Reckless

Chapter 20

"Good heavens, what a crush." The crowd outside the theater was every bit as bad as Phoebe had envisioned. "I was right when I said we would be forever waiting for our carriage."

"It's raining," Meredith exclaimed. "That will make it all the longer."

"I'll see what I can do about hurrying things along," Anthony said. "You three wait here. I'll find one of the footmen."

He detached himself and disappeared into the throng of elegantly dressed theatergoers. Phoebe stood with Lydia and Meredith beneath the roof at the lobby entrance and watched the crowd milling about in front of the theater.

Carriages jammed the street, vying for position. Tempers were flaring. Coachmen yelled at one another as they tried to force their vehicles into a more advantageous location. Two or three people were arguing a short distance away from Phoebe.

"Well, then, Phoebe." Lydia smiled in satisfaction. "Did you enjoy your brief respite from incarceration?"

"Very much. I am forever indebted to you for your efforts on my behalf, Mama."

Meredith looked at her. "In truth, I was rather surprised Wylde let you out even for a short while tonight."

Phoebe grinned. "So was I. Mama convinced him to do so."

At that moment the argument which had been brewing a short distance away erupted into a loud shouting match. One of the men punched the other. The second man roared with rage and shoved the first man aside.

"Get out of my way, you bastard. I saw that hackney first, by God."

"The devil you did."

The first man used his fists to drive home his claim to the hackney. Someone else yelled as the first man's punch went wild and struck a bystander. A fourth man screamed abuse.

Meredith frowned. "Let's move out of the way. I wish Anthony would hurry."

Phoebe started to retreat back into the lobby with her mother and sister, but the argument was exploding all around them now. People were pushing and shoving. Ladies shrieked. The sound of ripping silk caused Phoebe to glance over her shoulder. A woman was slapping furiously at two rude young bucks who were using the commotion to take liberties.

Phoebe swung her reticule at the head of the nearest dandy. He staggered as the small purse found its mark. With amazing speed, he snagged the reticule and angrily started to tug it out of Phoebe's hand.

She jerked hard on the strings of the reticule. They snapped. The little beaded bag disappeared forever beneath the feet of the crowd.

The woman who had been defending herself from the two men used the momentary distraction to dash toward the safety of the lobby.

Phoebe turned around and discovered that she had been separated from her sister and mother by the surging throng. She glanced about anxiously. People heaved about like flotsam on a stormy sea, making it impossible for Phoebe to see anyone.

A drunken young man reeled into her just as she stood on tiptoe to see over the nearest heads. Phoebe's left leg buckled and she lost her balance.

"Devil take it." Phoebe staggered awkwardly but managed to keep her feet. She gathered her skirts close around her and tried to forge a path toward the lights of the theater lobby.

A man's arm closed around her waist.

Phoebe yelled in outrage and tried to pry herself free of the arm. "Let me go, you blundering fool."

The man did not respond. He began to drag Phoebe relentlessly through the crowd. Phoebe yelled again, this time much louder. There were people all around her, but no one paid any attention to her shouts for help. Everyone was too busy trying to protect himself or herself from the crowd that was threatening to turn into a mob.

A second man materialized near the one who had a grip on Phoebe.

"Ye sure this be the right gel?" he hissed as he grabbed Phoebe's flailing arm.

"It better be," the man snarled. "Wearin' a yellow and green dress, just like we was told. I'll tell ye one thing, I ain't goin' back into that lot to find another gel."

Phoebe lashed out with her hand. Her fingers found a man's bewhiskered cheek. She dug in her nails, raking his skin fiercely. The man growled in outrage.

"Damn little bitch."

"She's a right 'andful," the first man complained. "Is the carriage where it's supposed to be?"

"It's there. Bloody 'ell."

"What happened?"

"She kicked me."

"We're almost there. Get the door open." The first man heaved Phoebe upward.

Phoebe grabbed at the open door of the carriage. Her gloved fingers scrabbled on the wood. She braced herself, but the effort was useless.

Someone shoved her forcefully between the shoulder blades and she was thrown inside the cab. She landed in a heap on the floor between the cushioned seats.

The first man yelled at the coachman, then vaulted up into the cab. The second man followed.

Phoebe felt the coach lurch forward. She screamed furiously and kicked wildly until rough hands succeeded in binding her wrists and feet. A dirty piece of cloth stuffed into her mouth cut off her shouts for help.

"Sweet bloody Jesus," one of the men said in exasperation as he collapsed onto a cushion. "What a little hellcat. If she was mine, I'd teach her to keep her mouth shut."

The other man chuckled lewdly. He prodded Phoebe's hip with the toe of his boot. "I expect she'll be singin' a different tune by mornin'. A night at Alice's place is enough to make even a hellcat mind her tongue."

Phoebe froze on the floor of the carriage. Alice's place.

She forced herself to calm down and think logically. There was nothing she could do while she was trussed up here in the carriage, but sooner or later she would have her chance. In the meantime she silently went to work trying to wriggle her wrists free from the hastily tied rope that bound them.

The crowded streets slowed travel to a crawl. It seemed ages before the carriage eventually came to a halt. When it did, one of the two men shoved open the door and then reached inside to assist his partner. Together they lifted Phoebe out of the cab and carried her up a flight of steps.

She glanced around, trying to orient herself as she was carried down a long hall. She was carted past several doors, all of them firmly closed. A woman's laughing shriek sounded from behind one of them. The slap of a whip on flesh followed by a man's anguished groan emanated from behind another.

"What 'ave ye got there?" a woman's drunken voice demanded. "A new girl?"

"That's right. And it ain't none of yer business," one of the men carrying Phoebe said.

"Didn't know Alice was 'avin' to pick 'em up off the street these days," the woman muttered as she went on past. "Always plenty of applicants for a job 'ere in the Velvet 'ell."

"This one's special. Alice says she has a customer with peculiar tastes," one of the men said.

Phoebe heard a door open. She was carried into a dark room and dropped on top of a bed. She lay still, struggling to get her bearings in the shadows.

"That's that, then," one of the men said in relief. "Time to collect our pay and get out of 'ere."

The door closed behind them with a solid, chunking sound. A few seconds later Phoebe heard a key turn in the lock. Footsteps went down the hall.

Silence descended.

Phoebe sat up slowly. Her pulse was racing and her heart was pounding. For an instant she thought she would suffocate because of the gag. The fear that was rippling through her made everything worse. The dark world spun around her. She wondered in alarm if she might actually be going to faint.

Slowly and with great difficulty she managed to rein in the terror that threatened to turn her into a madwoman. She had to stay calm or all was lost.

The first step was to get free of the gag and the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles.

Phoebe wriggled to the edge of the bed and swung her feet down to the floor. Surely where there was a bed there would be a table nearby to hold such necessities as a candle and perhaps some useful implements. She would dearly love to find a knife.

The small table was right where one would expect. Phoebe managed to hook the drawer knob under her gag and pry the dirty cloth out of her mouth. She sucked in a great gulp cf air and turned her back to the drawer. She fumbled with it, using her bound hands to pull it open.

Inside the drawer was a small bottle of the sort that usually held laudanum.

The sound of a key scraping in the lock interrupted Phoebe's awkward search. She hastily closed the drawer and tumbled back down onto the bed.

Light from the hall splashed onto the counterpane as the door of the chamber opened. A woman stood in the opening.

"Welcome to the Velvet Hell," the woman said. "I'm glad you are here. And none too soon. I have wasted enough time and money on this venture."

She walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Phoebe heard the candle on the table being lit. When the flame flared, it revealed a halo of golden blond hair and the pretty face of the mysterious Alice.

"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?"

"Yes, yes, I am sorry."

"I do not believe you are sorry enough." The redhead picked up the pace of the whip, making a fair amount of noise in the process.

The man on the bed groaned in rising ecstasy.

Gabriel tossed several notes down onto the dressing table and indicated the wardrobe. The redhead glanced at the money and nodded. She did not pause in her task. The whip sang and the man groaned in a rousing crescendo of sound as Gabriel quietly opened the wardrobe.

Phoebe forgot all about the bizarre sight she was witnessing when she saw the array of spectacular dresses in the wardrobe. She stared in awe at the brilliantly colored gowns.

"Choose one," Gabriel mouthed silently.

It was an impossible choice. Phoebe loved them all. But with Gabriel standing there looking so impatient, she knew she could not hesitate. She grabbed a brilliant crimson satinet gown and tugged it on over her head.

The groans of the man on the bed grew louder and more impassioned. Gabriel reached into the top of the wardrobe and removed a curly blond wig. He shoved it down on top of Phoebe's head. She found herself gazing up at him through a veil of blond ringlets.

The redhead nodded toward a drawer built into the wardrobe. Gabriel followed her gaze and pulled it open. He picked up a black lace mask and handed it to Phoebe. She donned it quickly.

Gabriel took her hand, nodded his thanks to the hardworking courtesan, and silently opened the door. The man on the bed gave a warbling cry of satisfaction just as Phoebe and Gabriel stepped out into the hall.

They nearly collided with a portly gentleman who lurched into their path. Phoebe stared at him through her mask, stunned to realize she recognized him. It was Lord Prudstone, a cheerful, grandfatherly sort who had occasionally chatted with her at various soirees.

Prudstone gave a start when he saw Gabriel; then he grinned knowingly and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Here, now, Wylde. Didn't expect to see you here so soon after the nuptials. Don't tell me married life has gotten boring already."

"I was just leaving," Gabriel said.

"And taking some of the merchandise with you, I see?" Prudstone chuckled as his gaze rested appreciatively on the extremely low neckline of Phoebe's crimson gown.

"Special arrangements with the management." Gabriel's voice held a^ poorly concealed edge that could have cut glass. "You must excuse us, Prudstone. We're in something of a hurry."

"Off you go, my little lovebirds. Enjoy yourselves." Prudstone wove his way back down the hall, waving merrily.

Gabriel practically dragged Phoebe toward the back stairs. He slammed open the door and hurried her down the darkened steps.

"Good heavens, Gabriel," Phoebe whispered, "that was Lord Prudstone."

"I know."

"How date he assume you would come to a place like this. You're a married man."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I have never been so aware of that fact as I am tonight. Christ, Phoebe, you gave me a scare. Watch out for the body at the bottom of the steps."

"Body?" Phoebe tried to come to a halt, but Gabriel tugged her ever downward. "There's a dead man somewhere on these steps?"

"He's unconscious, not dead. He was guarding the back steps."

"I see." Phoebe swallowed. "You rendered him unconscious, I take it?"

"No, I asked him if he'd care to play a hand of whist," Gabriel said in a voice that indicated he was at the end of his patience. "Where the hell do you think I got the key to your room? Move, Phoebe."

Phoebe moved.

Five minutes later they were safe inside an anonymous hackney carriage. Stinton was on the box, handling the reins. Gabriel did not speak on the journey home.

When they reached the town house, he snatched off Phoebe's blond wig and tossed aside her mask. In the light provided by the carriage lamps his eyes were unreadable.

"You are to go straight upstairs to your bedchamber," he said. "I shall be up shortly. I must speak with Stinton and then I shall have a few things to discuss with you."