Gabriel Closed The Lady in the Tower very carefully and put it back in the case. The game he intended to play with his Veiled Lady was not without its risks.

He wondered how she could have ever thought herself in love with Neil Baxter.

She must still care a great deal for the bastard, Gabriel reflected with a frown. That was unfortunate. Baxter had not been worthy of such a spirited female.

But Baxter had had a way with women, as Gabriel knew to his cost.

He decided his initial goal would be to make the Veiled Lady forget her previous lover. Gabriel looked forward to the challenge.

He let himself out of the small tower room and went down the narrow spiral staircase. His booted heels rang on the old stone.

He was aware of a chill in the empty rooms of the third floor as he walked down the hall. It was almost impossible to keep Devil's Mist properly heated. When the castle had been built, the comfort of its occupants had not been a high priority. There was no getting around the fact that Gabriel had a monstrosity of a house on his hands. Refurbishing it would take years.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that at least there was plenty of room for his books. There was also room to house his father's magnificent library, which Gabriel was in the process of rebuilding. And the castle certainly provided a suitable setting for his growing assortment of medieval armor.

Nevertheless, the devil alone knew why he had succumbed to the whim that had made him buy the crumbling pile of stone here on the Sussex coast. The place was huge and he had no one to share it with except the members of his staff.

Not that being alone was anything new to Gabriel. He had spent most of his life alone. His father had been a brilliant scholar who, after the death of Gabriel's mother, had devoted himself to the treasures in his library. He had been kind enough in his fashion, but there was little doubt but that he had preferred his books to the task of rearing a motherless son.

Left to his own devices and the care of servants, Gabriel had learned early to create his own private world. He had done so from the age of five, populating it with a cast of characters from the Arthurian legends. When he had devoured all the tales he could find that dealt with the glories of ancient knighthood, he had begun writing his own.

He had not kept any of his childish scribblings. They had been disposed of along with most of the rest of his worldly possessions when he had left England. But two years ago, when he had decided to make a serious attempt to write a real novel, he had recalled those early efforts.

The knights of the Round Table had been good company for a young man. Unfortunately, they had not been able to teach him life's hard, realistic lessons. Those he had been forced to learn on his own.

Gabriel had purchased Devil's Mist shortly after returning to England. Something about the magnificent towers, turrets, and ramparts had appealed to him. When he looked out of the narrow windows, he could almost see knights in full battle armor mounted on huge destriers riding through the massive gates.

Devil's Mist was not a rich man's architectural folly, like so many other grand houses. Built in the thirteenth century, it had once been a working castle whose lord had apparently had a taste for secret passages and doors that were operated by hidden mechanisms. After taking up residence, Gabriel had spent weeks exploring the catacombs beneath the castle. The project had given him much inspiration for his newest novel.

Gabriel went down another twisting flight of stone steps and strode into the vast hall. Rollins, the butler, materialized from a side door.

"My lord, the post has arrived." The salver Rollins held out with grave formality contained only a single letter. Devil's Mist did not receive a great deal of mail. Most of the letters recently had been from the Veiled Lady.

Gabriel paused beneath a particularly fine thirteenth century battle shield that was one of several hanging from the hall ceiling. "Thank you, Rollins. I'll read it on my walk."

"Very good, sir." Rollins turned and moved off between two stately rows of highly polished armor suits. At the far end of the hall he opened the huge doors.

The motto carved into the stone over the doors had not been there when Gabriel had purchased the castle. He had ordered it engraved shortly after moving into Devil's Mist. Gabriel was rather pleased with it. It was succinct and to the point.

It was not the traditional motto of the earls of Wylde. There was no traditional Wylde motto. Gabriel had invented this one for himself and for his heirs. Now that the title had come to his side of the family, he had every intention of keeping it there.

It occurred to him that whatever else might be said about the Veiled Lady, she certainly suited the Wylde motto.

Gabriel examined the letter he had received as he walked out the door. A flicker of excitement coursed through him. It was from his London solicitor. With any luck it would contain the information for which he had been waiting.

The world of solicitors was a small one and money talked loudly in it, just as it talked in every other world. Gabriel had been certain his man would know Peak, the solicitor who handled the affairs of the Veiled Lady. There could not be that many women in London who collected medieval books.

He tore open the letter as he went down the stone steps and out into the chilly April sunshine. The name that leaped off the carefully penned page made him stop short. He stood gazing down at it in a gathering fury.

Lady Phoebe Lay ton, youngest daughter of the Earl of Clarington.

"Hell and damnation." Gabriel could not believe his eyes. Rage poured through him. His mysterious, illusive, fascinating Veiled Lady was none other than Clarington's youngest chit.

Gabriel crumpled the letter savagely in his fist.

The youngest daughter. Not the one who had begged him to save her from an arranged marriage eight years ago. Not the one who had nearly gotten him killed in a duel with her brother. The other one. The one he had never met because she had still been in the schoolroom at the time.

She would have been no more than sixteen when Clarington had destroyed Gabriel financially and forced him out of England. She would have been a mere girl when Gabriel had been forced to sell off the contents of his father's library, the only legacy he had from his parent, in order to survive.

Right years ago. The Veiled Lady was no more than twenty-four at the most. Yes, it all fit.

"Bloody hell," Gabriel said through his teeth. He stalked across the courtyard and out through the old stone gate. Another Clarington chit. As if he had not already had enough of Clarington women to last him a lifetime.

She had a hell of a nerve playing her games with him, he thought. Did she assume she could follow in her sister's footsteps? Did she believe she could safely amuse herself with him?

"Damnation."

Gabriel paced to the edge of the cliffs and stood gazing down into the churning sea. The desire that had burned in him for the Veiled Lady was as hot as ever. He would have her, he promised himself. Yes, he would definitely have her. But on his own terms.

How did she dare try her wiles on him after what her family had done to him? he wondered. Was she really so reckless or so arrogant? The frustration and fury he had felt eight years ago roared back into life as if it had all happened yesterday.

But it had not happened yesterday, he thought grimly. He was not the same idealistic, penniless fool he had been then. Lady Phoebe's father could not protect her this time the way he had protected his other daughter eight years ago.

The Veiled Lady was more vulnerable than she could have possibly imagined. And so was her family.