“You conceited beast!” Phoebe slapped a hand over her mouth, but she could not take the words back. Far from being annoyed, however, Alvanly’s eyes lit with delight.
Slowly, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear again—too close, too intimate.
“Guilty as charged.” He straightened, and this time his gaze was more serious. “We’re alike, you know. You and I. Both of us are infuriated by rules and the opinions of others. The only difference is, I have ceased to care, or to heed them. I do as I please, and the world can whisper and gossip to its heart’s content. I don’t care. I’m not sure you’re brave enough to break free of your bonds, though, are you?”
Phoebe stared at the baron, uncertain of what to say. She felt just as he’d described, frustrated that society thought women ought to be quiet and well-behaved, and do as they were told. She did not enjoy the idea that he thought her craven, though.
“I don’t care for the gossips, which you’ll know if you’ve heard the slightest thing about me.”
Alvanly shrugged. “Oh, you say that, but I doubt it’s true. It’s one thing to be a little outspoken, to play mad games that make the old ladies shriek and dance with too much enthusiasm. It’s another to live life freely. What would you do this week, for example? If you did not have to consider your reputation?”
Phoebe did not have to consider that too long.
“There’s a boxing match,” she said wistfully.
Alvanly grinned.
***
Jack set his battered tricorn hat down on the table. Phoebe was almost certain it was the same one he’d worn when she was a child. He folded his massive arms and glared at her. “You’re up to no good, ain’t ’cha?”
Jack Green, who once travelled under the notorious sobriquet of ‘Flash Jack’ had retired from life on the high toby when Phoebe had been a girl. They had met when he’d accepted a job, the object of which had been to put a period to the life of the Marquess of Montagu, Phoebe’s father. That her father’s uncle had given him the job said all that was needed about the life her poor papa had lived as a boy. That the once notorious highwayman would now lay down his life for said marquess, illustrated anything else that might be necessary. As with any poacher turned gamekeeper, Jack took his job very seriously indeed. He was not adverse, however, to sharing his knowledge, especially if one waited until he was just a little foxed. Which he only ever was on his evening off. Never, ever, did he imbibe when he was working, aware that would mean instant dismissal.
They had established an odd friendship over the years, where Jack watched over Phoebe like the little princess he seemed determined to view her as—despite plenty of evidence to the contrary—and Jack seemed to her to be some burly guardian angel. He had taught her to pick a lock, cheat at cards, and do many things that a young lady ought not even to know about, but which might get her out of trouble if she fell into it… or into trouble if she weren’t trying hard enough to avoid it. Either was equally likely where Phoebe was concerned, and she did like to be prepared for all eventualities.
“What makes you think I’m up to no good?” Phoebe asked, striving for an air of innocence.
Judging on the snorting noise Jack made, she needed to work on that.
“’Cause you are always up to some mischief or t’other, Princess. You got an itch that seeks trouble and adventure, excitement. I know ’cause I had it too, once upon a time. And if you were goin’ somewhere what your Pa knew about, you’d not be out here asking like it were some great secret.”
Phoebe sighed and mirrored Jack’s stance, folding her arms. “I just want to go to a boxing match, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes grew round. “I gave up risking getting my neck stretched some years ago. I ain’t about to get meself all cut up into little bitty pieces by your papa for doing something as addlebrained as that. A boxing match, indeed. Reckon ye need Pippin to lay some of her magicking on me afore ye’d get me to dance to that tune.”
Phoebe huffed with impatience. “Oh, it’s not fair. Why do men get to do all the interesting things, and I’m supposed to sit at home