“Don’t make a sound, sweet,” Alvanly said. “I should hate to hurt you, but I am quite desperate. That painting is my ticket to freedom, and I must take it. You do see.”
Phoebe stamped on his foot and wriggled free enough to thrust her elbow into his stomach. Strongly indicating that she did not, in fact, see at all. Alvanly groaned and cursed but did not release her.
“You little hellcat!” he said, though he sounded amused rather than angry with her. “Please, Phoebe, don’t make it worse. I will hurt you if you make me.”
He withdrew the hand from her mouth and Phoebe took a breath to give him a piece of her mind, but swallowed the words as he drew a pistol and levelled it at her.
“There, now. Be a good girl,” he said, almost apologetically. “You will be nice and quiet while I tie you up, and no one will be able to blame you for what has happened.”
“You’ll not get away with this, you blaggard,” Phoebe cursed furiously. “I’ll not let you get away with it.”
“Don’t be a poor loser, darling. You’re up to snuff with most tricks, I’ll give you that, but I never thought I’d be reduced to be doing something like this myself. The opportunity was simply too good to miss, though. This ugly little darling is a lost treasure. It’s a thirteenth century masterpiece, and worth the best part of ten thousand pounds.”
“But I’ll be ruined,” she said, unable to hide the loathing in her voice.
God, what a little fool she’d been. She’d known he was a wicked fellow, but she’d thought she knew all the tricks he might play on her. Sadly, this one had never occurred. She’d known he was a rake—but a criminal—that she had not counted on.
More fool her.
“Ah, not for long,” the baron said, his voice soothing as he stuffed a silk handkerchief in her mouth, almost making her gag as the sweet, floral scent of his cologne filled her nose. “I don’t doubt Ellisborough will be swift enough to offer for you. Indeed, he ought to thank me. I’ve done him a grand favour.”
As she could no longer speak, Phoebe had to content herself with glaring at him. Alvanly gave her cheek a gentle pat and moved quickly, tying her arms and legs with a thin rope he withdrew from his pocket. He’d come prepared, then. This had been his plan all along. Fury and regret that she had allowed him to use her this way swamped her. Well, he’d not get away with it. She would have her revenge on him if it was the last thing she did.
Alvanly lifted her, ignoring the way she squirmed, and laid her down on a chaise longue before hurrying back for the painting. It was just small enough to be hidden beneath his waistcoat without being too terribly visible, and she realised now his coat was too big for him, big enough to hide the bulky shape beneath. He turned then, giving her one last smile, and blew her a kiss.
“I am sorry,” he said, and she heard the regret in his voice before he gave a rueful chuckle. “Just not sorry enough.”
And then he was gone.
***
Max frowned. He’d looked everywhere for Phoebe and could find no sign of her. Her aunt, Mrs Hunt, had confirmed she was here and yet… Where the devil was she? He looked up over the crowd to see Alvanly hurrying down the stairs, heading for the front door. What was the blackguard in such a rush for? Alarm bells sounded loudly in his head, and he rushed towards the stairs, ignoring those that tried to catch his eye to greet him. There was an odd tightening in his gut, some sixth sense that told him Phoebe was in trouble. He searched each room, methodically, finding no sign of her, and then saw the roped off area. Casting a glance about to ensure he was not seen, he slipped down the corridor and searched each room in turn. All were dark and empty, except one.
Candlelight illuminated the space enough for him to see the easel that had been set up to display a painting, though no painting sat upon it. A muffled sound of despair caught his attention and Max’s breath snagged in his throat as he saw Phoebe, gagged and bound.
“Phoebe!”
He rushed to her and tugged the handkerchief from her mouth. She sucked in a breath.