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learn that she was, for all intents and purposes, in
    trade.
    The arrangement she had made with Lacey worked very well, for the most part. Phoebe selected the
    manuscripts to be published and Lacey handled the printing of them. Between the two of them and with
    the assistance of a young solicitor and a couple of clerks, Lacey's Bookshop was flourishing. Their first
    big success had been The Quest, which Phoebe had insisted on publishing the instant she had finished
    reading the manuscript.
    "You must have crossed Lacey's palms with silver," Gabriel said. "But I did not think that old drunken
    sot such a fool. He knows better than to cross me in this matter. Surely he is not stupid enough to risk the
    future profits he intends to make on my next book."
    Phoebe looked down at the leather-gloved fingers clamped around her wrist. Perhaps this really had all
    been a dreadful mistake, she thought frantically. Gabriel was not behaving in the least like a knight of
    ancient times. The hand that gripped hers felt as unyielding as a steel manacle. "It was not his fault. You
    must not blame Mr. Lacey."
    "How did you discover I was the author of The Quest?"
    Phoebe groped for a reasonable answer. "I had my solicitor look into the matter for me, if you must
    know." She tried unsuccessfully to free her hand. "He is extremely clever." That much was true, she
    reflected. Mr. Peak was an extremely intelligent, extremely accommodating young man anxious to make
    his way in the world. So anxious, in fact, that he was willing to do business with the youngest daughter of
    the Earl of Clarington without bothering to notify her father of that fact.
    "Your solicitor." With a sharp oath, Gabriel released her. "I grow weary of this game you are playing,
    madam. I have told you I have no patience with deception and illusion. Who are you?"
    Phoebe moistened her lower lip. "I cannot tell you, sir. Not yet. It is too soon. Furthermore, if my plan is
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    not going to work at all, as I am beginning to conclude, then I would just as soon not risk my reputation
    any more than I already have. I am certain you will understand."
    "What plan? I am to listen to your scheme and commit myself to it before I learn your true identity?
    What sort of an idiot do you think I am?"
    "I do not think you are an idiot at all. Merely extremely difficult," Phoebe retorted. "I would rather you
    did not know my identity until you have agreed to help me. Once you have given me your oath that you
    will assist me, I shall feel free to confide in you. Surely you can appreciate my desire for secrecy."
    "What the bloody hell is this all about?" Gabriel had clearly reached the end of his patience. "What is this
    silly scheme of yours?"
    Phoebe gathered herself and took the plunge. "I am involved in a serious and important quest, sir."
    "You're after another manuscript?" he asked derisively.
    "No. Not a quest for a manuscript. A quest for justice. Your background gives me reason to believe you
    could be of great service to me."
    "Justice? Good God, what is this foolishness? I thought I made it clear I am not interested in playing any
    more games."
    "It is not a game," she explained desperately. "I am trying to find a murderer."
    "A murderer." There was a stunned silence from Gabriel. "Hell and damnation. I am out here in the
    middle of the night with a madwoman."
    "I am not a madwoman. Please, just listen to me. That is all I ask. I have spent two months trying to gain
    your attention. Now that you have finally emerged from your cave, surely you can at least hear me out."
    "I don't live in a damn cave." He sounded offended.
    "You might as well do so, as far as I am concerned. From what I have been able to discover, you stay
    holed up on your estate like some sort of troglodyte most of the time. You refuse to see anyone or have
    anything to do with Society."
    "That is an overstatement," Gabriel muttered. "I see whom