To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,66

lover, at least for a little while.

She almost laughed aloud at the idea.

No, Max would never consent to such a thing. He wanted to save her from ruin, not speed her on her way. He was a good, kind, honourable man, but she could not live in a gilded cage, would not be protected from life, from living, and Max wanted to do just that. It would never work. She would only make them both wretched. Her eyes burned and she blinked hard, forcing her thoughts down another avenue, one where the emotion that rose was anger, not sorrow. They must catch up with Alvanly before he sold that blasted painting. How she wished she’d never set eyes on the wretched thing!

“We ought not go to the hotel first.”

Kline yawned, smothering it with difficulty and trying to focus bleary eyes upon her. He looked over, somewhat surprised to discover Nina had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Phoebe smiled when he did not disturb her.

“Beg pardon, Phoebe?” he asked, rubbing his face with his hand.

“We ought not go to the hotel. Alvanly will be champing at the bit to get his money. He said he was going to go to a Monsieur Lemoine.”

“Lemoine?” Kline repeated in surprise.

“You know him?”

The viscount nodded. “I’ve… er… had cause to visit him myself before now. My wife—not this one,” he added with a rueful nod towards Nina, asleep on his shoulder. “Always had a desire to see Paris. I indulged her and, predictably, it damn near ruined me. I was forced to pawn some valuables to get funds enough to return us home.”

Phoebe sat up a little straighter. “Then you know where he is?”

“Aye, the seventh arrondissement, on the edge of where the wealthy and respectable live, close enough to be discreet when they’ve gambled away the value of their wife’s jewels.”

“Then we’d best go straight there.”

“You do not wish to stop and freshen up?”

Phoebe returned an impatient look. “I wish to get the wretched painting back, and the sooner the better. Alvanly has caused me a great deal of trouble and, whilst I must take responsibility for my part in it, he’s the devil who created all this fuss, and I don’t intend to let him get away with it.”

Kline chuckled, a glint of admiration in his eyes.

“I can see why some believe Montagu is your father,” he said, and then held out a hand before Phoebe could give him the sharp side of her tongue. “Oh, don’t eat me. I never believed it, and I don’t give a damn for your parentage. It was a compliment, I assure you.”

Mollified, Phoebe subsided and returned a dignified nod. “In that case, I shall take it as such.”

Chapter 16

Gabe,

Yes, the rumours of what happened at Mrs Manning’s rout party are true—up to a point.

Baron Alvanly stole the painting, but Phoebe helped him, albeit unwittingly. She picked the lock to let him into the room where it was being displayed. I beg you imagine the scandal if that ever got out. I am trying not to. Alvanly tied her up and left her to the wolves—for which he will pay dearly—but Ellisborough found her first, thank God. He pretended a romantic proposal, hence the news you heard. Whether Phoebe will truly accept him, I do not know.

They have gone to Paris in pursuit of Alvanly. I pity the fellow when she catches up with him. In truth, I believe I pity Max too. I am not entirely certain he understands what he has taken on. Better he discovers it before they marry, though. With luck, she will also discover a thing or two for herself. I believe there is a chance she has met her match.

I dearly hope so.

―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Gabriel Knight from The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu.

11th April 1827. Hôtel St Vincent, Rue Barbet-de-Jouy, 7th Arrondissement, Paris.

Max exited the hotel, cursing under his breath, and climbed back up to sit with Jack and Fred.

“The devil has still not arrived. I think that painting must be burning a hole in his pocket as he considers its worth. The manager told me there were two pawnbrokers close by: a Monsieur Chappuis, and a Monsieur Lemoine.”

“Reckon we’d best seek them out, then,” Jack said, with a sharp nod. “D’you get instructions?”

“I did. Lemoine is the closest at hand. Go to the end of the road and turn left, then first right. We’re looking for rue de Saint-Simon.”

Not more than five minutes later,