To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,29

voice shaky and uncertain and quite unlike herself.

“Phoebe, love, what happened? Who did this to you?” Because as soon as he knew, he would murder them with his bare hands.

“Alvanly,” she spat in disgust as he moved to untie her. “Oh, Max, he’s stolen the painting.”

“What?”

Max tugged the last of her bindings free and stared down at her.

“It’s true,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “And it’s all my fault. Max, I’ve been such a stupid fool.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, desperately wanting to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, but knowing that he could not. “He’s a sly, lying bastard. I knew he was up to something. I should have done more… I should have stopped him,” he cursed, winding the ropes up in his distraction and stuffing them in his pocket.

Phoebe gave a huff of laughter. “Oh, how angry I was with you when he told me you’d warned him off, but you were right all along. I ought to have listened to you instead of being so pig-headed, and now…well, I suppose I am well served.”

Max stilled, a little stunned by her words, but he had no time to enjoy the moment as she continued, her voice despairing.

“Oh, what a wretched mull I’ve made of everything, and it is my fault, Max. I picked the lock. He’d never have got in here without me.”

Max stared at her, wondering why he was surprised.

“You… picked the lock,” he said faintly.

She nodded, her bottom lip trembling. “That grubby little painting is worth a fortune, and now I’m an accessory to a crime, and there will be such a scandal, and Papa… Papa….”

Her voice quavered.

“No,” Max said, shaking his head. “No, there won’t be. I’ll make it right, I promise.”

“Oh, Max,” she sobbed, and to his astonishment and delight, threw her arms about his neck.

He couldn’t move for a moment, couldn’t breathe, and then his brain gave him a swift kick and told him not to be such an idiot and he put her arms about her, holding her tightly, just as he’d wanted to.

“I’ll make it right,” he said again, the words whispered this time.

She gasped and looked up at him, her eyelashes spangled with tears. Max’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes falling to her lips.

“My lord!”

They both leapt about a foot in the air as Mrs Manning’s voice rang out. Turning, they saw they had an audience. She had obviously brought the first swathe of guests to view her astonishing find.

Max surged to his feet, keeping hold of Phoebe’s hand but moving to shield her from the gawking eyes about them.

“Forgive me, Mrs Manning,” he said, doing his best to look like a man interrupted in a romantic interlude—which he was desperately hoping he had been. “I… I know we ought not be here, but I needed somewhere private to… to ask Miss Barrington if she would be so good as to marry me. Thankfully, she has made me the happiest of men and agreed, but I do apologise for trespassing so.”

He heard Phoebe’s gasp of shock behind him and squeezed her hand hard, praying she’d keep her mouth shut.

“Ah,” Mrs Manning said, her eyes growing misty as she looked upon them, a murmur of interest rippling through the crowd. “How terribly romantic.” And then her gaze moved to the empty easel and one hand went to her throat. “The painting!” she cried, rather theatrically in Max’s opinion. “Where is my painting?”

She swung back to stare at him, and at Phoebe, who was clutching his hand as tightly as she could.

“Painting?” Max replied, hoping he could be as inscrutable as Phoebe’s father. He’d seen Montagu in action and knew how impenetrable a mask he could wear. Please, God, make it convincing, he prayed, as he lied through his teeth. “There was no painting when we entered, Mrs Manning, just that empty easel. I assumed you would bring it in when you were ready.”

“But the door,” she said, as the murmurs and gasps spread, becoming louder. “The door was locked.”

“No,” Max said again, shaking his head sadly. “No, it was not. I… I did see Baron Alvanly, though. As we came up the stairs, I saw him hurrying down. He’d come from along this corridor. Perhaps he might have seen someone?”

“Oh, the thief!” Mrs Manning cried, and then gave a little moan of despair before she swooned rather deftly into the arms of her latest paramour.

She was swept away as the cries of