Once he was inside those exclusive doors, Gabriel reflected, his title and fortune would secure him a virtually invulnerable position from which to carry out his assault on Clarington's clan.

"Wylde. So my son was correct. You're back."

Gabriel lowered his newspaper slowly, fighting back a wave of fierce satisfaction. Clarington was here. The battle had begun.

He looked up with polite resignation, as if it were the most boring task in the world. He found himself gazing at his old enemy. "Good day, my lord. Kind of you to drop by to welcome me back to Town."

"I see you are just as insolent as ever." Clarington sat down across from Gabriel.

"I would not wish to disappoint you."

Gabriel examined his old nemesis curiously. Like the club, the Earl of Clarington had changed little in the past eight years. Although he was at least sixty and had put on some weight around his midsection, he was still endowed with the air of pompous arrogance Gabriel recalled so well.

Clarington had been born and bred to the title. He had imbibed five generations of history and social status while still in his cradle and he was determined to make certain his entire family carried on in his footsteps. Gabriel knew that Clarington's guiding goal in life was to see to it that nothing disgraced the title.

Clarington was an imposing man physically. He was tall, almost as tall as Gabriel. His beak of a nose dominated a face that reflected unwavering determination and pride. His piercing blue eyes were filled with the keen intelligence that characterized the whole family. They were also filled with bottomless disapproval as he glared at Gabriel.

"I say, don't suppose you've done anything much to improve yourself while you've been out of the country," Clarington said.

"Now, why would I want to improve myself? So much easier to run off with an heiress."

"So that's your game." Clarington appeared grimly satisfied at having his worst fears confirmed. "Anthony said as much. He saw you virtually drag my youngest daughter into the garden last night."

"I did not precisely drag her out into the garden." Gabriel smiled briefly. "She went along quite willingly, as I recall."

"You, sir, took advantage of her somewhat impulsive nature."

"Somewhat impulsive? I'm not sure I'd characterize Phoebe as being merely somewhat impulsive. I'd say she has a definite talent for sheer recklessness."

Clarington's gaze turned glacial and his whiskers twitched. "Now, see here, Wylde. Don't think I'll stand by and let you run off with my Phoebe. You won't get away with it any more than you did when you tried to carry off my eldest daughter."

"Perhaps I don't wish to run off with you Phoebe. After all, if I marry her, I'll be stuck with her for life, will I not? No offense, sir, but my impression of your youngest daughter thus far is that she would not make the most biddable and obedient of wives."

Clarington sputtered furiously. "How dare you make such a personal remark!"

"In fact," Gabriel continued thoughtfully, "I believe it would be safe to say that Lady Phoebe would be a definite handful for any man. No, I am not at all certain I wish to take on the task of marrying her. But who knows how I shall feel about the matter after 1 have had an opportunity to consider it more closely?"

"Damn you, Wylde. What are you up to?"

"I'm sure you will understand when I tell you I do not intend to discuss my plans for the future with you."

"You've got some foul scheme afoot, by God." Clarington's bushy white brows bounced up and down with the force of his anger. "I warn you, you'll not get your hands on my Phoebe or her inheritance."

"Why are you so hostile, Clarington? You must admit I'm a much better catch this time."

"Bah. Rubbish. You may have a title, but you haven't got a penny to go with it, have you? I know for a fact that there was no fortune or property left with the Wylde title. I checked into the matter."

"Very far-sighted of you, Clarington. But then, you always were a prudent man. You must have guessed you'd see me again one of these days."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel saw the earl's son walk through the doors of the club at that moment. Anthony surveyed the uncrowded room, spotted his father and Gabriel, and hurried forward. He appeared as angry as he had been the preceding evenin?;

"I see you found him, sir." Anthony sank down into the chair beside his father. "Have you had a chance to ask him what he thinks he's up to hanging around Phoebe?"

"I know damn well what he's up to." Clarington's eyes snapped with rage. "Thinks he can run off with her just as he tried to do with Meredith. Thinks he'll get his hands on her inheritance that way."

Anthony glowered at Gabriel. "Give it up, Wylde. Go hunt some other innocent. There's always an heiress or two running about in Society whose father will trade her money for a title."

"I shall bear that in mind," Gabriel said politely. He picked up his newspaper and started to read.

"Damnation, man, is it just the money you want this time?" Clarington thundered softly. "Do you expect me to buy you off? Is that it?"

"Now, there's an interesting thought." Gabriel did not look up from the paper.

"If that's the case, then you are even more despicable than I had thought," Clarington rasped. "Last time at least you were too proud to accept money to stay away from one of my daughters."

"A man learns to be practical in the South Seas."

"Hah. Practical, indeed. You have truly sunk to the depths, Wylde. You are a disgrace to your title. Well, you won't be the first upstart I've paid to stay clear of Phoebe. She does seem to attract bounders of the worst sort. How much do you want?"

Gabriel looked up, immediately intrigued. "Who else were you obliged to buy off, Clarington?"

Anthony frowned. "I think that's enough on that subject. It's a family matter and does not concern you."

Clarington squared his shoulders. "My son is right. I don't intend to discuss such matters with you, sir."

"Was it Neil Baxter, by any chance?" Gabriel asked softly.

Clarington's expression of outrage was all the answer Gabriel required. Anthony swore under his breath and reached for a bottle of port that stood nearby.

"I said I do not intend to discuss such personal matters with you," Clarington repeated in a stony voice. "Name your price, man."

"There is no need to state it." Gabriel put down his newspaper, rose to his feet, and picked up the bundle he had placed on the small table beside his chair. "Rest assured, Clarington, you do not possess a large enough fortune to buy me off this time. Now, you must both excuse me. I have an appointment."

"Hold on, there, Wylde." Anthony set his glass down swiftly and got to his feet. "I give you fair warning. If you insult my sister, I will call you out, just as I did the last time."

Gabriel paused. "Ah, but the outcome might be considerably different this time, Oaksley. I find that I am no longer quite as indulgent as I once was."

Anthony turned a dull red. Gabriel knew the other man was recalling their dawn meeting eight years ago. It had been the viscount's first duel, but it had been Gabriel's third.

Driven as he was in those days by his naive sense of chivalry, Gabriel had already managed to get involved in two previous dawn appointments. On both occasions he had been defending a lady's name.

He had won both duels without having to kill his opponent, but he had begun to wonder how long his luck would last. He had also begun to wonder whether any woman was worth the risk. None of the ladies involved appeared to appreciate his efforts on their behalf. On that cold, gray October morning eight years ago, Gabriel had concluded that he'd had enough of duels over females.

Anthony had been resolute, but he had also been extremely nervous. He had been too quick off the mark that morning. The viscount had fired wildly. It was purest chance, not good aim, that had caused the bullet to strike Gabriel's shoulder, and both men knew it.