To Dance until Dawn (Girls Who Dare Book 12)

by Emma V. Leech

  Fred, who sat at Jack’s side, gave a muffled snort.

  “Worse than that,” Max admitted. “I told her she’d have no part in recovering the painting from Alvanly. That she could help me find him but—”

  “But that she had to sit quietly like a good girl while you dealt with the big bad villain?” Jack guessed.

  Max nodded.

  “And she ran off after that?”

  Max nodded again, too wretched to speak.

  “You’re right,” Jack said with a sad shake of his head. “You are a blithering idiot.”

  “I know it.” Max watched him. “I must find her, Jack. She’s all alone, and if… if anything happens to her—”

  “You stop that!”

  The words were hard and angry, and Max snapped his mouth shut as Jack glared at him.

  “You might be a blithering idiot, but Phoebe ain’t. She’s got a brain in her head and she knows a thing or two about the world. More than you realise, I’d wager.”

  Max swallowed hard. “I have never wanted to be proven wrong more in my life, Jack, but we must find her.”

  “Aye, reckon we’d best, though likely she’ll not thank us for it. We’d best head back to this booking office and go from there.”

  Max climbed up with Jack and Fred, in no mood to be a passenger. “She left me a note saying she’d found the woman who has been posing as Viscount Kline’s wife.”

  “Right, then,” Jack said. “We’ll see if we can’t find the woman ourselves, and hope our lass is still with her.”

  Chapter 15

  Cassius,

  I did not ask you your opinion.

  The knight was going to face the dragon alone. So she is no madder than he is and a sight more intelligent. She will use her brains to outwit the dragon, not go in poking at the poor beast with a stupid sword, and she would have gone with the knight if he had asked her, but men never ask women to do things with them! Instead, they tell us we are silly widgeons and ought to stay out of the way. Well, I won’t, and neither will my princess.

  The dragon is quite magnificent though, Cassius, thank you very much. You really are most terrifically good at drawing. My attempt looked more like a large rat.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Elizabeth Adolphus (Aged 11) to The Right Hon’ble Cassius Cadogan, Viscount Oakley (Aged 11).

  10th April 1827. Abbeville, Sommes, France.

  Max exited the theatre, fuming with frustration.

  “Well?” Jack demanded.

  “I have no idea. No one speaks a word of English and, as Phoebe so eloquently said, my French is horrible. She could be there this minute and I’d be none the bloody wiser.”

  “Max?”

  Max looked around to see Viscount Kline strolling up the street towards them.

  “Charlie? Thank God. You speak French, don’t you? I need your help. Now, if you please?”

  “Of course,” the viscount said, his blond brows drawing together. “But what’s all the alarm about, and where is your charming wife?”

  Max forced down the panic building in his chest. “Charlie, can I rely on your discretion?”

  The viscount stood a little taller and looked Max square in the eyes. “Word of honour, Ellisborough. Whatever it is, none shall hear a word of it from me. I’d be happy to help if I can, especially if it involves the young lady.”

  “It’s Phoebe… Miss Barrington. We’re… we’re not married… yet. Not ever, if I’ve bungled this as badly as I fear. Oh, God, Charlie, she’s disappeared. She was supposed to be waiting for me, and when I returned there was a note saying she’d found the woman who’s been masquerading as your wife. That was this morning, and I’ve not seen her since. She’s alone and….”

  The viscount reached out and took hold of Max’s arm, squeezing it. “Say no more. In fact, I have also been following a trail that led me here, so let us away inside and see what we can discover, yes?”

  Max let out a harsh breath. “Yes. Yes, thank you.”

  Kline smiled and patted him on the back. “Don’t worry so, man. We’ll find her, both of them come to that, no matter how merry a dance they lead us.”

  “Come along then. Let’s see if you can make yourself understood, for I might as well have been speaking ancient Greek for all the good it did me. Ironically, that’s a language I do understand moderately well.”

  Kline laughed and followed him back inside the theatre.

  Twenty minutes later, and rather lighter in the pocket, and they were furnished with the disturbing information that no one had any knowledge of a Viscountess Kline, but that Baron Alvanly had been there to meet a Mrs Abercrombie. Max had filled the viscount in on all the ridiculous details of their escapade to date, to which he had listened in incredulous silence.

  “Oh, God,” Max said, clenching his fists. “If I’d not been such a fool, we might have found him together. If that bastard has got his clutches into her, if he’s hurt her—”

  “We’ll find her, Max,” Kline said firmly. “And Alvanly might be a thief and a blackguard, but I have never heard of him ill-treating a woman. All the same, I think we must make haste, and we’ll accomplish more if we split up.”

  Max nodded his agreement. “I’ll follow Alvanly to Paris. The fellow said the Hotel St Vincent, so I’ll start there. I don’t know whether to pray Phoebe is with him or not. You see if you can hunt down this Abercrombie woman. If she’s as flamboyant as the chap said, you ought not have too much difficulty.”

  Kline nodded and reached out to shake Max’s hand. “Good luck, I’ll catch you up in Paris as soon as possible.”

  ***

  Phoebe sighed as Nina refilled her glass. “I wish you would let me send word to Lord Ellisborough. He’ll be so worried.”

  “Perhaps it will do him good,” Nina said, selecting a delicate fruit tart and popping it into her mouth.

  “Oh, no!” Phoebe said at once, shaking his head. “He thinks me nothing but trouble, and that I need protecting and looking after from the world at large. This will only confirm all his suspicions, I’ve no doubt.”

  “Well, go to him, then.” Nina gave a shrug and gestured to the door. “I am not holding you captive, dear.”

  “No, but I’m too curious to leave yet,” Phoebe admitted. “I would like to know what is going on. How did you get involved with Alvanly, and why have you been masquerading as Lady Kline?”

  “Oh, how dull,” Nina lamented. “I would much rather talk about Lord Ellisborough. I can’t help but think you are in love with him.”

  Phoebe blushed. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Neither is mine yours, but I’ll share if you will.” Nina picked up the tray of cakes and tarts and held it out for Phoebe to take one.

  “Oh, very well,” she said, huffing and taking a tiny walnut tart. “Max… Lord Ellisborough is… He’s the sort of man any woman would wish for in a husband.”

  “But not you?”

  “Yes, sometimes, but—”

  “But you have no wish to be protected and cosseted?”

  Phoebe glanced up, a little startled by the accuracy of her observation. “Well, sometimes, perhaps. It is nice to be made much of on occasion, but… I am not fragile, I’m not the sort of woman who swoons or has fits of the vapours. I’m pig-headed and too curious for my own good, and not the least bit delicate. I can swear and shoot and fence, and pick a lock and cheat at cards, and I want to make my own decisions and my own mistakes. I’m not stupid enough to think I can do everything by myself, but I would like to be included, and not left at home in case I break a fingernail. If I am to become some man’s property, I must know that he will consider my feelings, that he will ask my consent and involve me in decisions that affect our future. If not—”

  “If not, you are merely a possession and not a person.”

  Phoebe nodded, seeing the complete understanding in Nina’s eyes. The woman gave a tight smile. “I was married once. It was not a happy experience. Perhaps you are ri
ght to stay away, to teach him a lesson. Mayhap he will learn it better than other men.”

  “Your husband is dead?” Phoebe asked, not liking the implication she was punishing Max. He did not deserve that after all.

  “Now,” Nina agreed, nodding. “But I ran away from him long before then. Better to be my own mistress and set my own price than be used for free and against my will. I am, as dear Richard observed, a mediocre actress, but I am an entertaining companion, and no man will ever own me again.”

  “Then you and Alvanly—”

  “Not one of my wiser choices,” Nina said with a sigh. “I had no idea he was in such debt. His family is extremely wealthy, but they cast him aside two years ago, and I was ever a fool for a pretty face and a fine physique. At least I did not fall in love with him, though I trusted him further than I ought to have. Lending him money was idiotic, though the men he owed were not the kind you renege on, and I feared they really would kill him.”

  “And now? Now that he has stolen a valuable painting and ruined my future. What now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Well, that was honest at least.

  Nina shook her head her expression darkening. “I do not like nor approve what he has done, but that money is all that stands between me and destitution in my old age. My looks will not last forever, no matter how hard I cling to them. I need security, and he’ll not pay me unless he sells that painting.”

  “He might not pay you then,” Phoebe observed. “He was quick enough to abandon you here, was he not? You’ve told him you don’t love him, nor believe in his pretty words. I would not trust him to hang around now. Not once he has the money in hand.”

  Nina sat up a little straighter. “You think he has fallen so low?”

  “I think he cast his honour aside the moment he left me tied up and stole that painting. He can’t get it back now, so there’s nothing holding him back. I would not trust him an inch, let alone all the way to Paris.”

  Phoebe watched as Nina got to her feet with a swirl of pink skirts. She really was a lovely woman, all voluptuous curves and softness. She could well imagine how sought after Nina would be but, judging from her extravagant outfit, the lady had expensive tastes too.

  “You’re right,” Nina said at length. “I’ve been foolish to trust him before, I’ll not be burned a second time. We’ll go after him.”

  “Excellent,” Phoebe said, getting to her feet with a surge of relief. “But I will send word to Max that I am well and will meet him in Paris. I cannot have the poor man tearing Abbeville apart looking for me. He’ll be so….”

  Her voice quavered and Nina moved towards her and pulled her into a hug.

  “You do love him.”

  “Yes,” Phoebe admitted. “But I wish I did not. I can’t make him happy, and I couldn’t bear to be always disappointing him.”

  Nina took her face in both hands and stared at her. “I think perhaps you ought to speak honestly to your Max and tell him your fears. At least you must explain to him why you refuse his offer. If he is a good man as you say, you owe him that much.”

  Phoebe sniffed, blinking hard. “Yes. I do owe him that much.”

  And a great deal more, she thought sadly.

  A sharp knock on the door had them turning and Nina gave a gasp of shock as it swung open without waiting for permission to enter, and a man stepped through.

  “Oh, Charlie!” Phoebe said, rushing towards him as she recognised Viscount Kline. “Is Max with you?”

  “Phoebe!” Kline held his hands out to her, and she took them as he let out a breath of relief. “Thank God. You know poor Max is out of his mind with worry for you?”

  “Oh dear,” Phoebe said, guilt settling in her heart.

  “Who is this, Phoebe?” Nina demanded, a sharp ring to the question.

  Phoebe looked around to see her staring at Viscount Kline, one hand resting on her heart, her breast rising and falling rapidly.

  “Why, madam,” Kline said, releasing Phoebe’s hands and moving quickly towards her. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, not looking away from her. “Do you not recognise your own husband?”

  “Oh,” Nina said faintly. She flushed just a little before rallying and raising her chin. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be. Prettier, too.”

  The viscount grinned. “I might say the same, my lady.”

  Nina snatched her hand away and huffed. “I’m not your lady, nor a lady at all, as you well know. I’m sorry for using your name so. It was a wretched trick and I know it. I shall repay what I owe you, I give you my word—for what that is worth. I was desperate, or I should never have done such a thing. Only, I had no funds, and I had to come here to meet Alvanly, or I’d never get my money back.”

  “Alvanly?” Kline repeated, his voice hard and displeased. “You’re mixed up with him too?”

  Phoebe stared at him in surprise. “Max told you?”

  “Everything,” Kline said, his face softening as he gave her a sympathetic smile. “And you may trust me, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe let out a breath and nodded. “Yes, I believe I can, Charlie. Thank you. And yes, Alvanly is a part of this too, though Nina was not involved in the theft, nor in what happened to me. She lent him money to escape some dangerous men and he can’t pay her back unless he sells the painting. He’s on his way to Paris now.”

  “Aye, with Max in hot pursuit,” Kline observed, watching Nina with interest. “Well, we’d best go after them. If Max discovers Alvanly and no sign of you, Phoebe, there might well be trouble. It’s lucky there’s a good moon tonight. If you ladies can make ready, we had best not tarry.”

  “You’ll take me too?” Nina asked, regarding Kline cautiously.

  The viscount snorted. “My dear, I am not letting you out of my sight. Either of you!”

  The next four and twenty hours were excruciating. Phoebe tried her best to sleep as the carriage jolted and bumped through the night, lurching over the dreadful roads, but it was nigh on impossible. Even if she’d had a feather bed and the most luxurious of sleeping quarters, she doubted she’d have closed her eyes. She wished she had not left Max so abruptly, though she was glad to have discovered Nina, whom she was coming to like very much. The woman never complained during the gruelling journey, and did her best to keep everyone’s spirits up. Phoebe noticed Kline watching Nina covertly when she was not looking, a curious look in his eyes, and she suspected he was rather charmed himself.

  Phoebe sighed as she returned her thoughts to Max. As disappointed as she had been in him, she had behaved badly—recklessly as usual. No doubt he would be all too pleased to release her from their engagement after what she’d done. He must realise by now what a bad bargain he’d struck. She supposed that thought ought to comfort her for she could not bear to hurt him, but she felt too sorry for herself to find any relief in it.

  Well, she would not marry. Nina had chosen not to marry again. Better that than make a disastrous mistake. She would be ruined, and her parents would be disappointed for her, but not surprised, she suspected. There had always been an inevitability about it, and there was freedom in such a state that would not be unwelcome.

  Her illegitimacy had always tainted her as far of many of the ton were concerned, even if they feared the consequences of treating her with less than respect too much to ever mention it aloud. It was always there, in their eyes. It would not make so much difference, Phoebe supposed. The people she already knew disapproved of her would cut her. That seemed no dreadful loss. She could take lovers, and yet they would have no say in her life, no control over her. Unlike poor Nina, she was financially secure, and need not fear the future.

  Her mind drifted back to the night Max had kissed her, the feel of his strong arms around her, the perfection of that moment, and regret filled her heart. She had believed she had found a man she could put her trust in, one she could count on and be proud of, and who would return the same feelings, but Max did not trust her wholly and completely
, as she had wished to trust him. That she must leave him, cut him from her life, made her chest feel tight with misery and she wondered if perhaps she could persuade him to be her lover, at least for a little while.

  She almost laughed aloud at the idea.

  No, Max would never consent to such a thing. He wanted to save her from ruin, not speed her on her way. He was a good, kind, honourable man, but she could not live in a gilded cage, would not be protected from life, from living, and Max wanted to do just that. It would never work. She would only make them both wretched. Her eyes burned and she blinked hard, forcing her thoughts down another avenue, one where the emotion that rose was anger, not sorrow. They must catch up with Alvanly before he sold that blasted painting. How she wished she’d never set eyes on the wretched thing!

  “We ought not go to the hotel first.”

  Kline yawned, smothering it with difficulty and trying to focus bleary eyes upon her. He looked over, somewhat surprised to discover Nina had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Phoebe smiled when he did not disturb her.

  “Beg pardon, Phoebe?” he asked, rubbing his face with his hand.

  “We ought not go to the hotel. Alvanly will be champing at the bit to get his money. He said he was going to go to a Monsieur Lemoine.”

  “Lemoine?” Kline repeated in surprise.

  “You know him?”

  The viscount nodded. “I’ve… er… had cause to visit him myself before now. My wife—not this one,” he added with a rueful nod towards Nina, asleep on his shoulder. “Always had a desire to see Paris. I indulged her and, predictably, it damn near ruined me. I was forced to pawn some valuables to get funds enough to return us home.”

  Phoebe sat up a little straighter. “Then you know where he is?”

  “Aye, the seventh arrondissement, on the edge of where the wealthy and respectable live, close enough to be discreet when they’ve gambled away the value of their wife’s jewels.”

  “Then we’d best go straight there.”

  “You do not wish to stop and freshen up?”

  Phoebe returned an impatient look. “I wish to get the wretched painting back, and the sooner the better. Alvanly has caused me a great deal of trouble and, whilst I must take responsibility for my part in it, he’s the devil who created all this fuss, and I don’t intend to let him get away with it.”