"So you survived your swim, after all, Baxter."

"As you see." Neil gave a mocking little bow.

"Take some advice," Gabriel said. "If you would go on surviving, stay away from my wife."

"It seems to me that what happens is up to Phoebe," Neil said. "Her position is very similar to that of the legendary Guinevere's, is it not? I believe I find myself playing Lancelot to your Arthur, Wylde. And we all know what happened in that tale. The lady betrayed her lord and gave herself to her lover."

Phoebe was outraged at the implication that she would betray Gabriel. "Stop this nonsense at once, both of you. I will not have it."

Neither Gabriel nor Neil paid her any heed.

"Unlike Arthur, I am prepared to protect my lady," Gabriel said quietly. "Arthur made the mistake of trusting Lancelot. I won't make that mistake because I have the advantage of already knowing you are a liar, a murderer, and a thief."

Neil's eyes flickered with fury. "Phoebe will realize the truth soon enough. Her heart is pure. Even you could not corrupt her, Wylde."

He turned on his heel and walked away.

Phoebe realized she was holding her breath. When Gabriel made to drag her off the dance floor, she felt her left leg buckle. He caught her instantly.

"Are you all right?" he demanded.

"Yes, but I would appreciate it if you would cease hauling me across the room like this, Wylde. People are starting to stare."

"Let them stare."

Phoebe sighed. He was going to be impossible. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Just as well," Phoebe said. "The evening has certainly been ruined."

How in bloody hell had Baxter survived? Gabriel wondered. By rights the man should have been dead.

Gabriel watched Phoebe closely as the carriage rumbled through the crowded streets. He did not have a clue as to what she was thinking. The realization that he did not know how she was reacting to the fact that Baxter was alive alarmed him as nothing else could have done.

It seemed to Gabriel that he had been doing battle with Baxter's ghost since the first time he had met Phoebe. Baxter had always been there, hovering in the background. It had been bad enough dealing with Phoebe's memories of him. Now Gabriel found himself dealing with the man in the flesh. Why couldn't the bastard have stayed dead?

Gabriel's fingers tightened on the carved grip of his walking stick. He was impatient to get Phoebe home, but they were not making swift progress. Elegant lacquered coaches and fancy gigs of all sorts clogged the path. It was nearly midnight and the ton was in full motion, moving from one soiree to another in a frenzy that would not end until dawn.

It would have been a good deal faster to walk home, but Phoebe was wearing only a pair of satin dancing slippers that would have been cut to ribbons in minutes on the pavement. And, too, there was always the problem of footpads. The streets were not safe, Gabriel reminded himself.

And neither were the ballrooms.

Of the two, Gabriel decided, he would have preferred to take his chances on the streets.

Baxter was supposed to be dead.

Gabriel eyed Phoebe's unreadable expression. "What did he say to you?"

"He did not say very much," Phoebe said slowly. She was staring out the window. "To be perfectly frank, I had difficulty taking in what he did say. It was such a shock to see him there. I could not believe it."

"Phoebe, tell me exactly what he said to you."

She turned her head and met his eyes. "He said he was not a pirate."

Gabriel glanced down at his hand and saw that he had clenched it into a fist around his walking stick. He forced himself to relax his fingers. "He would deny it, of course."

"Yes, I suppose so. What pirate would admit to his villainy?"

"What else did he say to you?"

Phoebe caught her lower lip between her teeth. Gabriel was coming to know that expression well. It meant she was thinking. He groaned inwardly. Phoebe was always at her most dangerous when she was thinking. The lady was far too intelligent for her own good and she had an imagination which rivaled his own.

"He said," Phoebe murmured, "that you were the scourge of lawful shipping in the islands, not him."

Gabriel had known this was coming, but the foreknowledge did nothing to lessen his fury. "Damn the man. Damn him to bloody hell. He is a liar as well as a murderer. You did not believe him, of course."

"No, of course not." Phoebe's gaze slid away from his. She went back to studying the dark, crowded streets.

Gabriel's stomach clenched. It was not like Phoebe to avoid his gaze. He reached out and caught hold of her gloved hand. "Phoebe, look at me."

She glanced at him through her lashes, her eyes clearly troubled. "Yes, my lord?"

"You did not believe him, did you?" Even as he said the words, Gabriel knew they sounded more like a command than a question.

"No, my lord." She looked down at her hand, which had been swallowed up in his. "Gabriel, you're hurting me."

He realized he was crushing her fingers. He released her hand reluctantly. He must stay calm and in control. He could not allow emotion to cloud his judgment and influence his actions. There was far too much at stake. He forced himself to lean back in the seat and assume what he hoped was a bored expression.

"Forgive me, my dear. Baxter's return from the dead has been unsettling for both of us. The man always was something of an inconvenience."

"Gabriel, I must ask you a question."

"Yes?"

"Is there any possibility, any chance at all, that you were perhaps wrong about Neil's occupation out there in the islands?"

Goddamn the man. In the space of one waltz he had accomplished a great deal. But then, Baxter had always had a way with women.

"No," Gabriel said, willing her to believe him. "Baxter was a damned pirate. There is no question about it."

"I was rather hoping there had been some sort of terrible misunderstanding."

"If you had seen the bodies of the dead men Baxter left behind when he had finished with his work, you would not suggest there had been a misunderstanding."

Phoebe looked stricken. "Dead men?"

"I regret that you are forcing me to be unpleasantly blunt about this. If you do not wish to hear any more of the details, you must accept what I have told you. Baxter was a cutthroat. Did you think such men went about their business in a gallant fashion?"

"Well, no, of course not, but—"

"There is nothing in the least romantic about piracy. It is a bloody business."

"I realize that."

But he could see the doubt in her eyes. Obviously she could not envision her precious Neil Baxter as a monster. "Phoebe, pay close attention to me, because I do not want to have to repeat this. You are to stay away from Baxter. Do you understand?"

"I hear you, my lord."

"You are to have nothing to do with him."

"You make yourself very plain, sir."

"The man is a consummate liar. And he hates me. It is perfectly possible he will try to use you in some fashion to avenge himself on me. You heard what he said about playing Lancelot to my Arthur."

Phoebe's eyes flashed with anger. "I am not Guinevere, my lord. I would not betray you with another man, regardless of the circumstances." Her expression softened. "You can trust me, Gabriel."

"I have always found that it is better not to put such delicate things as trust to the test, You are not to go anywhere near Baxter. You will not dance with him again. You will not speak to him. You will not acknowledge his presence in any fashion. Is that clear?"

Phoebe veiled her eyes with her lashes. "My family once tried to give me similar orders regarding you, Gabriel."

He raised his brows. "And you did not obey them. I am very well aware of that fact. But you will obey me in this. You are my wife."