not a happy experience. Perhaps you are right to stay away, to teach him a lesson. Mayhap he will learn it better than other men.”
“Your husband is dead?” Phoebe asked, not liking the implication she was punishing Max. He did not deserve that after all.
“Now,” Nina agreed, nodding. “But I ran away from him long before then. Better to be my own mistress and set my own price than be used for free and against my will. I am, as dear Richard observed, a mediocre actress, but I am an entertaining companion, and no man will ever own me again.”
“Then you and Alvanly—”
“Not one of my wiser choices,” Nina said with a sigh. “I had no idea he was in such debt. His family is extremely wealthy, but they cast him aside two years ago, and I was ever a fool for a pretty face and a fine physique. At least I did not fall in love with him, though I trusted him further than I ought to have. Lending him money was idiotic, though the men he owed were not the kind you renege on, and I feared they really would kill him.”
“And now? Now that he has stolen a valuable painting and ruined my future. What now?”
“I don’t know.”
Well, that was honest at least.
Nina shook her head her expression darkening. “I do not like nor approve what he has done, but that money is all that stands between me and destitution in my old age. My looks will not last forever, no matter how hard I cling to them. I need security, and he’ll not pay me unless he sells that painting.”
“He might not pay you then,” Phoebe observed. “He was quick enough to abandon you here, was he not? You’ve told him you don’t love him, nor believe in his pretty words. I would not trust him to hang around now. Not once he has the money in hand.”
Nina sat up a little straighter. “You think he has fallen so low?”
“I think he cast his honour aside the moment he left me tied up and stole that painting. He can’t get it back now, so there’s nothing holding him back. I would not trust him an inch, let alone all the way to Paris.”
Phoebe watched as Nina got to her feet with a swirl of pink skirts. She really was a lovely woman, all voluptuous curves and softness. She could well imagine how sought after Nina would be but, judging from her extravagant outfit, the lady had expensive tastes too.
“You’re right,” Nina said at length. “I’ve been foolish to trust him before, I’ll not be burned a second time. We’ll go after him.”
“Excellent,” Phoebe said, getting to her feet with a surge of relief. “But I will send word to Max that I am well and will meet him in Paris. I cannot have the poor man tearing Abbeville apart looking for me. He’ll be so….”
Her voice quavered and Nina moved towards her and pulled her into a hug.
“You do love him.”
“Yes,” Phoebe admitted. “But I wish I did not. I can’t make him happy, and I couldn’t bear to be always disappointing him.”
Nina took her face in both hands and stared at her. “I think perhaps you ought to speak honestly to your Max and tell him your fears. At least you must explain to him why you refuse his offer. If he is a good man as you say, you owe him that much.”
Phoebe sniffed, blinking hard. “Yes. I do owe him that much.”
And a great deal more, she thought sadly.
A sharp knock on the door had them turning and Nina gave a gasp of shock as it swung open without waiting for permission to enter, and a man stepped through.
“Oh, Charlie!” Phoebe said, rushing towards him as she recognised Viscount Kline. “Is Max with you?”
“Phoebe!” Kline held his hands out to her, and she took them as he let out a breath of relief. “Thank God. You know poor Max is out of his mind with worry for you?”
“Oh dear,” Phoebe said, guilt settling in her heart.
“Who is this, Phoebe?” Nina demanded, a sharp ring to the question.
Phoebe looked around to see her staring at Viscount Kline, one hand resting on her heart, her breast rising and falling rapidly.
“Why, madam,” Kline said, releasing Phoebe’s hands and moving quickly towards her. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, not looking away from her. “Do you not recognise your own husband?”