Ten

W ill’s lips quirked as Phoebe shoved her hands in her pockets and loped toward the music hall. Though technically he had seen her in trousers before, that was ages ago and hadn’t made much of an impression on him at the time given how frequently it occurred.

But this … this was an entirely different experience. For example, Will certainly didn’t remember ever noticing the way the cut of the trousers emphasized the appealing shape of Phoebe’s backside. He tore his gaze away before anyone caught him staring. As they approached the entrance, Phoebe turned back to give him a jaunty wink that he returned with a frown.

Christ, this would never work. How could anyone look at her and not immediately see those full lips or the curves barely hidden beneath her jacket? But, miraculously, as they made their way through the bustling music hall, no one gave her a second glance. Phoebe had been right. People only saw what they expected to see.

Will had never been to this particular establishment but it reminded him of the places he had visited in the Marais during a trip to Paris with his brother and their late friend Ned years ago. It was crowded and dimly lit aside from the small stage backed by a crimson velvet curtain that had clearly seen better days. The accordion player’s fingers danced wildly over the keys, moving faster and faster, while the ragtag audience let out a round of cheers. The floor was sticky and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, stale beer, and too sweet perfume. It was the scent of excitement. Of possibility. Will closed his eyes and for a brief moment he was back in the Marais, his arm slung around a stranger and his throat hoarse from butchering Gallic drinking songs. He wasn’t a duke then, with the weight of a dozen estates bearing down on him, but just another young man who had come to Paris to get drunk, flirt with women in his terrible French, and look at the occasional piece of art. God, it had felt good.

A swift tap on his shoulder interrupted this little reverie and he opened his eyes.

“Let’s talk to the barman,” Phoebe said by his ear.

Will nodded, but instead of turning away he was compelled to lean closer, as if someone were tugging on an invisible string, until the lapel of his coat brushed against her arm. Phoebe’s lips parted in surprise, her gaze open and inquiring. Will should have drawn back, blamed the movement on someone from the crowd around them, but all he could do was stare into her wide hazel eyes. His fingers tingled with the urge to reach out and wrap around her waist and draw her even closer. To brush the strands of hair that had escaped from under her cap and nuzzle the shell of her ear, but that would most certainly draw attention. Phoebe drew in a breath and began to say something just as someone did shove into Will. Hard. He was forced to step back to keep his balance just as Phoebe grabbed his sleeve.

“Sorry, mate,” said the incredibly drunk and quite large man that had bumped into him. He then gestured to the pint in his hand, as if that explained it, and managed to slosh some of it onto Will’s shoes before toddling off.

“Stop staring at him like he insulted your honor and slapped you with his glove,” Phoebe said. “You’re ruining your disguise.”

“I wasn’t.” Will turned to her. “And no one does that anymore.”

“If anything, you should have thrown a punch,” she teased. “That’s how disagreements are settled outside Mayfair.”

Will suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. She really did see him as completely inane. “A splendid idea,” he said dryly. “But I assume you don’t want to get thrown out of here before we even find this woman.”

“Fair point.”

“Come on,” he said. “I could use a drink.” Or several.

Will clasped a hand around her upper arm as he led them through the crowd. It had been ages since he had been surrounded by so many people who hadn’t a clue he was a duke—or even simply a wealthy man. Will hadn’t realized just how used he had become to being fawned over or yielded to, which was highly annoying.

At first he tried saying “Excuse me” and “Pardon,” but the beer-spilling oaf had the right idea. Will finally began to shoulder his way through the crowd. A few men cast dark looks at them, but turned away at Will’s answering scowl. He straightened a little more, feeling absurdly proud.

Once they reached the bar, Phoebe placed her hands on the counter and stood on her tiptoes to address the stone-faced man behind the bar. “Hello. We’re looking for a woman named Maude,” she said, deepening her voice. It was about as convincing as that pair of trousers plastered to her rump. “Is she here?”

Predictably, the barman’s expression remained unchanged as he continued polishing the pint glass in his hands. “Depends.”

She frowned in confusion, but Will took over. “Two ales.”

He gave a single nod and went to pour their drinks.

“Oh, good idea,” Phoebe said sheepishly.

When the man returned, Will paid him double. “She’s over there,” he said, gesturing to a far corner of the room. “In the red.”

“Thank you,” Will said with a nod. They took their pints and sat down at an empty table nearby.

Phoebe leaned across the table. “I can see her,” she whispered as she looked over Will’s shoulder. “She’s alone.” He began to glance back, but Phoebe placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t!”

He shot her an irritated look. “I can be discreet.”

Phoebe sat back in her chair. “Sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“We don’t have to talk to her.”

“No, we must,” she insisted. “Or else this whole night will be a waste.”

Will knew she meant the search for her student, but that didn’t stop the prickle of hurt. He took a sip of his pint and made a show of casually turning to look at the stage, while also casting a glance at Maude. Like Phoebe said, she was sitting alone at a table set back from the others, but there was also a very large man standing close behind her.

“I think that fellow is a guard of some sort.”

“I noticed him too. Isn’t that strange?”

Will shrugged. “Not necessarily. Her dress looks fashionable. She could be someone’s mistress.” And there were plenty of men who made sure their asset was protected.

“I didn’t know you paid attention to fashion,” Phoebe teased.

“I spend a large amount of time in ballrooms,” he said sourly.

The light in her eyes faded. “Yes, Freddie says you’re practically engaged to Lord Fairbanks’s daughter.”

“I’m not,” he said far too quickly.

Phoebe took a considering sip. “But you will be,” she pointed out. “Soon.”

Before he could respond, something caught Phoebe’s attention. “She’s getting up.”

Phoebe shoved her chair back but Will caught her arm. “Slowly,” he cautioned.

Together they approached the woman as she headed toward the back of the music hall.

“Let me talk,” Will whispered to Phoebe as he caught the woman’s eye and gave a wave. She let out a huff but didn’t protest.

“Excuse me, madam,” Will said. “May we have just a moment of your time?”

She was quite striking up close, with dark red hair and generous curves. While her features were too bold to be considered truly beautiful, she possessed a magnetism that commanded Will’s attention. Her blue eyes ran down his form in a blatant look of appraisal before returning to his face. “For you I have two,” she said with a coquettish smile.

Beside him, Phoebe’s shoulders tightened. “Are you Maude?”

The woman raised an eyebrow at the jarring question. “I am. Who’s asking?”

“Terribly sorry. But my associate doesn’t want to waste your time,” Will explained.

“Or ours,” Phoebe muttered.

Will gave her a sharp glance, then addressed Maude. “I am Mr. Crispin and this is Mr. Agincourt,” he said quickly, while ignoring Phoebe’s befuddled look. Perhaps they should have bothered to discuss their aliases but he was in the middle of reading a biography of Henry V and those were the first names that came to him.

Luckily, Maude didn’t appear to notice anything strange. “A pleasure.”

“Is there somewhere we could talk more privately? I promise it will be worth your while,” he added.

She gave them a hard look for a moment, then brightened. “Good. Because my time is quite valuable. Follow me.”

As she led them to a back room, Will noticed that the large man was following them. Definitely her guard then. And even larger up close. Will exchanged a look with Phoebe. They would need to be quick about this. He resisted the sudden urge to give her a comforting pat.

The space was much nicer than Will expected. A green velvet sofa took up one wall, while a pair of matching armchairs sat opposite, creating a little sitting area. A large desk was tucked into a corner and a small fire crackled in the hearth.

“The owner of this establishment is a dear friend,” Maude explained unprompted as she gave the coals a stir. “He lets me come and go as I please.”

“And what do you use this room for?”

But Maude only gave Phoebe a smile as she sat down on the sofa. “Business, of course.” She patted the place beside her invitingly and Will sat down.

Though she had made a good show of softening her vowels and refining her movements, it was this easy manner of hers, even more attractive than her physical beauty, that betrayed her lowly roots. For any trace of such vulgar behavior would have been snuffed out of a better born girl.

But not Phoebe , the very unhelpful voice in his head pointed out.

And she was shut out of the most exclusive circles of society for those transgressions. Not that she seemed to care, or was even aware for that matter. Will glanced at her. She sat down in one of the armchairs and began to tuck her legs underneath before quickly correcting herself. She spread her legs, placed her forearms on her thighs and then leaned forward, trying to assume a more relaxed posture and utterly failing.

Maude was, quite rightly, staring at her in rapt interest, as one might stare at a dog trying to ride a bicycle. Will clenched his jaw. It would be a miracle if they pulled this off, and if anyone identified Phoebe she would be utterly and completely ruined.

“That is what brings us here. Your business.” He emphasized the last word suggestively and she smirked.

“Naturally. So, then,” she began matter-of-factly, “how did you hear about the club?”

Club?

Will held her gaze as his mind scrambled for an answer. Thank God he’d mastered the art of bluffing while at Oxford, where he belonged to an underground poker ring. “I was told to be discreet.”

Maude seemed amused by this. “I don’t normally issue invitations to people I haven’t been properly introduced to,” she said as once again her gaze roamed down his front. “But I can make an exception for you.”

Will hid his surprise behind a smile and played along. “I would be most grateful.”

“We’d need two,” Phoebe cut in, ignoring Will’s glare.

“If that is necessary to guarantee Mr. Crispin’s attendance,” Maude replied without looking away from him. “However, there is the matter of the fee…”

“That won’t be a problem,” Will assured.

Her eyes lit up. “Wonderful.” She then reached across him for a silver card case on the end table, letting her arm brush languidly against his chest. “Come any time after eight on the second Thursday of the month.”

“That’s next week,” Phoebe said.

Maude reluctantly addressed her. “Look at that. The boy can follow a calendar.” Then she turned back to Will, missing Phoebe’s murderous glare.

“Please excuse my younger cousin. He’s from the country,” Will said, as if that explained away Phoebe’s behavior. Her glare turned outright hostile, but Will flashed her a look of caution. Better this woman think she was a bumpkin than the truth.

“Ah,” Maude said with understanding. “How good of you to take him under your wing. I’m quite fond of a family-minded fellow,” she added with a sly smile as she held out her card.

Will returned the smile as he plucked the card from between her fingers. It was made of heavy stock and embossed in glossy ink with a fleur-de-lis on the front.

“It’s called Fleur,” she explained. “The address is on the back, along with the code you’ll need to give the doorman.”

Will flipped it over. “Avec plaisir,” he read.

With pleasure.

Maude’s smile grew. “Perfect.” Then she placed a hand on his shoulder and dragged her fingertips down his arm. “I do hope to see you there.”

Will’s eyes tracked the movement. He then met her gaze. “You will.”

Phoebe let out a loud huff and stood up. “We need to leave.” She wasn’t even trying to hide her irritation now and her voice was dangerously close to her normal pitch.

Maude stared at Phoebe, watching her more closely. That was the last thing they needed.

Just as her eyes began to narrow, Will stood. “Thank you for the invitation,” he said.

Maude stood as well, but her attention was still fixed on Phoebe. Will grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the doorway.

For once, Phoebe allowed him to lead her without protest and they brushed past the guard and hurried down the hall.

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe said once they were alone. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t even get to ask her about the tenement building.”

“It’s just as well,” Will groused. “She’s already suspicious.”

“What was that club she was talking about?”

“I’ve never heard of it before.” Will handed Phoebe the card. She studied it a moment before handing it back to him. “But she clearly works for whoever owns it.”

It was a common tactic for good-looking women like Maude to entice gentlemen of means to visit dens of iniquity across the city, and be paid a commission for their efforts.

“I’m guessing they own this place as well,” Phoebe said.

Will nodded as a voice called out from behind them. Phoebe immediately began to turn around, but Will only pulled her closer. “Keep going.”

They entered the main area of the hall, which had grown more raucous in their absence. Will gripped Phoebe’s hand to guide them through the crowd, then caught himself and took her upper arm instead.

“Will,” Phoebe hissed. “He’s coming.”

Will dared to look back and saw the intimidating guard pushing through the mass of bodies, his beady eyes fixed on them. Will let out a curse, then another when they reached a particularly dense section right in front of the bar. They were surrounded by revelers all well into their cups. Will scanned the room, looking for an empty space, while Phoebe did the same.

In that short time, the guard made significant progress and was nearly upon them when he shoved aside a burly man who had just taken a sip from a full pint. Beer spilled everywhere and the man whipped around and grabbed the guard by his shirt collar. They were forgotten as the two men began pushing each other’s chests. The crowd around them moved toward the action as it quickly escalated to a full-blown brawl. In an instant absolute mayhem broke out. People were punching each other, throwing pint glasses, and jumping behind the bar to grab more. The barman huddled in the corner and the performers deserted the stage, while Maude had vanished.

Someone stumbled against Will, but as he helped him stand up, the man thanked him by throwing a punch. Phoebe screamed, but the man was too inebriated to do more than clip his chin. Will shoved him toward the scrum just as another man lunged at him. Will braced himself for the hit just as someone tugged him backward and out of the brute’s clumsy reach. It was Phoebe. Together they scrambled farther away just as a glass sailed past his head. It broke right in front of them and he instinctively drew Phoebe against his chest to shield her from the spray of shards. Their gazes locked and as he saw the flash of fear in her large hazel eyes, his heart clenched.

“Let’s go,” he shouted over the noise. Together they bolted toward the exit. The night air was refreshingly cool on their overheated bodies. Phoebe stopped to catch her breath, but Will pulled her along. The fight could clearly be heard on the street, which meant the authorities would arrive soon and they absolutely could not be here when that happened.

John had parked the carriage discreetly around the corner and they had just reached it when a paddy wagon pulled in front of the music hall. Will hustled Phoebe inside and watched from the pavement as a dozen policemen ran into the building. He let out a sigh as the tension he had carried since they had first entered the hall finally left him.

“Sir?”

Will glanced up at John, who still had his coat draped gingerly around his shoulders and looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Take us home as fast as you can.”

“Right away,” he said with a nod.

They quickly exchanged coats and then Will climbed into the carriage. Phoebe had been staring out the window watching the music hall but turned at his entrance. Though her face was only partially lit by the dim coach light, Will could still make out the apprehension in her eyes.

“It’s all right. We’re safe now.”

The carriage lurched to a start and he sat down heavily on the seat across from her. Will then silently cursed himself for using the barouche as his legs tangled with hers in the small space. He pulled back as much as he could, but their knees still bumped together.

Will gripped the hand-pull as John took a hard turn, having taking his instructions a little too seriously. The carriage lamp swung wildly from its hook and Will squinted as the yellow light shone in his eyes.

Phoebe gasped. “You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” Will said automatically just as he felt something warm dripping down his face.

“But you’re bleeding .”

He touched his temple. “It’s only a scratch.”

“The glass must have grazed you,” she explained as she moved beside him.

“That isn’t necessary,” Will protested as she drew a handkerchief from her pocket.

Phoebe paused and shot him a look. “You don’t even know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, I assume it isn’t a quadratic equation,” he muttered.

She let out a laugh. “That would be quite impossible, I assure you.”

Will began to smile then hissed in pain as she pressed the handkerchief to his temple.

“Sorry,” Phoebe said softly.

“It’s fine,” Will replied even while the cut throbbed beneath her touch. It was worse than he thought. “You don’t share your sister’s talent for numbers then?” He needed to distract himself. If he caught sight of his own blood, he was likely to faint right in front of her.

“Absolutely not. To my father’s great regret,” she added.

Will tried to catch her gaze. There was more behind that offhand remark, but she was focused on tending his wound.

“Do you have any spirits on hand? This should be cleaned.”

Will pointed to a small compartment on the seat across from them. “Check there. One can’t be a duke without traveling with libations.”

“Hold this,” Phoebe instructed as she guided Will’s hand to the cloth pressed at his temple. She then moved to the other seat, opened the compartment, and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. Her eyes widened as she read the label. “This is my father’s favorite. It’s very expensive.”

“Just use it,” Will said dismissively. “I’m sure I have plenty more somewhere.”

Phoebe sat next to him again and took back her handkerchief. She poured a drop onto it, then hesitated. “This may hurt. Perhaps you should have a little,” she said as she held out the bottle.

Will could certainly use a drink but for an entirely different reason. He dutifully took a sip and closed his eyes, focusing on the smooth burn of the liquid sliding down his throat.

After a moment he opened his eyes and handed the bottle back to her. “Your mustache is crooked.”

Phoebe’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh God, I’d forgotten.” Her cheeks flushed as she pulled it off.

Will smiled. “I must say you made a terrible lad.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes, though her lips quirked, as if she was trying not to return the smile. “I’m sorry about back there. I don’t know what came over me,” she added.

It had been many hours since he had eaten anything and between the ale and the whiskey, his head was starting to feel wonderfully fuzzy.

He stared at her lips. “Don’t you?” It had looked an awful lot like jealousy to him. He hadn’t the chance to reflect on it until now, what with their narrow escape and the general bedlam.

Will lifted his gaze and found Phoebe returning his stare rather intently. Her face had never been this close to his own—not in many years, at least. There was a ring of gold around her pupils, which grew under his inspection. How had he never noticed that before? Or perhaps he had simply forced himself to forget. There was so much about his old life he had needed to leave behind in order to move forward. But now… now he was having a difficult time remembering why.

Just as he leaned closer, Phoebe chose that moment to press the handkerchief to the cut.

“ Dammit ,” he bit out as the whiskey seared his injured skin.

“Sorry!” Phoebe cried, but she didn’t sound very sincere as she pressed harder. “There, that should help,” she said after a few moments.

As she pulled the handkerchief away, Will had the urge to keep her hand there. It would be worth it even with the pain.

“The bleeding’s stopped but you may need a stitch or two.”

“You are not doing them.”

Phoebe smiled fully for the first time since they entered the carriage. “Agreed. My sewing skills leave much to be desired.” Then the smile slowly faded.

Will blinked. He had gone and done it. He was pressing her hand to his temple .

“Sorry.” He immediately dropped his hand, but she didn’t pull hers away.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. Then, ever so slowly, she brushed her thumb along his cheekbone in one long stroke. It was the lightest of touches, but Will felt it flicker through his body, setting off the desire he had been trying so hard to keep banked.

Now it flared to life with disturbing speed until Will could do nothing but offer himself up to the white hot flames. Her breath caught as Will leaned toward her, but this time she didn’t pull away.