The sense of unreality grew more oppressive as dusk fell. Fog rolled in from the sea, blanketing the Sussex landscape in a gray mist. Phoebe shivered, aware of the chill that was seeping through her heavy traveling gown.

She was trying to think of a way to break the hard silence between herself and Gabriel when she spotted the hulking outline of an old castle looming up out of the mist. In the odd evening light, it might have been an illusion, an enchanted castle out of a medieval tale.

Phoebe straightened with sudden interest. "Good heavens, Gabriel, What is that?"

"That's Devil's Mist."

"Your home?" She turned to him in delight. "You live in a castle?"

His mouth curved faintly for the first time since he had plucked her out of the tavern's public room. "I had a feeling it would appeal to you."

Phoebe felt her spirits revive like flowers in the sun. "This is wonderful. I had no notion you lived in such a marvelous place. Although now that I think about it, it suits you."

"It suits you, too, Phoebe."

"Yes," she agreed, utterly enthralled. "I have always wished to live in a castle."

Phoebe was still bubbling over with enthusiasm an hour later as she and Gabriel sat down to dinner. Gabriel hid a smile of satisfaction as he studied her. His new wife already looked very much at home here in his cavernous dining room.

His wife. A fierce anticipation gripped Gabriel as he gazed at her. Soon she would be his.

Phoebe's soft, gently rounded shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts were as pale as moonlight in the glow of the candles. The fiery highlights in her dark hair gleamed. Her topaz eyes were brilliant and mysterious. He could sec the slight flush on her checks and he knew she was thinking about the wedding night that lay ahead.

He had a sudden fierce urge to pick her up in his arms and carry her straight upstairs to bed. Soon, he promised himself. Very soon she would be completely his.

"I love Devil's Mist, my lord," Phoebe said as the butler poured wine into her glass. "I cannot wait to see all of it in the morning."

"I shall take you on a tour after breakfast," Gabriel promised. "You shall see everything, including the catacombs below."

"Catacombs?" Phoebe was clearly fascinated.

"At one time they were no doubt used as storage rooms and dungeons," Gabriel explained. "But I call them catacombs because that is what they remind me of. The only rule is that you must never go down there alone."

"Why not?"

"It's dangerous," Gabriel explained. "It's full of secret passageways and doors that can only be opened and closed by hidden mechanisms."

Phoebe's eyes widened. "How exciting. I cannot wait to explore the place."

"Immediately after breakfast, my dear." Breakfast would be very late tomorrow, he vowed to himself. He had no intention of rising early, not with Phoebe in his bed.

"Wherever did you acquire all that wonderful armor in the main hall?" Phoebe asked as she accepted a portion of veal pie from the footman. "I vow it is the most wonderful collection I have ever seen."

"Here and there."

"And that motto carved over the door. Audeo. Is that the traditional motto of the earls of Wylde?"

"It is now," Gabriel said.

Phoebe looked up sharply. "You mean you invented it yourself?"

"Yes."

She smiled, vastly pleased. "It means 'I dare, does it not?"

"Yes."

"I must say it is a perfect motto for you, my lord."

"I believe it suits you, too, madam," Gabriel said deliberately.

Phoebe glowed. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes."

"That is very flattering, my lord." She chuckled. "But I had the impression that you were not quite so pleased with my daring earlier today. Do you know, I rather thought you were going to be extremely unpleasant about the whole thing. Well, that business is all behind us now, is it not?"

Gabriel sent the butler and the footman from the room with a small nod. When the door closed behind them, he leaned back in his chair and picked up his wineglass.

"About that business, Phoebe," he said quietly.

"Yes, my lord?" She seemed suddenly very occupied with her veal pie.

Gabriel hesitated, remembering the thoughts that had tormented him as he chased after Phoebe. "I am not really as bad as Kilbourne, you know."

Phoebe's fork paused halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowered it. "That was unkind of me. Of course you are not as bad as Kilbourne. I would never have married you if I thought you were as nasty as he is."

"You might have been forced to marry him if he had succeeded in carrying you off." Gabriel heard the edge on his own words, but he could not keep it out of his voice. Every time he thought of Kilbourne attempting to kidnap Phoebe, he went cold inside.

"I would not have married Kilbourne, regardless of whether or not he had kidnapped me," Phoebe said with a tiny shudder. "I would have preferred to live the rest of my life as a recluse in disgrace."

"Your family would have insisted that you marry him."

"They might have insisted, but I would never have agreed."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You tried to avoid marriage to me, but you did not succeed."

Phoebe blushed and looked down at her plate. "I did not try very hard, my lord."

Gabriel's fingers tightened on his wineglass. "You ran away from me, Phoebe."

"Only because I wanted some time to think. I did not like the way everyone seemed to be making decisions for me. But by the time the wheel broke on the stage, I knew I had made a mistake."

"What convinced you that you had made a mistake?"

Phoebe toyed with her food. Then she looked up and her eyes met his. "I realized I was not opposed to the notion of marriage to you."

"Why not?"

"I think you know the answer to that, my lord."

He smiled whimsically. "Let me guess. You married me in order to acquire access to the contents of my library?"

Phoebe's eyes lit with amusement. "Not entirely, my lord, although now that you mention it, I must admit your library is one of your most interesting assets."

Gabriel pushed aside his plate and folded his arms on the table. "Did you marry me because you want to experience more of what you felt that night in Brantley's maze?"

Phoebe turned pink. "As I said at the time, that was very pleasant, my lord, but I would not have married for the sole purpose of repeating the experience."

"Then why did you marry me?"

Phoebe took a very large swallow of wine. She set the glass down with a small touch of defiance. "Because I am extremely fond of you, my lord. As you very well know."

"Fond of me?"

"Yes." She fiddled with her fork.

"Are you more fond of me than you were of Neil Baxter?"

Phoebe frowned. "Of course. Neil was very kind to me and he was interested in medieval literature. But the truth is that I did not love him. He was never more than a friend as far as I was concerned. That is one of the reasons I feel so guilty about his fate, you see. After all, he left England because he was determined to find a way to win my hand."

"Phoebe, your father paid Baxter a handsome sum to leave England," Gabriel said bluntly. "That's the reason Baxter went off to the South Seas. His courtship of you was a ploy to get money out of your family.

Phoebe did not move. Her eyes widened in bewildered distress. "I do not believe you."

"Then ask your father." Gabriel took a swallow of wine. "Clarington was the one who told me the truth. He was trying to buy me off at the time and rather casually mentioned that the technique had worked on Baxter."

"My father never said anything about paying Neil to leave England."

"Your father was no doubt attempting to protect your feelings," Gabriel said gruffly. "He probably knew you would be hurt if you discovered Baxter had never had any honorable intentions toward you. Of course poor Clarington does not know you've been on a quest to find the man you think killed Baxter. If your father had known that, he might have told you the full truth."