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existence of a few copies," Gabriel admitted. "Was yours French, English, or Italian?"
    "French. Beautifully illuminated. Even more lovely than The Knight and the Sorcerer. The thing is, my lord, I have heard a rumor that the book is back in England. Apparently it is now in someone's personal library."
    Gabriel eyed her sharply. "Where did you hear that?"
    "From a bookseller in Bond Street. He had it from one of his best customers, who had it from an odd little collector in Yorkshire."
    "What makes you think it is your copy?"
    "The bookseller told me that it is the French version of the tale and that the colophon at the end gives the scribe's name as William of Anjou. My copy was created by him. Sir, I must locate that manuscript."
    "You believe that if you find the book, you will find the man who killed your lover?" Gabriel asked softly.
    "Yes." Phoebe blushed furiously at hearing Neil described as her lover. But this was not the time to explain that Neil had not been her paramour, but her most virtuous and devoted Lancelot. His love had been pure and noble. He had kept himself always at a chivalrous distance, asking only to serve his lady in the manner of a true knight of old.
    The fact that she had never felt more than a warm affection for Neil was one of the reasons she harbored guilt about his death. If she had truly loved him, she would have defied her family to marry him. But she had not loved Neil and Phoebe could not abide the thought of a marriage that was not based on true love.
    "What was the name of this man who meant so much to you?"
    "Neil Baxter."
    Gabriel sat unmoving for several seconds. "Perhaps the present owner of the book merely happened to purchase it somewhere along the way," Gabriel suggested coldly. "Perhaps he knows nothing about your lover's fate."
    Phoebe shook her head firmly. "No, I do not believe that to be the case. You see, Neil wrote to me occasionally after he left England. In one of his letters he mentioned a pirate who was harassing shipping in the islands. He said the man was not a normal sort of villain, but an English gentleman who had turned to piracy and had become the scourge of the South Seas."
    "He would not have been the first to do so," Gabriel pointed out dryly.
    "My lord, I believe that such a villain would have taken The Lady in the Tower as booty after killing Neil."
    "And now that there is a rumor the book is back in England, you assume this gentleman pirate has also returned?"
    "I think it is very likely. Possibly he has returned with enough stolen loot to set himself up in the Social World. He may even be a member of the ton. Just think, sir—who would know he had been a pirate? Everyone would assume he had simply made his fortune in the South Seas as others have and now has returned home."
    "Your imagination is breathtaking, madam."
    Phoebe gritted her teeth. "It seems to me, sir, that you are rather lacking in imagination. My notion is quite plausible. However, even if, as you suggest, the present owner of the book is not the pirate, he might very well know the identity of the pirate. I must find him."
    The sound of something large crashing through the underbrush alongside the lane interrupted the rest of Phoebe's hurried explanations.
    "What the devil?" Gabriel steadied his stallion as a horse and rider plunged out of the trees and onto the road.
    "Stand and deliver," the newcomer roared from behind a mask. A black cloak swirled around him. Moonlight gleamed on the pistol in his fist.
    "Bloody hell," Gabriel said wearily. "I knew I should have stayed in bed tonight."

Chapter 3
    Gabriel realized at once that the Veiled Lady did not immediately comprehend what was happening. Then she apparently caught the glint of light on the barrel of the pistol in the highwayman's hand.
    "What on earth are you about, sir?" the Veiled Lady demanded as if she were dealing with a clumsy servant.
    Gabriel hid a quick grin. The lady had more than enough courage to suit a respectable