"If you will excuse me, I believe I shall go have a chat with Carstairs," Kilbourne said. He bowed over Phoebe's gloved hand. "I shall look forward to seeing you Thursday night, my dear. What sort of costume will you be wearing?"

"Something medieval, no doubt," Anthony said dryly.

Kilbourne grimaced as he released Phoebe's hand. "No doubt." He swung around on his heel and marched off into the crowd.

"Damn that man. He always did have the devil's own gall," Anthony said half under his breath.

"I would not call it gall, precisely," Phoebe mused as she watched Kilbourne disappear. "But he does tend to be rather pompous, does he not? One shudders to think what it would be like sitting across from him at the breakfast table every morning of one's life."

"Don't be an idiot. Kilbourne is a perfectly decent sort. I was referring to Wylde."

"Oh."

"Hell, he really is going to approach us. Talk about raw nerve. I shall deal with him, Phoebe. Go and find Meredith. If she is aware of his presence, she will be extremely anxious."

"I do not see what all the fuss is about," Phoebe said. "And in any event it is much too late to send me packing. He is practically upon us."

"I do not intend to introduce you to him," Anthony said grimly.

Gabriel came to a halt in front of Phoebe and her brother. Ignoring Anthony, he looked down at his prey with clear challenge in his brilliant green eyes. "Good evening, Lady Phoebe. It is certainly a pleasure to see you again."

So much for waiting for an introduction from his old enemy, Phoebe thought. She had to give Gabriel credit. He knew how to take the bold approach.

"Good evening, my lord," she said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the storm gathering on her brother's face. She smiled brightly. "Anthony, I believe I forgot to mention that his lordship and I have already been introduced."

"I'd like to know when and where." Anthony gazed coldly at Gabriel.

"It was at the Amesburys' country house, was it not, my lord?" Phoebe looked straight up into Gabriel's glittering gaze. "You remember I spent the week in the country, Anthony."

"So you did," Anthony rasped. "And you're quite right. You definitely did forget to mention that you had met Wylde while there."

"It was a very large crowd," Phoebe murmured.

She realized Gabriel's expression was one of savage amusement. He was enjoying himself. She had to get him away from Anthony before there was bloodshed. "I expect you would like to ask me to dance, would you not, my lord?"

"Phoebe." Anthony was truly scandalized, in spite of the tense situation. Ladies did not ask gentlemen to dance under any circumstances.

"Do not concern yourself, Oaksley." Gabriel took Phoebe's arm. "Your sister and I became very well acquainted at the Amesburys'. Perhaps it is because I have spent the past eight years in exile from Polite Society or perhaps it is just my nature. Whatever the reason, I find I am not in the least put off by what some men might consider fast behavior in a female."

"How dare you imply my sister is fast?" Anthony snarled.

"Well, she certainly is not slow." Gabriel led Phoebe out onto the floor before Anthony could find a civilized way to stop him.

Phoebe nearly laughed aloud at the look on her brother's face. And then she heard the strains of a waltz and sobered quickly. She looked anxiously up at Gabriel, wondering how he felt about being seen with her on the dance floor. She wondered if it had occurred to him that she might embarrass him.

"Perhaps we should content ourselves with a quiet conversation, my lord," Phoebe suggested, feeling a bit guilty for having more or less forced him into this situation.

"We'll get to the quiet conversation eventually," Gabriel vowed. "But first I intend to have this dance."

"But my lord—"

He gave her a knowing look. "Don't worry, Phoebe. You may trust me to catch you if you lose your balance."

A glorious sense of relief and joy welled up inside

Phoebe as she realized Gabriel did not give a damn about how she made him look on the dance floor.

Gabriel swung her into a whirling turn. She would have lost her footing on the first step if he had not been holding her so tightly. As it was, her slippers barely touched the floor. The silk skirts of her chartreuse and orange gown swung wide.

The dazzling lights of the chandeliers spun overhead as Gabriel swept her across the floor. Phoebe saw a band of iridescent color form around her. She realized vaguely that it was the pastel gowns of the ladies merging into a rainbow.

Exhilaration sang through Phoebe. She could not recall feeling like this before in her life.

Even Neil had never danced with her like this. Her noble Lancelot had always taken care to choose slow, measured steps that she could safely follow. But there was nothing safe about the way Gabriel was dancing. Yet he seemed to sense whenever her balance was threatened. When her left leg faltered, he caught her and carried her through the swirling turns. Phoebe felt as though she were flying.

She was breathless as the music swept toward a ravishing crescendo. The only solid thing to hang on to in this spinning, chaotic world was Gabriel. Instead of resting her fingers lightly on his shoulder, she clutched at him. His firm grasp made her feel safe even in the most outrageous, sweeping turns.

She was vaguely aware that the music had stopped, but her senses were still spinning wildly out of control. She clung to Gabriel as he led her off the floor.

"My lord, that was truly wonderful," she gasped.

"It is only the beginning," he said softly.

A moment later she was aware of the cool evening air on her face. She realized he had brought her over to the row of open French doors that lined the ballroom.

Without a word, he took her by the hand and led her out into the night.

"Now we shall have our quiet conversation, Lady Phoebe." He drew her into the deeper shadows of the garden.

Phoebe was still breathless, but she knew it was no longer because of the excitement of the dancing. She could hardly believe Gabriel had found her.

"I must tell you, I am most impressed with your questing skills, my lord." Phoebe looked at him. "How did you discover my identity? I vow I gave you no clues."

He stopped in the deep shadow of a hedge and turned to face her. "I found you by using the same technique you used to discover that I was the author of The Quest. I contacted a solicitor."

She felt herself turning red. It was most unfortunate she'd been obliged to mislead him on that point, she reflected. But she really had no choice. She simply could not tell him the truth. "That was very clever of you."

"It was necessary," he said. "There is unfinished business between us. You were in rather a rush to leave me the other night, if you will recall."

Phoebe studied the severe folds of his white cravat. "I trust you will forgive me, my lord. I was somewhat overset at the time. The adventure had not gone as I had planned it."

"You made that very clear. Neither the adventure nor I had lived up to your expectations, apparently."

"Well, to be perfectly frank, no."

"Perhaps you set your expectations too high," Gabriel suggested.

"Perhaps." She wished she could see his eyes and the expression on his face. His voice gave her no clue as to his mood, but she sensed a grim tension in him. It was as if he were preparing for battle. "Then again, perhaps not. May I ask why you have gone to the effort to find me?"

"I would have thought you'd have guessed the answer to that. I have something to return to you."

Phoebe caught her breath. "You found The Knight and the Sorcerer!"

"I told you I would get it back for you."

"Yes, I know, but I never dreamed you'd actually be able to do it."