Anthony was also well aware that the only reason he was alive today was because Gabriel had held his fire after taking the bullet. The blood soaking through his white shirt and the stricken expression in Anthony's eyes had convinced Gabriel that three duels were three too many.

In disgust, he had aimed his pistol at the sky and discharged it. Honor had been satisfied and Gabriel had made a decision. He would never again allow his outmoded sense of chivalry guide his actions. No woman was worth this kind of nonsense.

He smiled coldly now at Anthony, watching the memories in the viscount's eyes. Satisfied, Gabriel turned and walked off without a backward glance.

Behind him he could feel Clarington and his son staring at his back in helpless outrage.

It felt good. Revenge was an extremely gratifying sensation, Gabriel decided.

Lydia, Lady Clarington, put down her teacup and peered at Phoebe through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. She wore the spectacles only in the privacy of the elegant Clarington town house and when playing cards at the home of one of her cronies. She would have died before she allowed herself to be seen wearing them in public.

Lady Clarington had been declared a diamond of the first water in her younger days. Her golden hair had now faded to silver and her once lushly rounded figure had grown a trifle plump over the years, but she was still a very attractive woman.

Phoebe privately thought her mother looked charmingly maternal and endearingly innocent in her spectacles. Lord Clarington apparently suffered from a similar illusion and had done so for the entire thirty-six years of their marriage. The earl had never made any secret of his affection for his wife. As far as Phoebe could tell, her father was still blissfully unaware of the depths of Lydia's passion for cards.

As far as Lord Clarington knew, his fashionable countess merely liked to play the occasional hand of whist at the home of friends. The staggering amounts of some of her winnings and the extent of some of her losses was a topic with which he was entirely unacquainted.

"I don't suppose," Lydia said with the unquenchable optimism of the inveterate gamester, "that Wylde had the good sense to pick up a fortune while out in the South Seas?"

"Not as far as I can tell, Mama," Phoebe said cheerfully. "You must not delude yourself on that score. I expect he is not much richer now than he was when he left England eight years ago."

"Pity. I was always rather fond of Wylde. There was something rather dangerously attractive about him. Not that he would ever have done for Meredith, of course. Would have frightened her to death. And of course he would have made a perfectly useless son-in-law from my point of view."

"Lacking a fortune, as he did. Yes, I know, Mama. Your requirements in a son-in-law have always been quite simple and straightforward."

"One must be practical about such matters. Of what use is a penniless son-in-law?"

Phoebe hid a smile as she recalled the success of Gabriel's book. "Wylde may not be completely penniless. I believe he has a small income from certain investments he has made recently."

"Bah." Lady Clarington brushed aside the notion of a pittance. "A small income will not do. You must marry a man with a respectable fortune, Phoebe. Even if I were willing to make an exception, your papa is most insistent. You must form a suitable alliance. You owe it to your family name."

"Well, there is absolutely no point even speculating on Wylde's intentions toward me, Mama. I can tell you right now that he is not the least bit interested in marriage."

Lydia eyed her closely. "Are you certain of that?"

"Quite certain. It is true we became acquainted at the Amesburys' and discovered we have mutual interests, but we are merely friends. Nothing more."

"I fear it comes down to Kilbourne, then," Lydia mused. "One could certainly do worse. A lovely title and a lovely fortune."

Phoebe decided to seize the opportunity to put her mother off the notion of the proposed alliance. "I regret to tell you, Mama, that I find Kilbourne not only pompous but something of a prig."

"What does that signify? Your father is also pompous and quite capable of giving lessons to any prig in the ton. But I manage quite nicely with him."

"Yes, I know," Phoebe said patiently, "but Papa is not without feeling. He is quite fond of you and of his three offspring."

"Well, of course he is. I should not have married him if he had not been capable of such tender sensibilities."

Phoebe picked up her teacup. "Kilbourne, I fear, is not capable of such sensibilities, Mama. I doubt, for example, that he will approve of paying off his mother-in-law's occasional debts of honor."

Lydia was instantly alarmed. "You think he will balk at the notion of making me the odd loan?"

"I fear he would, yes."

"Good heavens. I had not realized he was that much of a prig."

"It is definitely something to consider, Mama."

"Quite right." Lydia pursed her lips. "On the other hand, your father does approve of him and there is no denying it is a fine match. It is no doubt the best we can hope for, now that you are nearly five and twenty."

"I realize that, Mama. But I cannot get enthusiastic about marrying Kilbourne."

"Well, your father certainly can." Lydia brightened. "And there is every chance Kilbourne will mellow somewhat on the subject of loans after being married for a time. You can work on him, Phoebe. Convince him that you need a very sizable allowance to maintain appearances."

"And then turn around and make you loans from my sizable allowance?" Phoebe sighed. "I doubt it would be that simple, Mama."

"Nevertheless, we must not give up hope. You will learn to manage Kilbourne. You are a very managing sort, Phoebe."

Phoebe wrinkled her nose ruefully. "Thank you, Mama. Wylde implied much the same thing last night."

"Well, there is no doubt but that you have always been somewhat strong-minded, and the tendency has definitely increased as you have grown older. Women do that, naturally, but generally they are safely wed before such tendencies start to show."

"I fear it is too late for me, then," Phoebe announced as she got to her feet. "My managing tendencies are already quite plain for all to see. Now, you must excuse me."

"Where are you going?"

Phoebe moved toward the door. "Hammond's Bookshop. Mr. Hammond sent around a message saying he had some very interesting new items in stock."

Lydia gave a small exclamation. "You and your books. I do not comprehend your interest in those dirty old volumes you collect."

"I suspect my passion for them is not unlike your passion for cards, Mama."

"The thing about cards," Lydia said, "is that one can always look forward to the next winning streak. With books it is all money out the window."

Phoebe smiled. "That depends on one's point of view, Mama."

The message had not been from Mr. Hammond. It had been from Gabriel asking her to meet him at the bookseller's. Phoebe had received the note earlier that morning and had sent word back immediately that she would be there promptly at eleven.

At five minutes to the hour she alighted from her carriage on Oxford Street. She left her maid sitting in the sunshine on the bench outside the shop and sailed eagerly through the doors.

Gabriel was already there. He did not see her come in because he was busy examining an aging, leather-bound volume that Mr. Hammond was reverently placing on the counter in front of him.

Phoebe hesitated for an instant, her attention caught by the way the sunlight filtering through the high windows gleamed on Gabriel's ebony hair. He was dressed in a dark, close-fitting jacket that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and his flat stomach. His breeches and beautifully polished Hessians revealed the sleek, muscular contours of his legs.