To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,31

don’t you? It’s always me, after all. It’s just the sort of reckless, stupid thing I would do,” she said, sounding so dejected that he wanted to hold her to him again, and would have done if the carriage hadn’t halted.

“We’re here!” she said, scrambling for the door before he could say another word.

Max had little choice but to hurry after her.

Chapter 7

Dearest Prue,

I’ve just heard the wildest rumour. One of our acquaintances was at Mrs Manning’s this evening, and we bumped into them on our way home from a neighbour’s dinner party. The story is so far-fetched I can hardly credit it, except part of it is about Phoebe. There was some garbled story about a stolen painting which I could not make head nor tail of, but they also said she’s to marry Ellisborough?

Is it true? I can hardly believe it.

May I ask Eliza if she would like to go shopping with me this week? I saw the most darling little bonnet that would suit her wonderfully well.

―Excerpt of a letter to Her Grace, Prunella Adolphus, Duchess of Bedwin, from Mrs Minerva de Beauvoir.

7th April 1827. Baron Alvanly’s rooms, Ryder Street, London.

Max watched, feeling as if he’d tumbled into some extraordinary dream, as Jack picked the lock to the front door of Alvanly’s rooms, sending his equally disreputable looking companion who went by the name of Fred, around the rear to check the devil didn’t leave by the alley that ran along the back of the houses. Both men were armed with pistols and cudgels and Max was disconcerted to discover Phoebe did not bat an eyelid at them breaking and entering.

“Stay here,” he commanded her, following in after Jack.

“Not on your life,” she retorted, surprising him not a bit.

Max sighed. “Fine, just stay behind me.”

He took a tight hold of her hand to make sure she had no choice as they moved quietly into the house. It was soon abundantly clear that Alvanly had been prepared to leave. Max cursed and raised an eyebrow as Phoebe muttered something similar under her breath, but he did not consider remonstrating with her. It would not endear him to her and, in the circumstances, she was entitled to relieve her feelings.

“Princess,” Jack barked, waving a crumpled bit of paper he’d taken from an overflowing wastepaper basket. Alvanly might have had time to prepare for his midnight flit, but arranging housekeeping had clearly not played a part in his plans. “Lookie here.”

“What is it, Jack?”

“A timetable for the steamboat. Reckon the blighter is off to France.”

Max groaned. “Of course. He’ll sell the painting in Paris. He’d know his reputation would be shredded here so he’s burnt his boats, but he could live well on the proceeds. Damnation, but the devil will evade us.”

“That he won’t,” Jack growled. “I’ll go after him. If I ’ave to turn Paris upside down and inside out, I’ll get the painting back, Princess. My word on it.”

“Oh, no, Jack. At least,” Phoebe added. “Indeed we will, but you cannot go alone. You don’t speak a word of French, and I’m fluent, thanks to all those wretched lessons Papa made me take. And, after all, I made this mess. I think I ought to clear it up.”

Jack snorted and shook his head. “You reckon I’d take you along? You’re queer in your attic, little lady, that’s what you are.”

Phoebe crossed her arms, a mutinous expression on her face that Max recognised all too well. “This is all my fault, Jack. I will go, with or without you, but I promised Papa that I’d keep myself safe, so I’d much rather it was with you.”

“Your father will string me up by my… never you mind whats! No. No. I won’t have it, Princess.”

Max watched, thoughtful as the argument flew back and forth between them. He stuck his hands in his pockets and discovered the rope that Alvanly had tied Phoebe up with. The bastard. He drew it out, wondering how it had gotten there, and a small slip of paper fluttered to the ground. Max picked it up and stared at it, an odd feeling in his chest.

Do something out of character.

Max would never do something as reckless and idiotic as chase a villain halfway across France in search of a stolen painting in company with an unmarried young lady and an ex-highwayman. Never in a million years. He was too sensible for such nonsense. Too level-headed.

Too… dull.

Phoebe thought to set him free from his promise to marry