The notion of having been wrong about Gabriel all these years was too staggeringly terrible to even contemplate. She was married to the man. Her future was now inexorably linked with his. She had to find a way to uncover the noble, idealistic knight she knew lay beneath the cynical exterior.

Raging at him and calling him a coward to his face was probably not a promising way to go about the task.

The object sailed through the open window without a sound. Phoebe was unaware anything had been thrown into the room from the street below until she heard a soft thud on the bed.

Startled, she swung around and stood staring into the shadows of the room. Whatever it was had rolled over to the edge of the mattress. For an instant she saw nothing at all. She sincerely hoped it was not a bat.

In the very next heartbeat there was a soft, muffled rush of sound. Without any warning, orange flames sprang up. They were curiously silent as they began feeding voraciously on the lace that edged the counterpane.

In another few minutes the fire would envelop the bed.

Phoebe broke through the shock that gripped her. She dashed across the room and seized the pitcher that stood beside the basin.

"Gabriel," she yelled as she hurled the contents of the pitcher over the flames.

The door slammed open. "What the hell …?" He took in the sight of the leaping flames. "Christ. Get the pitcher from my room and then rouse the household. Quickly, Phoebe."

Phoebe raced into the other bedchamber, grabbed the pitcher, and hurried back. Gabriel already had the burning counterpane off the bed. He was smothering the flames by rolling them up inside the heavy fabric.

Phoebe handed him the pitcher of water and flew out of the room to wake the staff.

The damage was minimal. Gabriel's fury was not.

An hour after the fire was safely out and the staff had returned to their beds, he was still inwardly raging against the near disaster. He sprawled in his chair, brandy glass in his hand, and stared broodingly at Phoebe. She was sitting on top of his bed, her feet curled under her. She had a thoughtful expression on her face as she sipped the brandy he had given her.

He had nearly lost her this time, too. The knowledge sent a shudder through Gabriel's soul.

All he could think about was what a near thing it had been. If Phoebe had been asleep, she might not have awakened in time to save herself. He might not have smelled the smoke here in his own room until it was too late.

Thank God she had been awake.

"I am not going to let you out of my sight again," Gabriel said, half under his breath. He downed the last of his brandy.

"What was that, Gabriel?" Phoebe glanced at him.

"It must have been that crazed housemaid who took you down into the catacombs at Devil's Mist."

"You mean Alice?"

Gabriel turned the brandy glass around in his hands. "That madwoman must have followed us to London. For some reason she wants to frighten you. Perhaps harm you. It makes no sense."

"Madness seldom does make sense. If it did, we would not call it madness."

"But why has she focused her madness on you? You don't even know the woman."

"The person who threw that lantern through the window might not have been Alice," Phoebe said slowly. "It could have been anyone. Perhaps a gang of villains were out on the town tonight, looking for trouble. You know how it is when the mob is in full cry. They throw rocks through windows, start fires, and cause all manner of destruction."

"For God's sake, Phoebe, there was no mob outside your window. We heard no noise."

"That's true," she admitted. She chewed reflectively on her lip. "I've been thinking about something."

"What's that?" Gabriel got to his feet and paced impatiently to the window. He had been examining the street below every few minutes in hopes of seeing someone or something that might give him a clue.

"This business with the fire tonight."

"What about it?"

"Well," Phoebe said slowly, "it bears a rather striking resemblance to the incident in which I escaped the catacombs by swimming out through the cavern."

Gabriel scowled over his shoulder. "In what way?"

"Don't you see? It's another of the curses spelled out at the end of The Lady in the Tower."

"Bloody hell. That's impossible. I refuse to drag the supernatural element into this on top of everything else. Damnation, Phoebe, I don't even use the supernatural in my own writing."

"Yes, I know. But remember how the colophon goes?" Phoebe jumped up off the bed and disappeared into her own room. She returned a moment later with The Lady in the Tower.

"Phoebe, this is ridiculous."

"Listen to this." Phoebe settled herself on the bed again and opened the old book to the last page. "A curse on he who would steal this book. May he drown beneath the waves. May he be consumed by flames. May he spend an eternal night in hell."

"Devil take it, Phoebe. That's nonsense." Gabriel paused. "Unless, of course, Alice knows about the curse and in her madness is attempting to make it come true."

"How would she know about it?" Phoebe closed the book carefully.

"The Lady in the Tower has been in my possession for the entire time I've been back in England. It's possible someone on my staff has taken the liberty of going through the contents of my library. He or she might have told Alice about it."

Phoebe's brows drew together. "Even if that were so, the curse is written in Old French. What are the odds that a member of your staff could read it?"

"A good question." Gabriel studied the dark street again. "And who the hell is Alice?"

"I do not know, Gabriel. I have wracked my brain and I am absolutely certain I have never met her."

"She didn't work in your parents' household at some point in the past?"

"No."

"There has got to be a connection."

"Gabriel?"

"Yes?" He did not turn around; his mind was whirling with conjectures and possibilities. A connection. There had to be a connection between the book and Alice and the incidents.

"I hesitate to mention this because I know you are already biased in your opinion of Neil, but—"

A cold chill sliced through Gabriel. He spun around and advanced toward the bed. "What the devil does Baxter have to do with all this?"

"Nothing." Phoebe straightened in alarm as he bore down on the bed. "At least, I do not think he has anything to do with it. No, I am certain he doesn't."

"But?"

Phoebe swallowed. "But he told me that night he danced with me that he wanted The Lady in the Tower back. He said he felt it was rightfully his and that as it was all he would ever have of me, the least I could do was give it to him."

"Goddamn his bloody soul."

"Gabriel, you must not jump to any conclusions. Only think, my lord, the first incident happened at Devil's Mist, before we even knew Neil was still alive. And it was Alice who took me down into those catacombs, not Neil."

"Then there is some connection between Alice and Baxter," Gabriel said with savage satisfaction. "All I have to do is find it."

"My lord, I really do not think we should assume there is a connection at this stage," Phoebe said quickly. "Neil's interest in the book is sentimental in nature."

"Baxter has all the tender sensibilities of a shark."

Phoebe's mouth tightened. "Whatever you may think of him, the fact is he would have no.reason to harm me."

"He has a reason to harm me and he is smart enough to know he can use you to do it."

"You cannot prove anything, Gabriel."

"I shall find the connection between Alice and Baxter. When I have that, I shall have my proof."

"Gabriel, you are obsessed with casting Neil in the role of the villain. You frighten me."