman who had been raised to honor a man's right to be master in his own home would be more manageable than an independent, reckless hoyden such as the Veiled Lady. A woman who had been brought up with proper notions of female duty would be easier to protect from the risks and temptations of the world.

Even if he managed to find that pearl among women, a manageable, obedient female, Gabriel knew he would always remain cautious. He might indulge her, but he would certainly never make the mistake of trusting her completely.

When it came to dealing with females, he had concluded, it was better to be safe than sorry. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

The matter of choosing a wife was a problem to be dealt with in the future, however. Gabriel turned his thoughts back to the Veiled Lady. Locating her was his first priority.

Unfortunately, finding the Veiled Lady meant going into Society. Gabriel swore at the thought. He did not much care for the Social World. He had not bothered to go into Society since his return to England a few months ago.

But the Veiled Lady obviously moved in the best circles of the ton. If he was going to hunt her, he, too, would have to go into the world of the Haute Monde.

Gabriel allowed himself a slow smile as he envisioned the expression on the Veiled Lady's face when she realized he had pursued her into the heart of the Social World. The huntress was about to become the hunted.

He got to his feet and stretched, working out the stiffness in his muscles. He rubbed his right shoulder absently with his left hand. He had been at work since shortly after dawn and it was now nearly eleven. He needed a long walk along the cliffs.

His gaze fell on the manuscript box he had collected from Nash. The sight of it sitting on a nearby table amid a stack of papers and books made him grin with anticipation. Soon he would have the pleasure of returning The Knight and the Sorcerer to its owner.

And then he would tell her that he would accept her quest. He had no interest in helping her discover Baxter's killer, but he definitely wanted the lady. He freely admitted to himself that her reckless, daring ways intrigued and fascinated him even as he condemned them. Perhaps it was his fate as a lover of ancient legends to respond to a woman whose bold manner bespoke a courage that was both rare and dangerous in females. A troubadour could have created a very interesting legend based on the Veiled Lady.

Whatever the reason for his compelling desire for her, it was clear that the only way to obtain the lady was to pretend to become involved in her mad scheme. It was bound to be an interesting task, to say the least.

After all, he already knew who owned the manuscript of The Lady in the Tower she sought. The trick would be to keep her from discovering that fact while he lured her into his bed.

Gabriel paused beside a row of bookcases that contained some of the most interesting items in his collection. He opened the glass doors, reached inside, and removed a volume bound in thickly padded leather.

He carried the surprisingly heavy book over to the desk. There he put it down carefully and undid the tiny lock that secured the thick covers around the gilded vellum pages. He opened the book carefully and turned to the last page.

For a moment he stood gazing thoughtfully down at the colophon, which was in Old French:

Here ends the tale of The Lady in the Tower. I, William of Anjou, have written only the truth. A curse on he who would steal this book. May he drown beneath the waves. May he be consumed by flames. May he spend an eternal night in hell.