‘I think I know my own family circumstances, thank you, sir!’ She glared.
‘But … your clothing?’ he accused.
‘Belongs to Fred … Alfred Fairfax … another brother,’ Phoebe replied defensively.
A heavy silence descended in which the viscount’s eyes bulged more than Phoebe thought was probably good for anyone.
‘If you really are Tom’s sister, then why on earth are you standing in my library, in a frilly nightgown, looking like that!’ He groaned, sinking into his armchair, his face in his hands.
For a second, Phoebe wondered if he wasn’t a bit touched in the head, then she recalled his arrogant manner from the moment their paths crossed, and realised he was more likely being obnoxiously rude.
‘I’m here becauseyoubrought me here,’ she bristled. ‘And I apologise if my appearance offends you, but surprisingly enough, a quart of Briggs’s cider and a small incident with a sword haven’t exactly enhanced my complexion! I’ve also had a few other pressing matters on my mind, and I really rather think it’s none of your business who I am related to, or what I look like. I was doing perfectly well before you showed up like some fictional three-caped hero and brought me here!’
At this, the viscount stood up, looking as though he might actually like to shake her. He stepped forward, his jaw twitching madly as though working to suppress a million uncharitable thoughts, and for the first time, Phoebe drew back. She’d never seen anyone glower quite so intently.
‘I had no choice, you silly little fool!’ he growled. ‘You were bleeding out faster than I or anyone else could stop! And you’d better start thinking very quickly if we’re to sort this mess out. For a young lady of quality to travel on the common stage, dress as a tallyman, get drunk, and fight off scoundrels with atheatrical épée …it’s … ruinous! What were you thinking?! And where on earth does Tom think you are?’
‘Thomas doesn’t know where I am,’ Phoebe hissed, eyeing the viscount with vehement dislike. ‘No one does, and far better it stays that way! As I’ve already said, I wasbeingFred and acting as he might … well, actually, he wouldn’t have got out of the coach … but I was simply trying to act a littleheroically, not get stabbed and have my whole plan ruined by some dubious, interfering viscount!’ She scowled darkly. ‘Quite frankly, if I hadn’t drunk Briggs’s horrid ciderandhad to suffer the limitations of a theatrical épée, which had the misfortune to snap at quite the wrong moment – though itwasvery kind of Roger Kemble’s daughter to lend it to me?—’
‘Wait a minute – act alittle heroically?’ the viscount interrupted, his eyes now bulging so much Phoebe thought it best to take another step back. ‘So this whole charade is because you wish to have an adventure like one of the heroines in your schoolroom novels? That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve run away! Of course you have. You are the original head-in-the-clouds schoolroom chit who has run away and found out the real world is nothing like the inside of a novel! Of all the foolish, hare-brained simpletons…’
His voice shook with such derision, Phoebe actively contemplated landing him another leveller, but decided it was one thing punching a man when she was some roadside nobody, and quite another punching him when he knew her brother.
Instead, she pulled herself up to her full, frilly, wet-bootied height.
‘I am a Fairfax, and we don’t run away from anything!’ she pronounced haughtily. ‘I had a very real reason for leaving Knightswood, and the cider, the onions, the duel … they were all justdistractions! I fully expected to be in London by now, not the back of Bridgwater or wherever we are. And I most certainly did not expect to find myself being rudely interrupted by an arrogant dandy!’
‘Onions … back of Bridgwater … arrogant dandy?’ the viscount repeated faintly, before tipping his head back in another shout of laughter.
At this point, Phoebe reconsidered her suspicion that he was indeed touched in the head, and that she should have made a bolt for the door.
‘My brother says any gentleman who spends longer on his cravat than his books, is a dandy!’ she glared defensively.
‘This the same brother who considers a brown tallyman’s hat to be acceptable in polite company?’ the viscount retorted, sinking back into his armchair.
Phoebe gritted her teeth, she wasn’t about to defend Fred’s fashion sense to anyone, but the viscount had no right to judge.
‘Either way, we’re in a right mess! You know that don’t you?’ he added, running his fingers through his tousled hair again.
Phoebe was annoyed to find herself thinking it looked better dishevelled, and intensified her glare.
‘I’ve known Tom since Oxford, and he isn’t known for restraint when it comes to horses or family! He’s going to be livid, I meanpistols at dawnlivid! This is a matter of honour now. You do see that, don’t you? You’ve been away a whole night, two in fact, and he will assume you’ve been…’
The viscount glanced down at Phoebe’s suspiciously frilly nightgown and to her surprise, reached out to deftly re-tie her dressing gown.
Phoebe scowled harder.
‘You’re going to respect me now that you know who I am?’ she challenged, despite the shiver snaking across her skin.
He stood up, staring intently, and for a moment she thought he might discard his new-found chivalry. Then he turned and stalked towards a fresh shirt hanging on a stand beside the library entrance.
‘I’m going to respect youmorenow I know who your brother is!’ he muttered, pulling it over his head, and as he did so Phoebe was conscious of the oddest pang.
Then he reached towards a pull cord.
‘Wait, please,’ Phoebe interjected, with a sudden rise of fear. ‘I can’t go back to Knightswood … not yet. There’s a very good reason I left, and if you make me go back now it will all be for nothing … I’ll lose the only freedom I ever had!’
The viscount paused to look at her with the same cold glint that she recognised from the roadside.
