brother-in-law—Maggie’s soon-to-be-ex-husband—as he stopped at a tray piled high with miniature brownies. She tried not to react to his unexpected presence or call attention to herself in any way, but she was too late. His eyes met hers and then he grinned that grin that Phoebe had first seen in nursery school and her sister had fallen for at fifteen.
She groaned inwardly. It just figured Brandon Sloan would turn up as a pirate, and that he would have no trouble recognizing her in her Edwardian costume.
Phoebe didn’t dare bolt. That would only draw more attention to her. Instead, pretending to be casual, she helped herself to a bit of apple and cheese and moved down the table to him.
“Oh, this is too good,” Brandon said. “Phoebe O’Dunn in sequins and a feathered hat.”
“Maggie and Olivia don’t know I’m here,” Phoebe said through her clenched teeth.
“Dylan?”
“No.”
Brandon polished off a tiny brownie in one bite. “I didn’t think you were the type to sneak into a charity ball. I’m proud of you, Phoebe.”
“Do not make fun of me, Brandon.”
His dark eyes softened behind his mask. “Okay, I won’t. You’re shaking. Is everything all right? I saw you dancing—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right. We won’t talk about it. Why are you here on the sly?”
“Just because.”
“You’ve been doing too many kids’ story hours. You sound like Aidan and Tyler.”
Phoebe ignored his teasing her and peered into the crowd. She didn’t see her swashbuckler. Everything she hadn’t noticed while she was dancing she noticed now. A cluster of people here. Another one there. A woman shrieking with laughter. A man spilling a drink down his front.
Clinking glasses.
Waiters with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
Reading materials and displays about the neonatal ICU.
What was I thinking, coming here tonight?
How had she let herself get caught up in dancing with a perfect stranger?
They were both playing a role.
“Phoebe?” Brandon took her by the elbow. “You look wobbly. Do you need to get out of here?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“How are you getting home?”
“I have my car.”
He grinned. “You drove? Good for you.”
She glared at him. “Brandon—”
“I’m not patronizing you. I meant it. Driving in Boston is no picnic even for someone used to it. Do you have your cell phone on you? Call me if you need help. Got that? Maggie would kill me if I knew you were sneaking out of here alone and didn’t look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after. Really. I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Phoebe started to leave, but stopped and turned back to him. “Brandon, if you see the man I danced with...” Was she completely mad? “Never mind.”
She spun into the crowd before he could respond. As she came to the large exit doors, she scanned a knot of people gathered there but didn’t see her swashbuckler. When she reached the relative quiet of the ballroom lobby, she hesitated instead of plunging straight onto the escalators. Maybe she should go back to the ballroom and find him. Olivia and Maggie would understand that the only way she could have come tonight was exactly the way she had—on her own, without telling anyone.
If she hadn’t been on her own, hadn’t been anonymous, she never would have danced with her swashbuckler. He might never have noticed her—or she him—if she’d been hanging out with Maggie, Olivia and Dylan.
Suddenly her head itched under the raven-colored wig, her makeup felt like paste and her feet hurt in her strappy sandals. She turned away from the escalator. She’d freshen up, get her bearings, before heading to her car.
As she started down a carpeted corridor to the restrooms, she heard a man’s voice and realized it was coming from a coatroom. “He’s here,” the man said. “I saw him with my own eyes. He’s dressed head to toe in black as a swordfighter or some damn thing.”
Phoebe held her breath. Was he talking about her swordfighter? She edged to the wide-open doorway and peeked into the coatroom. A man was there, alone, his back to her as he spoke into a cell phone. He had short, dark hair with gray streaks and wore a black suit. He wasn’t wearing a mask and he wasn’t in costume.
“The bastard spotted me,” he said. “He’s looking for me now. We don’t have enough time to take action. We need more.”
Phoebe stiffened but didn’t move from her position by the door.
Who’s we? What kind of action?
“You should have seen him dancing. The guy can move. He was with some woman dressed up like she was about to board the Titanic.” Another pause, then a sigh. “No, I don’t know who she is. I’ll find out. It shouldn’t be hard.”
He snapped his phone shut.
Phoebe bolted down the hall and into the ladies’ room, the door still swinging behind her as she ducked into a stall. She let out a breath. Should she try to find her swashbuckler and tell him what she’d just overheard?
What had she just overheard?
She wasn’t used to this kind of night. The crowds, the glitter, the elegance. She was out of her element. How could she judge the snippet of one-sided conversation with any clarity? For all she knew, her swashbuckler was in the middle of a divorce and tonight was his night to cut loose with a perfect stranger.
In which case it really was time to get back to Knights Bridge.
Phoebe left the stall and washed her hands at the sink, avoiding her reflection in the mirror, grateful she was alone in the ladies’ room. Should she peel off as much of her costume as possible before venturing back into the corridor?
No.
She didn’t have another outfit to change into, and if the man she’d eavesdropped on saw her, he could recognize her dress, snap a picture of her with his phone and there she’d be, strawberry curls, freckles and all. He’d have her name and address in a heartbeat.
Best just to make her exit now.
She’d planned to drive home tonight, anyway. She’d only had a few sips of champagne and was wide-awake. Dylan and Olivia were staying at the hotel, Maggie at Olivia’s small apartment in town. Phoebe could join her sister, but that would mean telling her what she’d done.
What I’ve done is gone completely mad.
Easier just to stick to her plan and stay anonymous.
The dress had come with a tiny matching purse that hooked onto the waist. She pulled out the bright red lipstick that she had chosen from Ava and Ruby’s theatrical makeup kit and reapplied it, noticing that her hand was shaking. What a night. She could be home with a nice cup of lemon-chamomile tea and a good book, or tucked on her couch watching a summer rerun of a favorite television show. Instead she was in Boston, dodging a stranger, her friends, her own sister.
Dancing with another stranger.
A sexy stranger at that.
Had he spotted the man in the coatroom? Was that why he’d left her so abruptly?
What was he hiding?
Phoebe tucked her lipstick back in her purse and pulled out her car keys as she finally took in her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed. Brandon hadn’t been lying about that.
The dress and the