To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,1

“Do be careful! The floor is awfully slip—”

Before she had finished the sentence, Phoebe gave a shriek and landed hard on her bottom with a flurry of skirts and petticoats, giving the room a good look at her ankles. There was a stunned silence before the dreadful girl burst out laughing.

Max hurried towards her, only too aware of the outraged expressions from some of the ladies turning to disapproving ones, though Lady Helena was spluttering with laughter too.

“Are you hurt?” he asked in concern.

He did his best not to notice her pretty ankles as he reached down to help her to her feet. Goodness, when had she turned into such a beautiful young woman? Surely it hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her last?

“No, only my pride,” she said, her eyes alight with merriment as she looked up and realised who her rescuer was. “Oh, Max. How lovely to see you.”

She beamed at him, such a joyous, carefree smile that Max’s breath caught, an odd sensation lancing through him and making his chest feel tight. How bright she was, how very alive. Had he ever been alive like she was? Had he ever been that free?

She hesitated, and Max realised he was staring at her. He cleared his throat and forced a smile, though his nerves were all standing on end with alarm.

“Would you like to dance, Max?” she asked, perhaps just out of politeness as there was a doubtful glint in her eyes.

“No,” he said, faintly, shaking his head.

Dancing with Phoebe seemed a dreadfully dangerous idea, and one he would do well to avoid.

She gave him a faintly pitying look and patted his arm. “No, of course not.”

With that she turned and ran back to find another dance partner—Cassius, this time—who was staring at her with an expression of rapt fascination.

Max watched as she instructed all the children, showing them the steps and laughing wildly with them. She lavished praise of them when they got it right, and was patient and kind when they made a mistake. Max could not take his eyes from her, could not stop this strange and daunting feeling from taking a hold. Something had bloomed in his chest, taken root in his heart, and he did not know if he wanted to allow it to grow. Phoebe was not the kind of woman he was looking for. She was too young, too outrageous, too… everything. Except he knew, knew as he watched her, watched her bring life and vibrancy and laughter to all of those around her… he didn’t have a choice.

Chapter 1

Lucian,

We should be delighted to come and celebrate Phoebe’s twentieth birthday. Ellisborough is with us. I will assume you’re happy to include him in the invitation as I hear he practically lives at Dern of late anyway. I have the unsettling suspicion Cassius is plotting something diabolical with Philip and Thomas, so heaven help us. No doubt Phoebe will adore it, whatever it is.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu, from The Right Hon’ble Jasper Cadogan, Earl of St Clair.

7th February1827. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

“Well?” Phoebe asked as she turned this way and that, a critical pucker of concentration between her blonde brows.

“You look breathtaking, darling,” Matilda said, smiling at her adopted daughter. “Papa will be so proud of you.”

Phoebe span around with a rustle of skirts and closed the gap between them, hugging Matilda tightly.

“Thank you, Mama, and not just for the gown or for today, though today has been marvellous. Everything has been splendid.”

“You have had quite a successful start to the season,” Matilda agreed dryly. “Six proposals of marriage and a duel. In your first season, you only had three by now. Oh, and a bout of fisticuffs.”

Phoebe snorted and pulled a face, such unladylike gestures that did not seem to harm her popularity a whit. She was outspoken, reckless, defied every convention wherever possible, and would give her poor Papa a nervous collapse in the very near future. Unlike the rest of the world, who found the marquess’ icy gaze a terrifying prospect, she could wrap her papa about her pretty thumb, and did. In reality, Lucian was her uncle, not her father, but Phoebe had longed for the parents she’d lost as a small child, and so they had adopted her. Phoebe was as much Matilda and Lucian’s child as their two rambunctious boys, Philip and Thomas, though Phoebe enjoyed to rough and tumble just as much as their sons did…