"Now, that is where you are quite wrong." Gabriel's mouth brushed across hers with tantalizing slowness. "Knights-errant did everything in their power to get as close as possible to their ladies."

"Nevertheless, it might be best if we—"

The rest of Phoebe's half-strangled protest was lost as Gabriel's mouth came down on hers. She clutched at his shoulders, riveted by the intensity of feeling that was washing through her.

The first time he had kissed her, he had been wearing gloves. Tonight the unexpected roughness of his palms against her skin startled her. Not the hands of a gentleman, she thought. Dear heaven, these are the hands of a warrior.

Gabriel deepened the kiss swiftly, his mouth fierce and demanding. Phoebe felt herself respond with a sudden urgency that took her by surprise. She moaned softly. Her fan fell from her hand as she moved her arms up to circle his neck.

She was even more dazed and breathless now than she had been when he had danced with her. Gabriel was consuming her and at the same time creating a shattering hunger within her. His lips moved on hers, seeking a response that matched his own. Phoebe hesitated, uncertain how to handle the still unfamiliar and utterly devastating sensuality he ignited within her.

Then she felt Gabriel's callused thumb at the corner of her mouth. She realized he was coaxing her lips apart. Uncomprehending, she obeyed. In an instant he was inside, groaning heavily as he plundered her softness.

Phoebe had been kissed before by the occasional overly bold suitor. Such embraces, frequently snatched in gardens outside a crowded ballroom such as this, had been hurried and generally uninteresting. They had filled her with nothing more than a desire to return to the ballroom. Neil Baxter had also kissed her once or twice, but never like this. Neil's kisses had been chaste and polite and Phoebe had never desired more than what he offered.

With Gabriel she knew she was experiencing passion. This was the stuff of legend, she told herself exultantly. This was what she had always sensed was waiting for her somewhere with the right man.

This was exceedingly dangerous.

Gabriel's rough hand moved lightly over her bare shoulder. His finger slipped beneath the edge of the tiny sleeve of her gown. He started to slide it down her arm.

Phoebe surfaced from the shock of the embrace. Her mind was still reeling. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, trying to find her voice. "My lord, I really don't think—"

Without warning there was a movement in the darkness behind Gabriel. Phoebe went cold as she heard Anthony's voice slice harshly through the night.

"Take your goddamned hands off my sister, Wylde," Anthony said. "How dare you touch her?"

Gabriel's smile was cold in the moonlight as he turned slowly to face Anthony. "We seem to have played this scene once before, Oaksley."

"And it will end the same way it did the last time." Anthony came to a halt a few paces away. His hands were clenched in fury.

"I think not," Gabriel said far too gently. "Things are a little different this time."

Phoebe was horrified. "Stop it, both of you. Anthony, Gabriel and I are friends. I will not allow you to insult him."

"Don't be a fool, Phoebe." Anthony did not look at her. "He is plotting to use you somehow. You may depend upon it. I know him well enough to guarantee that he is after either money or revenge. Probably both."

Meredith's voice called out anxiously from the shadows. "Anthony? Did you find them?" A second later she appeared from behind a row of topiary. When she saw Gabriel, she stopped short, a stricken expression on her lovely face. "Dear God. So it is true. You are back."

Gabriel glanced at her. "Did you think I would not return eventually?"

"I prayed you would not," Meredith whispered brokenly.

Phoebe was getting angrier by the minute. "This is all a grave misunderstanding. Anthony, Meredith, I insist you be polite to Gabriel."

Meredith looked at her. "Anthony is right, Phoebe. Wylde is here for only one reason. Fie wants revenge."

"I do not believe it," Phoebe declared. Defiantly she took a step closer to Gabriel. She looked up at him, frowning severely. "You won't discuss what happened eight years ago, will you?"

"None of you need be unduly alarmed," Gabriel said. He looked amused. "I have no intention of discussing ancient history." His eyes flickered across Meredith's face. "Especially such exceedingly dull ancient history."

Meredith gasped.

Anthony took a menacing step forward. "Are you insulting my sister, sir?"

"Hardly." Gabriel smiled blandly. "I was merely commenting on Lady Trowbridge's impressive virtue. A subject I can speak on with some authority."

Phoebe scowled at her brother and sister. Anthony looked frustrated and furious. Meredith just stood there, an ethereal, tragic figure with her hand at her throat.

Phoebe had had enough. She stepped in front of Gabriel, putting herself between him and the other two. "There will be no more of this nonsense. Do you hear me? I will not tolerate it. What is past is past."

"Stay out of this, Phoebe." Anthony glowered at her. "You have caused enough trouble already."

Phoebe raised her chin. "Gabriel has given his word that he will not gossip about what happened eight years ago, and that is that. From now on, you will treat him as you would any other respectable member of Society."

"The devil I will," Anthony growled.

"Dear heaven, this is a disaster," Meredith whispered.

Gabriel smiled. "Do not concern yourself, Lady Phoebe." He tugged his gloves on. "You need not protect me from your family. I assure you that this time I can take care of myself."

With a polite inclination of his head that was directed solely at her, he turned and walked into the shadows.

Chapter 7

Gabriel smiled with a curious sense of satisfaction as he opened the newspaper. At last he had the answer to what had become a pressing question during the past few days. Phoebe's eyes were the warm, golden color of fine topaz.

She reminded him of the brilliant fish in the lagoons of the South Seas. Phoebe was a creature of bright colors and shimmering hues. Last night the chandeliers had gleamed on her dark hair, causing the red fire buried there to blaze. Her vivid gown had reminded him of an island sunrise. And when he had taken her into his arms on the dance floor, he had been keenly aware of the sensual excitement that burned within him.

He wanted her more than ever. The fact that she was Clarington's daughter could not alter that. But it did not affect the situation, either, he assured himself. He could have both the woman and the revenge.

Gabriel made an effort to concentrate on his newspaper. His club was quiet this morning. The majority of such establishments were usually quiet at this hour. Most of the members were still sleeping off the effects of a late night and a prodigious quantity of alcohol. It had been eight years since he had last been here, but little had changed. That very lack of change was the sign of a good club.

His gaze skimmed across the advertisements for theater productions, horses, and houses for rent. He paused briefly to read through the list of guests who had attended a soiree the preceding evening and mentally made a note of the names.

He needed to learn his way through the intricate and sometimes dangerous maze of the Social World as quickly as possible. It was not unlike the business of learning his way in the treacherous waters of the South Seas. Pirates, sharks, and hidden reefs were plentiful in both locales.

Phoebe was right about one thing: Her status in Society would instantly open important doors. To carry out his goal of revenge, he would need to move in the same levels of the ton in which Lord Clarington and his family moved.