‘It’s been a few years since anyone has used it.’
Instantly, Phoebe executed a dismount that would have rivalled any of the village boys caught in the cider barn before harvest was done.
She spun, scanning the darkness, wondering if she’d finally taken leave of her senses.
‘A dismount worthy of a circus acrobat, Miss Fairfax!’ the voice came again. ‘Not that I’m surprised. I suppose I should be grateful we aren’t near a sword – or a canal – or a stage!’
This time the voice was accompanied by the dusky figure of a masked highwayman, emerging from the aged and dense branches behind the swing.
Phoebe inhaled to steady herself. It wouldn't matter how many masquerade outfits he wore, she would know his sculpted cheekbones anywhere. She stared at his careless Corinthian locks, and lips already parted as though in readiness for their next caustic set down.
‘Viscount Damerel tells me everything. How we laughed when he relayed your duel with the highwayman, and your reluctance to return home to your brother…’
A flare of fury tore through her.
‘Thank you,’ she forced, ‘for your assistance at the theatre. I was meeting someone backstage and your … intervention was appreciated.’
The muscle in the viscount’s cheek twitched, and for some inexplicable reason Phoebe caught her breath.
‘You are most welcome,’ he returned, taking a couple of steps forward and stilling the swing. ‘It was fortuitous that I am a trustee of the theatre. But I must own to being somewhat perplexed as to why either a debutante – or even the widowed cousin of a famous actress – would be fighting over her own dress in her petticoats? I suppose I might have further questions about kissing officers in a private Assembly Room,’ he continued, ‘though I persuade myself I might understand the interest there…’
There was a strained silence during which Phoebe wondered what the etiquette was when it came to landing the host of your first private dinner, another leveller.
Instead, she eyed him with contempt.
‘Tell me,’ she challenged after a beat. ‘Do you enjoy other people’s discomfort, or are you singling me out because you are labouring under some misguided notion that I actually need your help? I assure you, I have managed things quite well by myself for eighteen years. And, even though it is no business of yours, I kissed no one!’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ he replied evenly, the muscle in his cheek twitching again. ‘On both counts.’
Phoebe clenched her fingers tightly. How could a man who’d done nothing but interfere and infuriate affect her so? It made no sense that she wished him a thousand miles away while nowhere else at all, and could only conclude that he vexed her to the edge of insanity.
‘Who I kiss –whether I kiss– is entirely my business alone, as was my behaviour at the theatre, and at every other incident you’ve witnessed with extremely suspect timing. There were reasons, and they remainmyreasons.’
He stepped forward then, soft shafts of moonlight falling across his face which, to her further annoyance, was clad in the best highwayman mask she’d ever seen, putting the sackcloth fraudster she’d sparred with to dire shame. She clamped her mouth closed lest it drop open. He really was the most irritatingly handsome man she’d ever set eyes upon.
‘A highwayman?’ she said scornfully to cover her hammering chest. ‘I thought it was a masked dinner party, not a game of charades!’
There was a poignant silence while he leaned against the wizened trunk.
‘Isn’t it always a game of charades?’ he returned languidly. ‘And I suppose you could say I was somewhatinspired by experience.’
Phoebe bit her lip, a bubble of laughter threatening everything.
‘Speaking of which, I trust you are fully recovered from your injury now?’
She gazed at him, recalling the moment he’d arrived at the roadside, like an incoming hero from one of Josephine’s novels. Even then, his appearance had both infuriated and intrigued her, despite everything. Her stomach lurched, and suddenly she was back in the library again, with his fingers brushing the cotton bodice of her nightgown, his breath warm on her skin. A strange shiver stole through her as she forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyelids had slunk lazily, but his gold-flecked eyes had never gleamed brighter across the small clearing between them. She swallowed, certain he was recalling exactly the same moment.
Yet this man had all but insulted her in every way possible, before recounting the whole to a person who’d made it their sole business to undermine and discredit her.
‘Quite recovered, thank you,’ she returned, gathering her scattered thoughts. ‘Now, if you’ll––’
‘Why are you out here?’
She paused as he sank down onto the swing seat, and for the first time she noticed his unsettled air.
‘I … miss home,’ she faltered, wondering how he’d react if she were to tell him the truth about his fiancée. ‘…I can’t breathe here.’
His gaze roamed from the top of her fashionably ringleted head to her silver-slippered feet, the air between them intensifying.
