to vomit, and I’ll be right as rain in a matter of days.”
He nodded, holding her hands tightly.
“Yes,” he said, smiling at her, though terror lurked in his eyes. “Yes. Pippin will put it all to rights.”
She returned his smile and he drew her hands to his mouth, kissing each one in turn with such tenderness Matilda blinked back tears.
“I love you,” he said. “So much.”
“I love you too.”
He looked up then, his silver eyes glittering with fear and pain.
“Always,” he said fiercely.
Matilda nodded. “Always.”
***
9th April 1827. Hôtel du Bourbon, Calais, Pas-de-Calais, France.
Max felt rather than heard the collective intake of breath from those around him, and instinctively looked up towards the stairs, only to acknowledge the sensation of being hit in the head with a heavy blunt object.
Good God.
He was doomed.
All but skipping down the stairs was a vivacious confection in pale green silk. A confection was, indeed, the only description, and Max longed to unwrap her to discover the delights hidden beneath. The hat had clearly been designed by a mad woman as it was enormous and embellished with wide black-and-green striped ribbons and, enough ostrich feathers to allow the wearer to fly to Paris. The illusion was not diminished by the huge sleeves of the pelisse gown, which were trailing laces. Everything moved, from the rustling skirts to the ribbons and feathers on the hat, and the insane profusion of curls that framed Phoebe’s lovely face as she hurried towards him. She slowed as she noticed everyone watching her, a pretty flush pinking her cheeks, which made him want to pick her up and carry her back up the stairs so he might ravish her in private. Except that she would be disgusted and hate him for it, so he forced his desires aside with aching regret and moved to greet her.
“Good morning,” he said, trying to smile, though the longing in his chest made his expression feel stiff and rigid. He only hoped it looked natural.
“G-Good morning, my lord,” she replied, dipping a curtsey.
Good heavens, why was she being so formal?
Max took a breath and tried to dispel the suddenly tense atmosphere. It only worsened as he noticed many of the men gazing at Phoebe with such envy that he felt a burst of irritation.
“You look….” he began, finding his voice inexplicably husky and unable to grasp at words appropriate to describe what he saw.
Edible was the only one that seemed to fit, and he doubted that would charm her. More likely, she’d run back up the stairs and lock herself in her room.
“Ridiculous,” she said, laughing, though he thought it an oddly brittle sound. “Yes, I know. Your Monsieur Joly did the best he could, I’m sure, but this was the most respectable outfit I could find in what he sent over. I tried not to cause you embarrassment, I swear, but if you think this outrageous, you should see the under-things. They’re all lace and little scarlet silk bows and ribbons, even the garters, and—”
Max felt some thread of sanity inside him snap.
“Phoebe,” he said in a harsh whisper. “For the love of God, don’t discuss your undergarments.”
She blushed then, almost as scarlet as the damned ribbons he’d be thinking about for the rest of this damnable journey.
“I beg your pardon, Max,” she said, looking so mortified he wanted to pull her to him and beg her forgiveness.
Oh, God, he’d discuss her undergarments all the way to Paris, and with pleasure, but not if she did not wish him to see them for himself. That way lay madness, and he was already well on the way.
He offered her his arm, unable to rectify the matter when half of Calais seemed to watch them.
“Come along,” he said, moderating his voice to something less intense. “The carriage is waiting.”
“Oh, but I am sorry… I didn’t mean to….”
Max felt a surge of irritation with her apology and waved it aside. She ought to kick him in the shins for being such a brute. She would have, he was certain, before he’d told the world he would marry her. Now there was more restraint between them than ever, and he did not know how to fix it.
He guided her outside to where Jack had just fixed the extra trunks containing Phoebe’s new wardrobe onto the carriage. He turned, his eyes growing wide as he looked at her. Even Fred snatched off his hat as he saw Phoebe approach, goggling in amazement. Jack whistled, low and approving.
“Blimey, Princess—and you