“Well, either way. Neither of you has a thing to worry about. I like the girl, but I’d not have Montagu for a father-in-law. No dowry, no matter how large, is worth the terror of enduring that for a lifetime, believe me.”
“What are you playing at, then?” Max demanded, sickened that the fellow might be leading Phoebe on, that he might engage her heart and then hurt her with his callous disregard for her feelings.
The baron laughed, shaking his head at Max with a pitying expression. “You poor bastard. She hasn’t got a clue, has she? Well, don’t fret, Romeo, I won’t make her fall in love with me. Not that I think I could, though it is galling to admit as much. She has my measure, I believe.”
Max gritted his teeth, not troubling to deny his feelings for Phoebe. Denial would only confirm the man’s suspicions.
“Why are you hanging about like a bad smell, then?” he demanded instead, restraining the uncouth longing to shake the truth out of him, or worse.
“Now, there is no need to hurt my feelings, old man. I swear to you, I have no desire or intention to trap the girl into marriage. I just like her. She makes me laugh and she enjoys my company. That’s all. I’ll not stand in the path of true love, cross my heart and hope to die.”
Max felt there was truth in Alvanly’s words, but there was something in the man’s expression that he could not like.
“Are you going to demand I stay away?” he asked Max, with a considering tilt of his head.
“No,” Max replied, though it nearly choked him to do so. “You’ll tell her I warned you off, and no doubt that would make her twice as determined to seek you out. No, you do as you please, but you’ll have me to answer to if you hurt her, and that’s only if Montagu doesn’t get to you first.”
“Duly noted,” Alvanly said, smiling, though the expression did not reach his eyes.
Max nodded and stalked away.
Chapter 6
Dear Phoebe,
Thank you very much for my birthday presents. Especially the book by Washington Irving, which is excellent. I have already much enjoyed Rip Van Winkle and The story of Sleepy Hollow. The illustrations are wonderful too, though the stories never come to life quite as vividly as when you read them out. I do hope I may persuade you to read Sleepy Hollow one day, you will scare everyone witless no doubt, especially Bella, and I should like to see that.
―Excerpt of a letter to Miss Phoebe Barrington from her cousin, Master Leo Hunt, aged 12.
7th April 1827. Mrs Manning’s rout party, Old Burlington Street, London.
Phoebe saw Alvanly several times over the next weeks and, as he was scrupulously polite and as charming as he could possibly be, little by little she relaxed. It seemed he no longer desired to make her blush, or to enjoy her discomfort at his lewd talk and flirtation, and was content to be her friend. Though she knew better than to trust him, this was such a relief that she forgot the strange evening and tried to put his words far out of her head. They would come back to her at times, usually in the quiet moments before she fell asleep, only to wake the next morning to discover she’d been dreaming of Max and feeling annoyed and irritable with herself for being such a ninny.
The notion that Max had feelings like that for her was ridiculous, surely. Despite that one time when he’d said the last thing he felt for her was disgust, he treated her as he might an annoying little sister, looking at her with amusement for her entertainment value at best and, the rest of the time, scolding her and wishing she would behave like a young lady ought. Not that she blamed him entirely. Phoebe knew she was spoiled and reckless and ought to be better than she was. Indeed, she did try. It was just so… difficult. She was too easily bored, and she spoke without thinking, and her temper flared far too quickly. Mama said she was what Papa would have been if life had not taught him to hide his true nature. Happily, it was a lesson Phoebe had never needed to learn, though she rather thought she ought to have done.
Max kept his distance now, though, and rarely looked her way. Phoebe decided that Alvanly really did not have the first idea about the earl if he was so bottle-headed as to believe Max had any feelings at all for her past irritation.
“Do you have any idea what it is Mrs Manning intends to display this evening?”
Phoebe turned to attend the conversation between her Aunt Alice and Aashini.
“I believe it is a picture, but not just any picture,” Aashini confided in an undertone which would have been considered shouting in any other circumstance, for the burble of conversation was so loud.
Mrs Manning’s parties were always a crush, and it mattered little that every stick of furniture had been removed from her lavish home to make way for her guests. People seemed to enter the house in noisy rivers of rich fabric and wafts of perfume, though Phoebe saw few of them leave. The grand house would soon burst at the seams.
“What kind, then?” Alice demanded, intrigued.
Phoebe floated away from the conversation. So far the evening had been dull indeed, and she was bored to tears. She had already played cards but it was too tempting to cheat to simply to amuse herself, and she’d caused enough trouble of late, so she’d decided she’d better stop. At least it was close to midnight, and Mrs Manning always provided a lavish late supper, so there was that. Even the painting that would be shown afterwards was not terribly interesting to Phoebe tonight, such was her mood.
She knew well enough that Mrs Manning was a great art lover and was always on the hunt for some new talent or undiscovered work of genius. There were those that said she was not only an art lover, but a lover of artists, too, for she had taken several as her paramours over the years. Phoebe didn’t much care. She was restless and out of sorts after another night where she had slept ill. It made her irritable, and she found she did not much like her own company. Likely no one else did either, she thought with a sigh.
The buffet was opened at last and Phoebe made a beeline for the sweet treats, piling a small plate high with tiny pains a la duchesse and other delectable items before finding a quiet corner to munch them in. She had just set her empty plate aside with a sigh of contentment when a familiar voice hailed her.
“Well, and here is a sight for sore eyes.”
Her spirits rose a little as Alvanly hailed her.
“Oh, you’re here, are you?” she said, smiling at him.
“Indeed I am, you ungrateful creature.”
“Ungrateful?” she demanded, her eyebrows going up. “How so?”
“For I only faced this wretched crush to rescue you from boredom and all I get for my pains is an oh, you’re here, are you?”
Phoebe could only laugh at the reproach in his eyes.
“Oh, you are ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. “But I am glad, all the same.”
“I should think so,” he scolded gently, taking her arm. “I really don’t see why everyone is in such a lather about this stupid picture, though.”
“Oh, do you know what it is, then?” Phoebe asked.
“Indeed I do,” he whispered, his voice heavy with a conspiratorial undertone. “And I still don’t understand the fuss,” he added with a laugh.
“Oh, tell me, you wretch.”
Alvanly rolled his eyes. “Very well. It’s called Christ Mocked, and is quite old, and now you know as much as I do.”
“Oh.” Phoebe was disappointed to hear it was a religious subject, for she did not much care for them. “Well, I’m afraid I am a dreadful philistine, for I cannot find a great deal of excitement in such a subject. I much prefer modern artists, Turner, for example. Though to be sure I can imagine it is of great importance to history.”
“No, I know. Think how disappointed everyone will be to discover it is not some shocking new artist’s work, like the one she displayed last year.”
“Oh, I wasn’t here last year,” Phoebe said with regret, remembering talk of the scandalous nude that had been displayed. “Papa knew what the painting was and wouldn’t let me come.”
“Of cour
se he didn’t,” Alvanly muttered.
Phoebe cast him a sharp glance, but the man just flashed her a grin.
“Come along,” he said. “I know exactly how we can enliven this deadly affair.”
“Oh?”
Alvanly did not reply. He only tugged her arm, and bore her inexorably up the stairs. Phoebe was not alarmed, for all the rooms, including the bedrooms, had been emptied and were open to the crowds. Up here, as downstairs, the sound of music drifted from a small chamber orchestra and, in some rooms, tables and chairs had been set up for the card players.
She did quail a little as he tugged her past a silken rope, though, tied across a darkened corridor with a private sign sewn onto it.
“Alvanly!” she said, resisting him and grinding to a halt. “What are you about? I’ll not go trysting with you, if that’s your intention.”
The baron tutted at her.
“I never expected you to,” he retorted, obviously stung by the implication.
“Well, what then?”
Alvanly huffed and looked around to check they were not observed. “This is where the painting is. Mrs Manning will lead her guests up here shortly to view the painting. Just think how shocked she’ll be if it isn’t there.”
Phoebe stared at him open mouthed.
“Oh, don’t look like that. Only for a minute,” he said, laughing at her horrified reaction. “Just until she gives a little shriek and then I shall go, ta da! And present the horrid thing to her again. How funny it will be to see them all squeal in shock and then gasp and wonder how I did it. They shall call me The Magician.”
He winked at her and Phoebe frowned, troubled.
“How will you do it? The door is bound to be locked.”
Alvanly rolled his eyes. “I won’t, you pretty gudgeon. You must unlock the door for me with your clever fingers, but I’ll do the rest. Come along, it will be a lark. I won’t tell anyone you helped me, so there’s no harm.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I… I don’t think so….”
Alvanly sighed and returned a mocking expression. “Oh, I see. He’s spoken to you at last, I suppose.”
“What? Who?” Phoebe asked, wondering at the change of subject.
“No, never mind.” The baron waved a dismissive hand and shook his head, turning to go back the way they’d come, but he looked dreadfully hurt.
“No, tell me,” Phoebe insisted, making him stop with a hand on his arm. “Do you mean Ellisborough?”
“Of course, Ellisborough, who else?” he retorted with a bitter laugh. “He’s always watching us, haven’t you noticed? He gives me these dark glares that promise retribution. No doubt he’s been dripping poison in your ear and telling you what a loose screw I am, too, and not to trust me an inch.”
“No, he hasn’t,” Phoebe said, frowning. “And I make my own decisions about my friends, Alvanly. You know that.”
“You think you do,” the baron replied, a tone to his voice she could not like. “Except I wonder how many others have not been as determined to remain your friend, and allowed him to frighten them off.”
“What?” Phoebe stared at him in alarm. “Ellisborough would never—”
“Oh, wouldn’t he? Then it must have been someone who looked like him that threatened me in that case. He told me to stay away from you, or else, my sweet. The else was quite clearly finding me in a dark alley and teaching me a lesson. He looked positively murderous, I promise you.”
Ellisborough had threatened Alvanly? Phoebe’s mind boggled at the idea. Max? Max had threatened Alvanly. A strange sensation uncoiled in her belly. It was not entirely comfortable, and she did not like it. She did not like the idea that he was manipulating the people around her, either. How dare he? Even her father would not choose her friends for her. He knew she was friends with Alvanly, and he trusted her to make her own decisions. But Max….
Indignation rose with a wave of heat, and a strong emotion she could not identify, but it had the effect of making her want to grab hold of Max and… and… and strangle him with his cravat. The beast!
At least, she thought that was what she wanted.
Her emotions rose in a tangle, hot and uncomfortable, setting her all on edge. Why was Max so often in her thoughts of late, keeping her from sleep, always there with that dark look of disapproval glinting in his eyes?
“Fine,” she said, her jaw so tight with agitation she could hardly get the word out.
“What?”
“Fine, I’ll do it,” she muttered, stalking past Alvanly and down the corridor.
Max had ignored her ever since that scene with the baron, but if he found out about this, he’d be forced to scold her, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, and then… then… she’d give him a piece of her mind in return.
It was child’s play to get into the room, even without her lock picks. Her hair pins worked well enough, though a few heavy coils of her hair came tumbling down as a result. The lock was simple and sturdy but well-oiled, and it was a matter of moments before she heard that satisfying little snick. Alvanly beamed at her, and a tremor of unease rippled through her. She was already regretting her impetuous decision, but there was no going back now.
“You really are marvellous,” he said, his admiration apparently genuine. “You know, if not for your terrifying papa, I think I could fall in love with you.”
“How gratifying,” Phoebe said dryly as she walked into the room.
All she wanted now was for this to be over and done with so she could get out of the baron’s company. She wanted to find Max instead and ask why he had threatened Alvanly, and why he wouldn’t talk to her anymore. Had she been so awful that he didn’t like her at all now? Her heart sank as she realised she could not discount the possibility. Alvanly hurried to light a couple of candles, and they walked to inspect the painting. Phoebe studied it and shook her head, wishing she could see what was remarkable about it.
“It’s a dingy little thing.”
Alvanly was staring at the painting with awe, which Phoebe thought odd as it was small and unimpressive. It seemed to be grubby, and the paint was all cracked, but the baron was gazing at it in wonder.
“Do you like it?” she asked, surprised to discover it was to his taste.
“Oh, I do,” he said, an odd note to his voice. “I like it tremendously.”
She stared at the painting again, trying to see what had so captivated him. “How strange, I’d never have thought it was—”
Phoebe turned too late as a large hand covered her mouth, the other holding her arms pinned to her chest. He was far stronger than he appeared.
“Don’t make a sound, sweet,” Alvanly said. “I should hate to hurt you, but I am quite desperate. That painting is my ticket to freedom, and I must take it. You do see.”
Phoebe stamped on his foot and wriggled free enough to thrust her elbow into his stomach. Strongly indicating that she did not, in fact, see at all. Alvanly groaned and cursed but did not release her.
“You little hellcat!” he said, though he sounded amused rather than angry with her. “Please, Phoebe, don’t make it worse. I will hurt you if you make me.”
He withdrew the hand from her mouth and Phoebe took a breath to give him a piece of her mind, but swallowed the words as he drew a pistol and levelled it at her.
“There, now. Be a good girl,” he said, almost apologetically. “You will be nice and quiet while I tie you up, and no one will be able to blame you for what has happened.”
“You’ll not get away with this, you blaggard,” Phoebe cursed furiously. “I’ll not let you get away with it.”
“Don’t be a poor loser, darling. You’re up to snuff with most tricks, I’ll give you that, but I never thought I’d be reduced to be doing something like this myself. The opportunity was simply too good to miss, though. This ugly little darling is a lost treasure. It’s a thirteenth century masterpiece, and worth the best part of ten thousand pounds.”
“But I’ll be ruined,” she s
aid, unable to hide the loathing in her voice.
God, what a little fool she’d been. She’d known he was a wicked fellow, but she’d thought she knew all the tricks he might play on her. Sadly, this one had never occurred. She’d known he was a rake—but a criminal—that she had not counted on.
More fool her.
“Ah, not for long,” the baron said, his voice soothing as he stuffed a silk handkerchief in her mouth, almost making her gag as the sweet, floral scent of his cologne filled her nose. “I don’t doubt Ellisborough will be swift enough to offer for you. Indeed, he ought to thank me. I’ve done him a grand favour.”
As she could no longer speak, Phoebe had to content herself with glaring at him. Alvanly gave her cheek a gentle pat and moved quickly, tying her arms and legs with a thin rope he withdrew from his pocket. He’d come prepared, then. This had been his plan all along. Fury and regret that she had allowed him to use her this way swamped her. Well, he’d not get away with it. She would have her revenge on him if it was the last thing she did.
Alvanly lifted her, ignoring the way she squirmed, and laid her down on a chaise longue before hurrying back for the painting. It was just small enough to be hidden beneath his waistcoat without being too terribly visible, and she realised now his coat was too big for him, big enough to hide the bulky shape beneath. He turned then, giving her one last smile, and blew her a kiss.
“I am sorry,” he said, and she heard the regret in his voice before he gave a rueful chuckle. “Just not sorry enough.”
And then he was gone.
***
Max frowned. He’d looked everywhere for Phoebe and could find no sign of her. Her aunt, Mrs Hunt, had confirmed she was here and yet… Where the devil was she? He looked up over the crowd to see Alvanly hurrying down the stairs, heading for the front door. What was the blackguard in such a rush for? Alarm bells sounded loudly in his head, and he rushed towards the stairs, ignoring those that tried to catch his eye to greet him. There was an odd tightening in his gut, some sixth sense that told him Phoebe was in trouble. He searched each room, methodically, finding no sign of her, and then saw the roped off area. Casting a glance about to ensure he was not seen, he slipped down the corridor and searched each room in turn. All were dark and empty, except one.
To Dance until Dawn (Girls Who Dare Book 12) Page 7