"I must say I am surprised at the popularity of that ridiculous novel." Kilbourne surveyed the crowded ballroom. "One would have thought Society had more edifying things to do with its time than read such nonsense."

"Surely one cannot complain about the highminded tone of The Quest. It is a tale of adventure that draws its inspiration from notions of medieval chivalry. It deals with honor and nobility and courage. And I must tell you that the subject of love is handled in a very inspiring fashion."

"I imagine our ancestors were every bit as practical as we are when it came to the subject of love," Kilbourne said. "Money, family, and property are the important factors in matrimonial alliances. Always have been. And as for honor and nobility, well, I suspect that such notions were considerably less refined in medieval times than in our own."

"You may be correct. But it seems to me that the important thing is the idea of chivalry. Perhaps it never really did exist in a perfect state, but that does not mean the notion should not be encouraged."

"It is all a lot of foolishness suitable only for the minds of young women and children. Now, then, Lady Phoebe, perhaps we could change the subject. I wonder if I might have a word with you out in the garden." Kilbourne's fingers tightened under her arm. "There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you."

Phoebe stifled a groan. The last thing she wanted was an intimate discussion out in the garden with Kilbourne. "Some other time, if you don't mind, my lord. I believe I see my brother. There is something I must say to him. Please excuse me."

Kilbourne's jaw tightened. "Very well. I will escort you over to your brother."

"Thank you."

As Clarington's only male heir, Anthony held the title of the Viscount Oaksley and was in line for the earldom. He was thirty-two and cut a strong, athletic figure. In addition to his gift for mathematics and business, he had inherited his father's fair hair and strong-boned features.

Anthony had also inherited the cool aristocratic self-confidence that came from knowing he had several generations of wealth, breeding, and power behind him.

Phoebe was quite fond of her brother, but there was no denying that Anthony could be almost as autocratic and overbearing as Clarington himself. She tolerated both of them with good humor, for the most part, but there were occasions when their overly protective attitudes toward her were more than she could bear.

"There you are, Phoebe. I was wondering where you had got to. Evening, Kilbourne." Anthony nodded pleasantly at the older man.

"Oaksley." Kilbourne inclined his head politely. "Your sister says she has a message for you."

"What's that, Phoebe?" Anthony reached for a glass of champagne as a livened servant walked past with a tray.

Phoebe thought quickly, searching for some remark that sounded reasonable. "I wanted to know if you are planning to attend the Brantleys' masquerade on Thursday. Mama and Papa are not going, and neither is Meredith."

"And you need an escort?" Anthony chuckled indulgently. "I know how much you love masquerade balls. Very well. I shall stop by for you at nine o'clock. Won't be able to stay, however. Got other plans for the evening. But don't worry, I shall make arrangements with the Mortonstones for you to be taken home in their carriage. Will you be there, Kilbourne?"

"I had not planned on it," Kilbourne admitted. "I do not care for fancy dress balls. All that dashing about in a mask and cloak is very irritating, if you ask me."

Nobody had asked him, Phoebe thought resentfully.

"But if Lady Phoebe is planning to attend," Kilbourne continued magnanimously, "I shall, of course, make an exception."

"There is no need to disturb yourself on my account, my lord," Phoebe said hastily.

"It will be a pleasure." Kilbourne inclined his head. "After all, we gentlemen must humor the whims of our ladies. Isn't that right, Oaksley?"

"Depends on the whim," Anthony said. He started to smile at Phoebe, and then his glance fell on the staircase that descended into the ballroom from the balcony. His smile vanished in an instant. "Well, I'll be damned." His blue eyes turned icy cold. "So the rumor is true. Wylde is in town."

Phoebe froze. Her eyes flew to the red-carpeted stairs. Gabriel was here.

She could hardly breathe. Surely he would not recognize her. He could not possibly have had a clear view of her face in the moonlight the other night in Sussex. He'd had no way of discovering her name.

Still, he was here. Right here at the very same ball where she was. It had to be a coincidence. At the same time she knew in her heart it could not be a coincidence.

She watched in stunned fascination as he came down the steps into the crowd. There was such dangerous arrogance in him. Phoebe's stomach was churning with excitement. Perhaps she should not have eaten so many lobster patties, she thought.

Gabriel was dressed all in black with only a brilliant white cravat and a pleated white shirt for contrast. The stark color suited him. It emphasized his fierce, aquiline features and the predatory grace of his movements. His ebony hair gleamed beneath the chandeliers.

At that moment Gabriel looked out across the room full of elegantly dressed people and captured her gaze.

He knew who she was.

Excitement soared through Phoebe. The only reason Gabriel could possibly be here tonight was that he had decided to accept her quest.

She had found herself a knight-errant.

There were a few potential problems, to be sure. Judging from her recent experience with him, she was forced to conclude that Gabriel's armor badly needed polishing, to say nothing of his manners and his attitude.

But in her relief at seeing him, Phoebe was not about to be cast down by such trivial details. Knights-errant were extremely scarce on the ground these days. She would work with what was available.

Chapter 6

Look at him," Anthony growled. "One would think the man had inherited the title at birth rather than come into it through a flukish accident."

"He certainly seems at home with his new status," Kilbourne agreed. He was clearly no more than mildly interested in the newcomer. "What do you know of him?"

"Not much," Anthony said shortly. He shot a warning glance at Phoebe. "Surprised to see him here, that's all. Didn't think he had the blunt to move in Society."

"The man's recently come into a respectable title," Kilbourne observed with a shrug. "That makes him valuable to certain hostesses."

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "There's only one reason why he would be prowling through ballrooms this Season. He's hunting a fortune."

In spite of her fluttering stomach, Phoebe glared at Anthony. "You cannot be certain of that. As I understand it, no one knows very much about Wylde."

Anthony's mouth hardened. It was obvious he wanted to argue further but could hardly do so in front of Kilbourne. The events of eight years ago were a dark family secret.

"Lady Phoebe has got a point," Kilbourne said. "No one knows much about Wylde. Understand he's been out of the country for years."

"So one hears," Anthony muttered. "Damnation. I believe he's coming this way."

Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut for an instant and fanned herself rapidly with her Chinese fan. For the first time in her entire life, she felt light-headed. He had found her. Like a bold and valiant knight straight out of a medieval legend, he had come in search of her and he had found her.

She was going to have to reassess his skills as a knight-errant, Phoebe told herself happily. Perhaps he was better at this sort of thing than she had concluded after the events in Sussex. He had, after all, been able to locate her here in London with the aid of very few clues.