"Why should I?" Gabriel asked politely.

"For the sake of what we once had," Meredith cried.

"We did not have all that much, as I recall." Gabriel studied her beautiful, tear-filled eyes and wondered offhandedly what he had ever seen in Meredith. He reflected briefly on the narrow escape he'd had eight years ago and sent up a small prayer of gratitude to whichever saint watched over naive young men.

"Please, my lord. Think of Phoebe."

"It is difficult not to," Gabriel admitted. "She is a very interesting female."

"And an innocent one," Meredith put in quickly.

Gabriel shrugged. "If you say so."

Meredith stared at him in shocked outrage. "Are you implying otherwise, sir?"

"No." Gabriel thought about Neil Baxter, wondering not for the first time just how deeply Phoebe had cared for the man. "Phoebe and I have never discussed the matter in detail."

"I should hope not," Lydia said sternly. "My daughter may be a trifle eccentric, sir, but she is a perfectly respectable young female. Her reputation is unstained."

"Eccentric? I would suggest she is more than a trifle eccentric," Gabriel retorted.

Lydia shrugged elegantly. "Very well. She has a few unusual interests, the blame for which I lay at your door. But I am certain those can be overlooked by the right man."

"It is not just her unusual interests that would concern me if I were responsible for her," Gabriel said.

"Oh, all right. I will admit she is a bit strong-minded on occasion," Lydia conceded. "Perhaps even a shade willful. And she does have a certain independent attitude that some might find objectionable, but there is nothing significant in that."

"Good lord." Gabriel realized Phoebe's family had no notion of just how outrageous she had become. He wondered what Lady Clarington would say were he to inform her that her youngest daughter had taken to meeting men at midnight and setting out on quests to find murderers.

Meredith gave Gabriel a piteous glance. "Sir, will you please give us your word that you will not continue to encourage this friendship with my sister? We both know you are not sincere in it."

"Is that right?" Gabriel asked.

Meredith sniffed into her hankie. "I am not a fool, sir. And neither are the other members of my family. We all know you have revenge in mind. I beg you on bended knee to reconsider that notion. Phoebe does not deserve to suffer for what happened."

"Perhaps not, but one must work with the material that is available," Gabriel said.

At ten-thirty that evening Gabriel propped one shoulder against the wall of the Brantleys' magnificent ballroom and sipped champagne. He was wearing a simple black mask and a black cloak over his evening clothes. Many of the guests, however, were dressed in amazingly elaborate costumes.

He had spotted Phoebe a few minutes ago, shortly after he had arrived. Given what he knew of her interests and her taste in colors, it had not been difficult to find her in the crowd.

She was wearing a high, wide medieval headdress and a gold half mask. Her sleek, dark hair was bound up in a net that glittered with gold thread. Her brilliant turquoise and gold gown was also medieval in style. Her gold satin dancing slippers sparkled as she moved through the crowd on the arm of a man in a brown domino.

Gabriel recognized her companion at once. The brown half mask and matching cloak did not do much to conceal Kilbourne's fair hair or the painfully polite expression on his face.

Gabriel smiled to himself. Phoebe was obviously having a good time, but it was apparent that Kilbourne was merely enduring the masquerade.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed as he watched Kilbourne attempt to pull Phoebe closer to his side. The sight of Phoebe's fingers resting on the earl's sleeve annoyed him. He recalled what Lady Clarington had said about the prospects of Kilbourne making an offer.

Gabriel put down his champagne glass and walked across the crowded room to where Kilbourne and Phoebe stood talking.

Phoebe looked up as he approached. He saw her topaz eyes flash with recognition behind her half mask. Her soft mouth curved into a delighted smile.

"Good evening, Lord Wylde," Phoebe said. "Are you acquainted with Kilbourne?"

"We've met." Kilbourne nodded brusquely. "Same clubs, I believe."

"Good evening, Kilbourne," Gabriel said. He turned to Phoebe. "I wonder if I might have the next dance, Lady Phoebe?"

"Now, see here, sir," Kilbourne sputtered. "Lady Phoebe is not entirely comfortable on the dance floor."

"Rubbish," Phoebe declared. "I would love to dance." She smiled cheerfully at Kilbourne. "Perhaps I shall see you later, sir."

Kilbourne's irritation was obvious as he inclined his head politely over her hand. "I shall be eagerly awaiting another opportunity to converse with you, Lady Phoebe. As I was saying a moment ago, I would like to speak to you in private later this evening."

"We shall see," Phoebe said noncommittally as she accepted Gabriel's arm.

Gabriel felt a surge of satisfaction at having successfully removed Phoebe from Kilbourne's vicinity. He swung her into the first turn of the waltz, sensed her momentary awkwardness, and steadied her instantly. It was an easy task. She was as light as thistledown.

Phoebe glowed up at him. "I am pleased to see you here, my lord. Have you any news for me of our quest?"

Gabriel's hand tightened on her waist. "Is your quest all you can think about, Phoebe?"

"What else would you have me think about?"

"How about Kilbourne's impending offer? I should think that would be a subject of some interest to you."

Phoebe blinked behind her golden mask. "What do you know of Lord Kilbourne's intentions?"

"Your mother informed me today that she is hoping he can be brought up to scratch."

"Good heavens. My mother came to see you?"

"And your sister."

Phoebe chewed anxiously on her lower lip. "I do hope you were not put off the quest by anything they had to say, sir. I assured you I would manage my family. You must not let them intimidate you."

"Believe me, Phoebe, I am not intimidated by your family. But I was interested to hear that you are on the point of marriage."

Phoebe chuckled. "I am nowhere near the point of marriage, my lord. I can assure you that if and when Kilbourne gets around to making an offer, I shall politely refuse."

"Why?" Gabriel demanded. He realized he suddenly had to discover all he could about Phoebe's relationship with Kilbourne.

Phoebe rolled her eyes behind her mask. "If you have known Kilbourne for any length of time at all, you must see that he would make me an abominable husband."

Gabriel scowled. "He's a marquess and, from all accounts, an extremely wealthy one at that."

"The man is a prig. Believe me, I recognize the species and I have no intention of marrying one, I cannot imagine being tied to such a pompous, unbending creature for the rest of my life. It would be hell on earth."

"In other words," Gabriel said, "you fear he will not allow you to continue in your reckless ways, is that it? No more midnight meetings with strangers and no more quests."

"Kilbourne would not stop there. He is a very straitlaced, very disapproving sort of man. He tries to hide it now, because he is courting me, but I know-that if we were to marry, he would try to choose my friends and dictate the cut of my gowns. I would have no freedom whatsoever."

"And you value your freedom?"

"Very much. Mama assures me that it is possible for an intelligent woman to manage a man such as Kilbourne, but I am not taking any chances." Phoebe smiled. "Do you know, my lord, that Kilbourne does not even approve of books such as yours? I believe he would actually try to prohibit me from reading them."

Something inside Gabriel untwisted. Pie smiled slowly. "In that case I must agree with you. Kilbourne would make you an abominable husband."