To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

Turning from Emmeline and Birtles, Phoebe tucked her hand in Deverell’s arm and nudged him toward Loftus at the end of the room. “You know, the only thought dimming my enjoyment in our week’s work is that there existed three situations from which we had to rescue those girls.”

He closed his hand over hers on his sleeve and gently squeezed. “True.” He’d thought of that himself. “But as you once so sapiently remarked, we can only do what we can, and trust in God to take care of the rest.”

“Hmm…I don’t recall saying all that—not the last bit, anyway—but you’re right.” Phoebe met his eyes. “I wanted to thank you not only for not being difficult over the agency, but for joining us. We couldn’t have managed all three in one week, not before, not without you and Grainger to help.”

“Grainger and I are enjoying ourselves,” Deverell dryly returned. “Never doubt it.”

“Nevertheless.” Phoebe looked ahead to the small group before them. “You know,” she murmured, lowering her voice, “I’ve rarely seen Edith so animated—so involved. Actively helping us has been good for her.”

Deverell grinned. “It’s the slightly scandalous nature of the enterprise that so thrills her. Audrey’s been corrupting her.”

Phoebe laughed and they joined the others, and the celebration continued for some time.

Later that night, as he let himself in through the French doors of Edith’s morning room and silently went upstairs, Deverell came to a decision, one he’d been hoping not to have to make.

That evening they’d attended Lady Carnaby’s ball, not so much a crush as a highly select gathering. There’d been a number of eligible gentlemen present, dropping by more to be seen among that circle than to cast their eyes over any young lady.

At one stage, he’d been dispatched to fetch Audrey and Edith refreshments. He’d been waylaid, caught by Lord Grimsby and then Lady Hendricks; by the time he’d reached the small salon where the refreshment table was located, Phoebe had been standing alone beside Edith for some time. On his way back, a glass of orgeat in each hand, he?

?d paused just inside the ballroom to check—to verify that no gentleman had taken advantage of his absence to approach Phoebe.

None had, or if they had, they’d already left; she’d still been standing beside Edith, chatting to Audrey.

The sight had brought home an anomaly he’d noted but hadn’t fully analyzed; Phoebe was unquestionably attractive, yet although gentlemen looked, and certainly noticed, few ever approached her.

He’d originally thought that had been due to his attentive and openly possessive presence; now…

A gentleman had ranged alongside him, his gaze fixed in the same direction. Handsome, a blood of the ton a few years Deverell’s junior, the man had clearly been studying—assessing—Phoebe. Turning his head, Deverell had studied the newcomer, until the man had noticed, met his eyes, and smiled—somewhat sheepishly.

“I was just thinking…” With his head, the man had indicated Phoebe on the other side of the room, considering her once more. “Dashed attractive, don’t you think? Pity, really.”

He’d blinked. “Pity?”

“Well, yes.” The man had glanced at Deverell. “You must have been in the wars if you don’t know.”

He’d nodded, acknowledging the supposition. “What don’t I know?”

“That Miss Malleson over there—the lady we’ve been studying—is one to avoid. At least if you prefer your hide whole. The edge of her tongue can slice like a saber. She ought to come with a warning: Deadly, approach at your peril.”

“Is that so?” He’d struggled to hide a grin, but then he’d looked again at Phoebe…and sobered. “Why? Do you know?”

The gentleman had shaken his head. “No clue. As far as I know, she’s been that way ever since she came up to town. Any number have tried, but all have ended up slinking away to lick their wounds.” After a moment, he’d added, “Mind you, I did hear that some brave soul has tamed the dragon, but as he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, no doubt she’s put him to rout, too.”

It had been tempting to claim the title of St. George, but he’d resisted. With a nod, he’d parted from the gentleman and tacked through the crowd, eventually returning to Phoebe.

Along the way, he’d recalled her initial response to his interest; she’d tried her level best to drive him away. While with him she hadn’t succeeded, other gentlemen wouldn’t have found her methods of repelling them as entertaining and amusing as he had.

All of which led to his one remaining question, the question he’d hoped she would answer without him having to ask it. What had happened to raise her defenses? The same incident almost certainly had driven her to begin the agency.

Reaching her door, he paused, then gripped the handle and turned. The time had come; he had to know.

Somewhat to his surprise, she was standing before one of the windows, still dressed in her ballgown. The curtains were open, looking down on the quiet street below. Arms folded beneath her breasts, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him, smiled, then turned back to the view.

He came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Just…thinking.” She leaned back against him, resting her shoulders against his chest. “After our celebration today it just seemed the right moment to reflect…on how we started, what we’ve gone through, and where we are now.”

He didn’t say anything, just slid his hands down her upper arms, then slipped them around her waist, wrapping his arms around her, holding her against him.