To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,21

you should, and I pray you do not follow her example,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head. “Heaven alone knows what manner of scoundrel you’ll find yourself entangled with.”

“One like you?” Helena suggested.

Phoebe almost blushed at the look that passed between the two of them, such obvious adoration, and such heat in their eyes that she felt like an intruder. Heavens. If only she could meet a man who made her as wild and desperate as Gabe had made Helena. She’d heard the story many times, of course, of their mad race from London to Brighton, and then a different kind of race, one that had been hushed up. Only their dearest friends knew of their desperate flight to Gretna Green with Helena’s brother, the duke, in hot pursuit. She could not imagine wanting a man so much as to cast everything aside for him, risk everything for him. She’d do something mad for the adventure of it, for the thrill of it, but she’d felt nothing close to the depth of feeling that she saw between these two, or between her parents.

“Oh, Lord,” Phoebe muttered.

Helena followed her gaze across the packed ballroom to where people were gathered at the edges of the dance floor, talking. There was Max, deep in conversation with Lord St Clair.

“What is it?” Helena asked.

“I must speak to Lord Ellisborough,” Phoebe said, with the same tone she might remark, I must have a tooth pulled.

“And is that such a terrible fate?” Helena asked, her green eyes alight with curiosity.

Phoebe shrugged. “No. Only, I… I owe him an apology, or thanks, or something, and I’m not particularly good at things like that. He always makes me feel like such a ninny.”

Helena frowned at her, the curiosity in her eyes deepening. “Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” Phoebe said, huffing. “He just… he makes me want to be even more dreadful than usual, because I know how much he disapproves of me. Though he says he doesn’t, but I don’t believe him.” She looked up as Helena laughed, the sound soft and knowing. “What?”

“Oh, no,” Helena replied. “You shan’t hear it from me. You’re a bright girl. You’ll figure it out… eventually.”

“Are you causing mischief, wife?”

Helena looked up, her eyes sparkling. “Possibly,” she replied.

Gabe chuckled. “There’s no possibly about it. Come along and dance with me before you start a riot, you wicked creature.”

Phoebe watched, rather envious as Gabe guided Helena onto the dance floor and held her shockingly close, making all the old biddies gasp and mutter. Sighing, she decided she’d best get the onerous part of the evening over with and headed towards Max.

Her stomach fluttered as she drew closer and she told herself it was just because he would likely say something to make her cross. He turned, seeing her before she reached him and finished his conversation with the earl, moving towards her.

“Miss Barrington,” he said, politely. “May I say how lovely you look this evening?”

Phoebe smiled and thanked him, not taking much notice of his words. He was unfailingly polite to everyone, and would have said the exact same thing if she’d worn a puce gown with an orange flounce and green lace. She rather wished she had now, just to see if he flinched at all whilst he said it.

“I came to say thank you,” she said, wishing she could avoid his gaze, those dark eyes she felt certain could see into her brain and read whatever nonsense she was thinking, and always seemed to find her wanting. “For not telling Papa what I did.”

Max smiled at her. It was a good smile, warm and honest, and Phoebe noticed now that it made his eyes crinkle a little at the corners, which she liked.

“I did not want to tell tales on you, and I knew you would tell him yourself, in any case.”

Phoebe snorted and then wished she hadn’t, remembering too late that it was unladylike. “Well, you had more faith in me than I did. I fully believed I would take it to my grave if I could. Sadly, my nerves are not strong enough to withstand my father’s scrutiny.”

“I’m not certain anyone’s nerves are strong enough for that,” Max replied with a wry smile.

“No.” Phoebe sighed, relaxing a little in the light of his good humour. “I don’t suppose they are.”

Max cleared his throat. If Phoebe hadn’t known better, she might have thought him nervous.

“Miss Barrington—”

“There you are!”

Phoebe turned and felt a surge of dismay to see it