She would not dare lock her door against him tonight, he thought. She was his wife.
But even as he tried to reassure himself on that score, Gabriel knew Phoebe was quite capable of refusing to grant him his rights as a husband.
Hell, she was capable of almost anything.
An hour later he discovered that she had not locked her bedroom door. She was not even in her bedroom.
Gabriel tore the castle apart, looking for her. He finally realized she had retreated to the tower room he used as a study. She had locked herself inside.
Gabriel pounded on the door. "Phoebe, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I am going to spend the night in here, Gabriel," she called back. "I want to think. I must sort this all out for myself."
Gabriel remembered the copy of The Lady in the Tower that was sitting in one of the bookcases. If she found it, she would probably never speak to him again.
She would never understand why it was in his possession. She would believe the worst. And in this case the worst was the simple truth. Lie had been responsible for Neil Baxter's death.
Gabriel went cold at the thought of the impending disaster. That was when he discovered that he, too, was capable of almost anything.
Phoebe lit the fire that had been laid on the hearth. Then she got to her feet and surveyed the small stone room in the light of the flames. She knew at once that this had to be Gabriel's study.
She felt like a trespasser, but at the same time she was irresistibly intrigued by the knowledge that this room was so intimately connected to Gabriel. She could feel the heart and soul of him in here.
She had stumbled onto the tower room by accident when she had set out searching for a refuge. She had brought a pillow and a quilt with her because she fully intended to spend the night here. There had been no doubt in her mind but that Gabriel would try to exercise his marital rights tonight. He was, after all, a very sensual man. He was also not a man to ignore a clear challenge, and she had virtually issued him one.
It was always a mistake to issue a challenge to a knight-errant.
Perhaps if she had tried explaining herself to him, she might have avoided the confrontation, Phoebe thought. But it was too late now. The damage had been done. Besides, she had not been in a mood to explain anything. She had been too hurt and too angry—
When she thought of the months she had wasted feeling guilty because of Neil Baxter, she wanted to scream. Had he really lied to her? It was difficult to believe. Surely there was some explanation for what had happened.
When she thought of how Gabriel had tricked her into believing he was going to help her on her quest, she wanted to cry. Gabriel definitely had lied to her. That was what hurt the most.
Of course, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she had to admit she had kept him in the dark about one or two matters right from the start. Not that she had ever intended to mislead him, she thought. It had just sort of happened due to an unfortunate set of circumstances over which she'd had little control.
As far as she could determine, Gabriel had no such excuse. But perhaps he did not see it in that light.
It was all too much to deal with on top of everything else that had happened today. She needed time to reflect. Time to decide what to do next. Somehow she had to find a way to make her marriage work.
She sat down behind Gabriel's desk. This was where he wrote, she realized. She felt oddly close to him as she sat there in the firelit room. She reached out to pick up one of his pens. He used these to create legends. The knowledge awed her.
A scraping sound outside the window jolted her out of her reverie. Startled, Phoebe dropped the pen and got to her feet. Her hand went to her throat when she heard the noise again.
It was not a tree branch rasping against the stone, she realized. This room was three stories off the ground and there were no trees outside the window.
The sliding, seraping sound came again. Phoebe swallowed uneasily. She did not believe in ghosts, she reminded herself. But this was a very old castle and it had certainly seen its share of violence and bloodshed.
There was a soft thud as a dark shape landed on the narrow ledge. A hand shoved hard against the window. Phoebe backed quickly toward the door, fumbling for the lock. Her mouth opened on a scream.
The tower window slammed open and Gabriel vaulted into the room. A long, thick rope drifted in the opening behind him. Phoebe realized it was suspended from the roof. She gazed at him in open-mouthed amazement and dawning horror.
"Good evening, madam wife." Gabriel's eyes glittered in the firelight as he coolly removed his gloves. He was not even breathing heavily. He had removed his jacket and cravat to make the descent. His white shirt was streaked with dirt and his boots were badly scuffed. "I suppose I should not be surprised to learn that your taste in wedding nights runs toward the bizarre."
Phoebe finally found her voice. "Gabriel. You bloody idiot. My God, you could have been killed."
She rushed past him and leaned out the window. The heavy rope dangled from high overhead. It was a very long way to the ground. Phoebe closed her eyes as terrible images appeared in her mind. She could easily visualize Gabriel's body lying broken on the courtyard stones.
"I'm glad you have the fire going." Gabriel held his hands out to the names. "It's rather chilly out there tonight."
Phoebe ducked her head back inside the window and whirled to face him. "You came down from the roof."
He shrugged. "It was the only way. The door to this room appeared to be locked. An accident, no doubt."
Phoebe lost her temper. "You risked your neck just to exercise your husbandly rights?" she yelled.
Gabriel's eyes roved possessively over her. "I cannot think of a better reason."
"Are you mad?" Phoebe wanted to throw something. "Of all the stupid, witless, brainless things to do. I cannot believe this. Have you no common sense?"
"That is a rather odd accusation, coming from you."
"This is not funny. You could have been killed."
He shrugged. "It was no worse than climbing a ship's mast."
"Good grief. 'Tis a scene straight out of the tale of The Lady in the Tower." Phoebe charged across the small space separating them and came to a halt directly in front of him. "You must never, ever do anything like this again, do you hear me?"
Gabriel's eyes burned. He caught her face between his palms. "I will do it again if you run from me again."
"Gabriel, you scared me to death. Every time I close my eyes I can see your body lying on the stones. You must not take such foolish chances."
He cut off her protest with a quick, hard kiss. "Promise me you will never run from me again."
She splayed her ringers on his chest and searched his harsh face. "I promise. Do you vow that you will never do anything so wickedly reckless again?"
His thumbs traced the line of her cheekbones. "Do you care so much about me, then?"
Her lower lip trembled. "You must know that I do."
"Then you will nor run off again or lock yourself away from me. Because if you do, I will come after you, even if it means descending a castle wall on a rope."
"But Gabriel—"
"Even if it means climbing down into hell itself," Gabriel vowed softly.
Phoebe felt her insides melt. "Oh, Gabriel … "
"Come here, my lady in the tower." Gabriel pulled her closer against his hard body. His palm slid down her back, pressing her into the cradle of his muscled thighs.
When Phoebe made a tiny sound, Gabriel brought his mouth back down on hers in a kiss that scorched her from head to toe. Warmth welled up inside her. It was mingled with a sense of longing that was so acute it brought tears to her eyes. She lowered her lashes, twined her arms around his neck, and gave herself up to the heat.
"This is the way it was meant to be between us, my sweet," Gabriel breathed. "I knew it from the first time I met you."
"Did you really?" Phoebe could hardly stand now. She clung to him, touching her lips to the strong line of his jaw. She turned her head and kissed the inside of his wrist. "I have been afraid to hope that you might feel for me some of the things I have been feeling for you."
He smiled against her cheek. "And precisely what have you been feeling for me?"
She shuddered against him. "I love you."
"Ah, my sweet Phoebe." His hands tightened on her, drawing her down onto the quilt she had spread on the carpet in front of the fire.
Phoebe felt the room whirl around her. Then she was lying on her back, her skirts foaming at her knees. She was aware of Gabriel stretching out beside her. His leg tangled with hers, urging her thighs apart, pinning her gently to the floor. When she opened her eyes, she found him gazing intently down into her face.
"Gabriel, I have done a great deal of thinking about this aspect of things."
"Have you?" He brushed his mouth lingeringly over her lips, seeking a response.
"Yes. I like your kisses very much. And I like the way you touch me."
"I'm glad." Gabriel dropped a warm kiss into the curve of her shoulder. "Because I definitely enjoy touching you."
"Nevertheless," Phoebe said quickly, "I cannot help but believe that it might be best if we waited a while before we consummate our marriage."
"I had the impression you were no longer angry with me." He nibbled at her earlobe.
"I'm not," she confessed. How could she be angry when he was making her burn like this? "But there are many matters we need to clear up between us. Matters such as those that came up during dinner tonight. Gabriel, there is still so much we do not know about each other."
"I thought we agreed you would not run from me again."
"I would not run away," she assured him quickly. "We would live as man and wife. I simply meant that perhaps we should become better acquainted before we actually become man and wife. If you see what I mean."
He trapped her head between his hands again. Phoebe stared up at him through her lashes. The firelight sharpened the edges of his hawklike face and deepened the mystery of his eyes.
"Tell me again that you love me, Phoebe."
"I love you," she whispered.
He smiled slowly. "And we are wed. There is no need to wait."
Phoebe gathered her courage. "But I am not precisely certain yet how you feel about me, Gabriel. I ran away this morning because I feared you were offering marriage out of a misguided sense of chivalry."
He took her earlobe between his teeth again and bit down just hard enough to startle her. "Trust me, madam, it was not a sense of chivalry that led me to offer marriage."
"Are you absolutely certain?" she persisted. "Because I truly do not want to feel you were obliged to marry me."
He looked down into her eyes. "I want you more than I want anything else on the face of the earth."
She read the desire in his eyes. "Gabriel. Do you mean it?"
"I will show you how much I mean it." Gabriel crushed her mouth gently beneath his own. His tongue plunged between her lips, inviting her to taste him as he was tasting her.
With a flash of feminine intuition, Phoebe realized that this was Gabriel's way of telling her of his feelings. He loved her. He could not make love to her like this unless his emotions matched her own.
Gabriel found the tapes of her gown and undid them in several short, swift motions. A moment later Phoebe felt the warmth of the fire on her bare skin as she was freed from the dress and the petticoat she had worn beneath it. Gabriel's palm moved across her breasts.
The feel of his roughened fingers against her nipples startled her. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized she was utterly naked except for her stockings.
"It's all right, sweet. You are so lovely." Gabriel's hand drifted over her, testing, stroking, exploring. "My God, you are beautiful." He bent his head and dropped a series of warm kisses in the valley between her breasts.
Phoebe arched against him, her embarrassment fading quickly beneath the impact of the urgent need she sensed in him.
His hand closed around her calf and then moved up along the length of her leg to her thigh. He did not untie her garters. Phoebe found it very odd to be wearing only her stockings.
She turned her face into his shoulder and slid curious fingers into the opening of his shirt. She touched the crisp hair there and was enthralled. Impulsively she put the tip of her tongue to his warm skin. Gabriel sucked in his breath.
"You taste good," she whispered.
He gave a soft, hoarse laugh that dissolved into a husky groan. He cupped her buttocks and squeezed gently. "I have been wanting you for weeks."
Phoebe felt the hard length of his manhood pressing against the fabric of his tight breeches. The proof of his desire filled her with a sense of womanly power. She was caught up in a golden, glittering illusion. But this was no dream, she reminded herself. This was real. "I've loved you for weeks."
His fingers slipped into the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, seeking out the plump, moist folds. Phoebe cried out softly when he tested her with his finger.