"We'll be there, Rilkins," one of the villains growled. "Just make sure ye bring the blunt."

"I'll have it. His lordship is going to pay us very well for this day's work."

Phoebe groaned furiously and fought to free herself. It was useless.

Rilkins threw a dirty blanket over her and she was carted out into the foul-smelling alley as if she were a load of trash being removed from the bookshop.

Gabriel was relaxing in his club when Clarington approached with a thunderous scowl. Anthony was with him.

"Now, see here, Wylde, this game of yours has gone far enough," Clarington barked. He sat down abruptly. "What the devil is this about you being rich as Croesus?"

Gabriel looked up with a quizzical smile. "I'm surprised at you, Clarington. Talking about money is so very vulgar, don't you think?"

Anthony glowered. "Damnation, man, what's going on? Is it true you brought back a fortune from the South Seas?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I won't starve."

"Then what the bloody hell are you about?" Clarington demanded. "You won't be bought off and you haven't offered for Phoebe. Now we find out that you don't need her fortune, so apparently you ain't planning to run off with her. So what are you about?"

Anthony's gaze narrowed. "You've thought of another form of revenge, haven't you? It isn't money you want. You plan to seduce my sister. That's how you're going to avenge yourself on all of us. Damn it, man, have you no shame?"

"Very little," Gabriel admitted. "Strong morals are a luxury. One becomes extremely practical in a hurry when one finds oneself in the situation I was in eight years ago."

"You actually blame us for protecting her from an upstart fortune hunter such as you were then?" Anthony looked incredulous. "How the hell would you have felt if Meredith had been your sister?"

Clarington's bushy white brows snapped together. His face reddened. "Yes, by God, how would you have felt at the time if Meredith had been your daughter? You'll probably have a girl of your own someday. I'd like to see how far you'd go to protect her from fortune hunters."

A discreet cough interrupted Gabriel before he could respond.

"Ahem," the club's hall porter said. "I beg pardon, your lordships. I have a message for Lord Wylde. I am told it is important."

Gabriel glanced around and saw the note on the salver the porter was extending. He picked it up. "Who brought this, Bailey?"

"A young lad. He said he had been dispatched from your butler."

Gabriel opened the note and scanned the contents.

Sir: By the time you read this I shall be en route to A. Rilkins' Bookshop in Willard Lane to examine a manuscript that would appear to interest both of us. If you would care to view it, you may meet me there. But I warn you, when it comes to purchasing it, I have first crack at it.

Your friend, I.

"Good God." Gabriel got to his feet. "Has anyone ever heard of Willard Lane?"

"Down by the docks, I believe," Anthony said, still scowling.

"I was afraid of that," Gabriel said. He knew every important bookseller in London and he had never heard of A. Rilkins. Trust Phoebe to go tearing off to a disreputable part of town in pursuit of a manuscript.

"Sit down, Wylde. We're talking to you," Clarington ordered.

"I fear we shall have to continue this fascinating conversation some other time," Gabriel said. "I must attend to a small, rather annoying problem that has come up."

He strode swiftly past Clarington and Anthony without a backward glance. It was time he reined in the headstrong young female he intended to marry.

Chapter 10

The hackney coachman knew the location of Willard Lane. Gabriel promised him a large tip if he made good time. The man was happy to oblige.

Gabriel sat back in the seat, arms crossed, jaw rigid, and contemplated what he would say to Phoebe. The closer the hackney carriage got to Willard Lane, the more annoyed Gabriel became. He eyed the grimy taverns and coffeehouses filled with dockside workers and seamen.

This was a dangerous part of town. Phoebe should have had enough sense not to come here on her own. But common sense was not one of Phoebe's strong suits, he reminded himself. She had obviously been overindulged by her family. She had been allowed to run wild.

Once she was his wife, he was going to put a stop to her reckless ways. There would be no more dashing about in pursuit of old books on her own. If she wanted to take chances, she could bloody well take them with him.

The hackney came to a halt in a narrow street. Gabriel got out.

"Sorry, m'lord. This is as close as I can get," the coachman explained as he took Gabriel's money. "The lanes ain't much wider than alleys in this part o' town. Too narrow for this carriage. Ye'll have to walk from here."

"Very well. Wait here. I shall return shortly."

The coachman nodded obligingly and reached for the flask he kept under the box.

Gabriel spotted the stately Clarington town coach half a block away when he rounded the corner. Painted maroon and trimmed in black, it was impossible to miss. Relieved to see it, he started to cross the narrow cobbled street.

He was partway across when he noticed another carriage parked at the entrance to a nearby alley. It was a small, sleek vehicle horsed by a pair of swift-looking grays. The expensive equipage was as out of place in this neighborhood as the Clarington town coach. Gabriel took a closer look and noticed that the crest on the carriage door had been deliberately obscured with a black cloth and that the curtains were drawn. He started toward it.

At that moment he heard commotion in the alley. Ice-cold fingers gripped his insides. He had known this feeling before more than once out in the South Seas. He had learned not to ignore it.

Gabriel broke into a run. His boots rang on the cobblestones as he approached the alley.

Muttered curses and a muffled scream greeted Gabriel as he reached the narrow entrance. Two burly men were struggling with a squirming bundle wrapped in a large blanket.

Gabriel took in the scene before him in a single instant and leaped forward.

The two men were so busy trying to subdue their wriggling burden that they did not immediately sec Gabriel. He grabbed the shoulder of the first, spun him around, and drove a fist straight into the man's florid, sweating face.

The man grunted, dropped his end of the bundle, and stumbled back against the alley wall.

"What the bloody 'ell?" The other man stared for an instant and then he, too, dropped his burden. The figure in the gray cloth landed ignominiously on the dirty stones.

The second man reached into his boot and came out with a knife. He grinned evilly at Gabriel. "Ere, now, mate. I'll teach you to interfere in a private business matter."

He lunged at Gabriel, who sidestepped quickly. Gabriel reached out as the man went past and shoved hard, increasing his assailant's momentum. The man lost his balance and his footing. His boots skidded on the slimy cobblestones. He fetched up against his cohort, who was just struggling to right himself. Both men went down. The knife skittered away.

Gabriel reached into his own boot for the knife he had carried there for nearly eight years. He had picked up the habit during his first few months in the islands. Old habits were hard to break. He walked forward and held the tip of the blade to the second man's throat.

'"Ere, now, don't go gettin' excited, mate." The man smiled placatingly. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the mouthful of dark, rotting teeth that were revealed. "You want 'er, she's all yers. We was goin' to get a fair price for 'er, though from that gentry cove in the fancy carnage. Don't suppose you could make things even by meetin" is price?"