"I see you are getting on in the world, Alice," Phoebe said quietly. "I assume running a brothel pays better than the position of housemaid."
"A great deal better." Alice smiled thinly. "A woman in my position must make the most of her opportunities."
Phoebe eyed her warily. "What are you going to do with me?"
"I had what I thought was a truly clever plan." Alice came to the edge of the bed and stood looking down at Phoebe. "But I fear time is running out. Neil is close to discovering what has been happening, so I must give up my original scheme and proceed in another manner."
Phoebe did not move. "What are you talking about? What was your original plan?"
"Why, to frighten you into selling the book, of course. I count more than one or two collectors among my clients here at the Velvet Hell and I have discovered they tend to be an eccentric, superstitious lot."
"You tried to make the curse come true, didn't you?"
"Yes. Neil had told me all about it, you see. He talked a great deal about that damn book. After I carried out the second part of the curse, I intended to send you a note. I wanted you to believe that an anonymous collector was offering to buy The Lady in the Tower. I thought that by then you would be happy to sell the thing just to get rid of it."
"Were you Neil's mistress three years ago?"
"Oh, yes," Alice said bitterly. "I was Neil's mistress all the while he pretended to be your devoted Lancelot. He told me he had a plan to get money out of your father. He told me that he would marry me as soon as he achieved his goal. He claimed it was me he loved, not you. And fool that I was, I believed him."
"This is all so confusing," Phoebe whispered. "I do not know who or what to believe. How did you know about the catacombs?"
"Servants' talk in the little village near Devil's Mist." Alice sat down in a chair, her posture as graceful as that of any lady. "I am a fair actress. It was easy enough to play the part of a tavern wench for a few days. I learned everything I needed to know about the castle."
"I see."
"At first I had intended merely to push you over the cliffs into the sea. But when I learned of the catacombs and the secret passage, I was intrigued with the notion of using them instead. I did not actually want you dead, you see. Merely frightened."
"You could have killed me the night you started the fire in my bedchamber."
"Not likely." Alice shrugged. "I assumed your husband would be with you and that you would not be asleep yet. You are, after all, a recently married woman, and the rumors are that Wylde is besotted with his new bride."
"What do you intend to do now?" Phoebe demanded.
"Hold you for ransom, of course. Your husband will receive a message saying that he can have you back in exchange for the book. Things will be a bit more difficult this way, but I really have no choice. As I said, Neil has learned of my plans and time is running out."
Phoebe gazed at her intently. "Why do you want the book, Alice? What is so important about it?"
"I don't know," Alice said simply.
"You're going to all this trouble and you don't know why?" Phoebe asked in disbelief.
"I only know that Neil wants The Lady in the Tower very badly. That is enough for me." Alice's fingers tightened on the arm of the chair and her eyes gleamed with barely suppressed rage. "He has talked of nothing else since his return except getting that stupid book back. Well, now he will have to deal with me in order to get his hands on it and I shall extract a very, very high price."
Phoebe wondered if she were, indeed, dealing with a madwoman. "I think Neil only wants the book for sentimental reasons."
"There is more to it than that," Alice said. "There must be. Neil could not possibly harbor any great, undying devotion for you. It is all an act, I know it is."
"Alice, I believe you have become crazed with your desire for revenge against Neil," Phoebe said gently.
"Perhaps." Alice rose to her feet and went to stand near the bed. "A woman in my profession spends a great many nights in hell. It is enough to drive anyone mad. Only the strongest of us survive."
"You have survived."
"Yes," Alice whispered. "I have survived. And one of the things that has kept me going is the hope of gaining my revenge on Neil Baxter. He is the one who condemned me to the Velvet Hell."
Phoebe stared at her. "What will happen to me?"
"You?" Alice gave her a speculative look. "I suppose it might be amusing for me to make the last part of the curse come true for you, as it has for me."
"What are you talking about?"
"How does the last part of the book curse go?" Alice leaned closer. "Something about spending an eternal night in hell. I could make you spend an eternal night in hell, Lady Wylde. One night in this place serving my customers would certainly seem like a night in hell to a woman like you."
Phoebe said nothing. Her mouth went dry. She held Alice's half-wild eyes and did not look away.
"But I do not hate you that much," Alice continued softly. "You are merely the means to an end." She reached down, grasped the flimsy bodice of Phoebe's bright gown, and tore the delicate silk dress all the way to the hem. Within seconds Phoebe was lying amid the shredded fabric, wearing only her petticoat.
"Why did you do that?" Phoebe demanded furiously.
"Just a precaution. I doubt you will be able to free yourself from the ropes, but in the event you did, the lack of a decent gown will keep you from attempting to escape."
"You think so?"
Alice gave her a chilling smile. "You never know whom you will meet in the halls of the Velvet Hell, madam. Chances are excellent you will run into some old friends of the family. Your husband will not thank you if you crucify his honor and your own reputation by being seen here. And what will you do when you reach the street?"
Phoebe had to admit she had a point. "Alice, listen to me—"
"Use your common sense. Stay here and do not cause any trouble until your lord ransoms you."
Alice dropped the shredded silk on the floor and walked out of the chamber. She closed the door very softly behind her. Phoebe heard the key turn in the lock.
Phoebe waited until she was sure the woman had gone down the hall. When all was quiet, she sat up again on the edge of the bed. She turned around and fumbled with the drawer in the bedside table. A moment later her fingers closed around the little bottle of laudanum.
She dropped the bottle, deliberately smashing it into several pieces. Crouching down, she leaned back and carefully picked up one of the shards of glass.
It took forever and there was blood on her hands before she finished, but Phoebe managed to sever her ties. She hurriedly undid the ropes that bound her ankles, and stood up.
Drunken laughter sounded out in the hall. Phoebe shuddered. She had to get out of the chamber as quickly as possible, but Alice was right. She dared not risk being seen in the hall.
She opened the door of the wardrobe, hoping to find clothing. It was empty.
She went to the window and looked out. There was nothing but a sheer drop to the dark alley far below. She would surely break her legs if she tried to jump.
Phoebe turned around and studied her shadowed surroundings. There was nothing she could use to escape the horrid chamber.
Except the sheets on the bed.
She dove for the bed.
Less than ten minutes later she had two large sheets securely tied together. She secured one end of her makeshift rope to the bedpost and draped the remainder out the window.
She levered herself up onto the sill, took a firm grip on the knotted sheets, and began to lower herself down the wall into the alley.
"Phoebe." Neil Baxter's voice rose softly from the depths of the alley. "For God's sake, have a care, my love. I'm coming to get you."
The shock of Neil's voice nearly caused Phoebe to lose her grip on the sheets. She stopped her awkward decent and peered down into the alley. "Neil? Is that you?"
"Yes. Hold on. I'll have you safely down in a minute." He moved into a shaft of moonlight.
Phoebe stared down at him. "What are you doing? How did you know I was here?"
"When I got word Alice had kidnapped you, I came straight here. I had some notion of trying to save you, but it appears you have already taken steps to save yourself. You always were a clever girl. Come on down, my love, but be careful."
Phoebe hesitated. She clung to the bedsheets and tried to read Neil's handsome face. She could see little of his expression in the darkness.
As she dangled there, torn with indecision about what to do next, she heard the door open in the chamber above her.
"Phoebe?" Gabriel's voice was muffled but unmistakable. "Phoebe, are you in here?"
"Gabriel?" she called tentatively.
"Damnation, Phoebe, where are you?"
"It's Wylde," Neil hissed. "Phoebe, I beg of you, my darling, let go of the sheets. He will have you in another minute."
"It's too far to drop," Phoebe protested.
"I'll catch you," Neil promised. He sounded desperate. "Hurry, love. I have information that he means to kill you. I can prove it."
Gabriel leaned out through the open window above Phoebe. His hands clamped around the sill. "Phoebe. Bloody hell, woman, come back here." He took hold of the knotted sheets and started hauling them upward.
"Phoebe, you must trust me," Neil called. "If you let him drag you back through that window, you will be signing your own death warrant." He held up his arms. "Let go. I'll catch you, my love. You'll be safe with me."
Phoebe's arms were straining with effort. Her shoulders ached and her fingers were clenched so tightly in the sheets, they were trembling. She did not know how much longer she could maintain her death grip.
"If you let go of the damn sheet, I swear I shall lock you up for a year," Gabriel vowed.
"Phoebe, save yourself." Neil's arms were lifted upward in a pleading manner. "For the sake of what we once meant to each other, I beg you to trust your loyal Lancelot."
"You are my wife, PPhoebe." Gabriel continued to haul in the sheet. "You will obey me in this. Don't let go of the sheet.'"
It was just like her dream, Phoebe realized as she was hoisted inexorably upward. Two men were reaching out for her, both promising safety. She had to choose between them.
But she had already made her choice.
She clung tightly to the sheet until she was less than a foot below the windowsill.
"Hell and damnation, Phoebe, you're going to be the death of me yet." Gabriel reached down, caught hold of her wrists, and dragged her through the window. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I think so."
He dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor and leaned out over the sill. "Goddamn the bastard. He's getting away."
Phoebe picked herself up off the floor and straightened her torn chemise. "Gabriel, how did you find me?"
He spun around, his face very fierce in the moonlight. "Stinton and I have been keeping an eye on this house since we located it earlier today. We saw you being carried in earlier, but we were too far away to stop the villains. We had to bide our time. Come on. We've got to get you out of here."
"I cannot walk out dressed in my chemise." Phoebe crossed her arms protectively over her bosom. "Someone is bound to notice."
Gabriel scowled. "Maybe there's a dress in the wardrobe."
"It's empty."
"We can't stay here. Come on." He grabbed her wrist and opened the door. He glanced up and down the hall. "There's no one about. I think we can make it to the back stairs."
Phoebe clutched at the front of her chemise as she limped quickly after Gabriel. She felt terribly exposed in the fine lawn undergarment. "How did you get in?"
"I came up the back steps, the same way you were brought in. No one saw me."
A roar of masculine laughter sounded from the main staircase at the far end of the hall. A woman giggled.
"Someone's coming," Phoebe said. She glanced over her shoulder. "He'll see us as soon as he reaches the top of the stairs."
"In here." Gabriel turned the knob on the nearest door. Mercifully it opened. He tugged Phoebe into the chamber.
A young woman wearing only a cascade of red hair and a pair of black stockings turned around in surprise. She held a whip upraised in one hand. She had obviously been applying it vigorously to the plump buttocks of the stout man who was tied facedown to the bedposts. The man on the bed was wearing a black blindfold over his eyes.
Gabriel held his fingers up to his lips to indicate silence. The redheaded woman cocked a brow. Her mouth curved in cynical amusement at the sight of Phoebe's shocked expression.
"Don't stop, my little tyrant," the man on the bed pleaded. "We must finish this quickly or all is lost."
The redhead obligingly plied the whip. Phoebe flinched.
"Harder," the man cried. "Harder."
"Of course, my love," the redhead purred. "And are you sorry yet, my dear?"