Thus she was greatly surprised when, as she was leaving the dance floor after a country dance, she saw Max striding across the room toward her.
Victoria excused herself from her dance partner, the younger son of an earl, and hurried to meet him. "I know that you aren't here to partake of Society at its best," she said by way of greeting.
"Lilith's minions are on the move. There's to be another group attack tonight," he told her, casting his glance about the room. "I do not wish to ruin your evening, but it would likely save some lives if you were to accompany me. Can you get away?"
"Yes, of course." She was already walking toward the main entrance of the house.
"I don't see the marquess. Don't you need to tell him you are leaving?"
"He is not here this evening."
Max easily kept in stride with her as she made her way up the sweeping flight of stairs. "Where is he?"
"At his club."
"Which one is that?"
"Bridge and Stokes, I believe, although why it matters to you I—What is it?"
He'd grabbed her arm, nearly jerking her off her feet near the top of the steps. The butler eyed them curiously, but she ignored him, for when Max spun her about to look at him the expression on his face sent a sick feeling worming into her stomach.
"The raid tonight is to be at a particular gentlemen's club."
Their eyes met and he needed say nothing more; she was already pushing past the gawking butler and a cluster of people arriving at the dance.
He caught up with her outside, where she was trying to spot the Rockley carriage in the long line of vehicles around the circular drive. She had no time to wait for the valet to call for it. "Are you certain you want to come? What if Rockley recognizes you?"
"I'm going."
"Then get in here." He flung open the door of a black carriage, one she was more than familiar with, and lent her a hand to climb in.
Victoria scrambled to her seat, and had barely settled when the coach started off. Her long skirts were tangled among their four legs, and her wrap had slid to bare her cut arm.
"Here." Max tossed her a large bundle of cloth, and when she sorted through it she found a shirt, trousers, a coat, and a long strip of cloth. "Verbena gave them to me when I came to find you."
Victoria looked down at the clothing and back at him.
"You can't fight in a ball gown, Victoria, and you needn't pretend modesty to me. I have no interest in watching you undress in a carriage, unlike your friend Sebastian, who would likely offer to assist you." With that he tilted his head back against the top of his seat and closed his eyes. When she didn't move, he snapped, "Be quick about it."
Her gown was not easily removed, but Victoria struggled through and managed to unhook the flat copper hooks that held the bodice together in the back. When she pulled the gown up and over her head, the fabric wafted in a cloud of gauze over the interior of the carriage, brushing Max's stoic face—but he did not shift or give any indication that he felt it.
With her gown off, Victoria was dressed only in a light chemise and corset. It would be impossible to remove the stays without assistance, so she pulled the man's shirt over the fitted undergarment.
She could not pull it down over her generous bosom, cupped up and pushed together as it was. Victoria must have made a sound of frustration, for Max said, "Do you need assistance? I'm so sorry I did not think to bring your maid."
Her attention snapped from her bosom to him, but he was still relaxing, eyes closed as if nothing more urgent than a picnic were on the agenda.
"In a moment." She would have to take the corset off and bind her br**sts in order to get the shirt on. For a moment she considered remaining in her gown… but that was ridiculous. Not only would she not be able to fight, but she would stand out unacceptably in the club. If she even got in.
She turned around on her seat, presenting as much of her back to Max as possible. "Can you… I can't unlace my… my corset."
There was a pause; then she heard him stir behind her. The back hem of the shirt moved, and she resisted the urge to pull it down in front. If she did, he would not be able to reach up under it and unlace the corset.
His hands were quick and impersonal, and he managed to move them up and under the shirt and untie the laces, loosening them from top to bottom. She kept expecting to feel his fingers—would they be warm or cool?—brush over her skin, but they did not.
Victoria felt the garment give way as each row of laces loosened, and she held it to the front of her chest as it began to sag from behind. When he was finished, Max did not linger. She felt him move away, heard him settle back into his seat without a word.
Victoria wrapped herself with the strip of cloth Verbena had thoughtfully provided, awkward and rushed, allowing the shirt to slip almost completely from her shoulders as she did so. Her wounded arm ached faintly with the odd angle, but she was not about to ask Max for any more help.
"Are you nearly finished? I'm getting a crick in my neck."
"Almost." The collar buttons fumbled under her fingers because of her haste, but at last the shirt was done, the trousers were pulled on, and her coat was shrugged into.
"There are shoes on the floor," Max said, still without moving.
At last she was ready. "I'm finished. Thank you."
Max opened his eyes. "You have to do something about your hair."
Victoria yanked the pins from the intricate curls and whorls Verbena had spent an hour on, knowing that her only option was to take it down and smooth it back.
"Do you have anything I can tie it with?" she asked, using her fingers to scrape it into a long, low tail at the nape of her neck.
Max, who seemed prepared for any eventuality, produced a thin leather cord from under the same seat the salve had been stored in, and, ordering her to turn, helped her bind and braid it. Their fingers clashed, and his cool ones brushed her neck as he helped her stuff the long tail down the back of her shirt.
By the time they were finished, the carriage was rolling to a stop.
"Here we are," Max said, slamming a hat on top of her head. "If Rockley sees you, the game is up. Otherwise… you can pass for a man."
So much for Sebastian's opinion that she was unable to hide her gender while dressed in men's clothing.
Max tossed three stakes her way, and as she shoved them into her coat she saw him pocket a gun and slip a small dagger into his boot. Then she followed him out of the coach.
Victoria had barely had the chance to wonder how Max intended to gain admittance to the private gentlemen's club with the small, discreet bridge & stokes sign when he approached the doorman.