To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,36

leave in the morning, c’est impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible, Monsieur Joly,” Max said curtly and placed an outrageous pile of gold coins on the manager’s desk. “Not if one is suitably motivated.”

Monsieur Joly’s eyes lit up and he returned a confident smile. “Mais, oui, monseigneur, you ask, and I, Monsieur Joly, will provide.”

“I felt sure you would,” Max replied dryly. “If you would be so good as to send our dinner to our rooms. A light supper for Lady Ellisborough, if you please. She suffered rather on our journey over.”

“Ah, le mal de mer, is an ’orrible thing, monseigneur.I will have something prepared, light as a feather, oui?”

“Oui,” Max replied with a distracted nod, feeling somewhat overcome as he realised it was the first time he had referred to Phoebe as Lady Ellisborough.

Lady Ellisborough. Lady Phoebe Ellisborough.

His chest felt tight with hope, and a tentative happiness he had all but given up on. Well, she might not have the title legally yet, but in his heart it was hers and always would be, if only she would take it.

***

Phoebe awoke in the early evening as the pleasant scent of food drifted through the room. Sniffing appreciatively as her stomach gave an audible and hopeful growl, she sat up and then squealed with alarm. Max nearly leapt out of his skin, almost dropping the silver domed cover on the dish he’d been inspecting.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she said, once more mortified.

Lud. What a ninny he would think her. They were travelling as man and wife, were they not? Of course they would share a room. Only, this was Max, who was always so conventional, and she had assumed that… that….

Phoebe held the bed covers up to her neck as she realised she was wearing nothing but a thin shift, and Max hurriedly replaced the cover and turned his back.

“Forgive me,” he said, sounding a little strained. “They just brought the meal in and… and the bedroom is rather warmer than… and I thought it would look odd… but…. You need not worry. There is a perfectly comfortable day bed in the attached sitting room. I shall sleep there. Don’t… Don’t be alarmed.”

This rather awkward and disjointed statement made her feel even more a fool as she realised that of course, of course, Max would not think of her in such a way, let alone take advantage of her. He was far too much the gentleman for that.

“It’s quite all right,” she said, striving to sound calm and matter of fact, as if she dined with gentlemen in her rooms all the time. “It’s only you gave me a start. I did not expect to see you in my room.”

“Naturally,” he replied and, though his back was turned, she could hear the smile in the word and blushed. How ridiculous. “I believe you will find a dressing gown on the bed. I have made arrangements for gowns and shoes and… and everything else you might need to be brought to you by morning.”

“Goodness,” Phoebe said, impressed. “So quickly. However did you manage it?”

“Well, I haven’t yet, but let us hope the manager has managed it, at least.”

Phoebe laughed and reached for the dressing gown, which was a rather lovely deep plum velvet, and very warm and snug, if a little too big. “Did you bribe him or bully him?”

“Oh, bribery, of course. I detest bullies.”

Phoebe laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. You may turn around now.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am,” Phoebe said, moving towards the table. “And I’m famished.”

“Excellent.” Max pulled out a chair for her and she gave him a swift smile and sat down. “It all looks rather good.”

It was, and Phoebe practically inhaled two bowls of soup, which Max insisted she must have to ensure her stomach was quite recovered, before attacking the carbonnade flamande. A traditional local dish, it was a beef stew with a distinct sweet and sour flavour, and was served with a spiced bread which was quite delicious.

“More?” Max asked politely, viewing her empty plate with an amused eye.

Phoebe blushed, realising she’d barely spoken to him at all, too intent on feeding her face. Good heavens, what a mannerless hoyden he must think her. She cast the dish of stew a regretful look and shook her head.

“No, thank you. I have had sufficient.”

“Stuff,” Max said with a chuckle. “You’re still ravenous, and you’ve some colour in your cheeks at last. Come, have a little more, to please me.”

Phoebe stared at him, wondering if it