by Robert Thier
‘You wound my manly pride,’ I chastised.
Gasping for breath, she managed to scramble to her feet, and grabbed me by the arm. ‘Come on! Come on! Oh God, this is going to be brilliant!’
When we stepped outside, Karim was still standing guard next to the door, his hand on the pommel of his sabre. I glanced at the girl beside me, then raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I shall defend this door with my last breath? No one will cross this threshold as long as I have life in my body?’
The bodyguard tried his best to hide behind his beard. Giggling, the two of us escaped down the corridor. Only when we approached the breakfast parlour did I take care to assume a more gentlemanly demeanour and once again offered Adaira my arm.
‘Why, thank you, Sir.’ She smiled and accepted with a gracious curtsey.
A footman awaited us in front of the breakfast room, bowing deeply as we approached.
‘Lady Adaira, Mr Linton - the Marchioness desired me to let you know that the company will be taking breakfast in the east-wing winter garden today. She thought the scenery might, ehem…lighten the mood of her guests.’
With Lord Dalgliesh still among the guests? Adaira and I exchanged doubtful looks.
‘Come on.’ Gripping my arm more tightly, Adaira pulled me off in the direction of the east wing. ‘We’d better go.’
It didn’t take us long to reach the winter garden, and we didn’t waste a minute before stepping inside. The sight that met our eyes would have been comical - if it hadn’t been so deadly serious.
In the centre of the garden, amidst beautiful flowers beyond which lay the sparkling glory of the wintery landscape, a table had been erected and ornate chairs placed all around it. No one had taken their seat yet. They were standing around admiring the beautiful scenery. Or at least most of them were.
The more intelligent people present had caught on to what was happening in their midst and had retreated to the corners of the garden, leaving a space in the middle for the two contestants. On the left, Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, steel-blue eyes as hard as a bank-vault door, his golden hair glinting like an angel’s halo in the morning sunlight. On the right, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his eyes dark as the fathomless depths of the sea, and just as warm and inviting. Every single line of his perfect face was etched in stone.
The air between the two men was like the Antarctic before a thunderstorm. The air crackled. The The hairs on the back of my neck stood up just from watching.
‘Ah, Lady Adaira. There you are.’ A plump young lady stepped towards us, a bright smile on her face, completely unaware of what was happening. I hardly spared her a glance. ‘We’ve all been waiting for you. Won’t you introduce your companion to me?’
Adaira, unlike me, managed to scrounge up enough presence of mind for a reply. ‘Certainly. Mr Victor Linton, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Miss Violet Bardley?’
‘If you really think it’s a pleasure,’ I replied absent-mindedly, my whole attention still focused on the pair of men staring each other down in the centre of the room. Adaira coughed. The plump girl beamed as if I had given her a huge compliment.
‘Um…Mr Linton is my brother’s private secretary, Miss Bardley.’
‘Really? That must be such an interesting occupation.’ Miss Bardley smiled even more brightly. It seemed to be her aim in life to outshine the sun. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr Linton.’
‘Charmed,’ I murmured to a potted plant about half a yard to the left of Miss Bardley’s ear. People had started milling about, obscuring my view of Mr Ambrose and Lord Dalgliesh. Had they drawn weapons yet? God, if that bastard Dalgliesh harmed him…!
‘I’m really glad I accepted Lady Samantha’s invitation to come here to celebrate Christmas. It’s so wonderful up here in the north.’ That was Miss Bardley again. She gave a sigh, no doubt meant to encourage my agreement. ‘So serene and peaceful.’
Craning my neck, I managed to peek through the crowd - just in time to see Mr Ambrose clench one hand around the back of a chair, as if tempted to throw it. ‘Um…well, yes. Serene. Peaceful. Absolutely.’
‘I have a feeling we’re going to have a memorable Christmas.’
‘Err…well…’
That was the moment when Lord Dalgliesh moved forward.
‘Excuse me!’ Shoving Miss Bardley aside, I darted forward. Without paying any attention to the startled yelp behind me, I began to work my way through the crowd. How fortunate I had well-practised elbows. ‘Sorry, sorry, excuse me, pardon me, secretary coming through! Sorry sir, I’m in a hurry! I have to-’
Despairing of coming up with a convincing excuse, I just shoved the startled gentleman aside and dashed forward, one hand sliding into my tailcoat, gripping my gun. If push came to shove, I wouldn’t hesitate. Not an instant!
Lord Dalgliesh took a step towards Lady Samantha. The hand around my gun tightened. He opened his mouth.
‘What a beautiful home you have, Your Ladyship. I must congratulate you. It must have been quite a bit of work to restore it to its former glory after…certain unfortunate events.’
I almost collapsed with relief. Panting, I came to a stop. My hand relaxed - but then tensed again. The words were perfectly harmless. Perfectly normal. But Lady Samantha paled as if he had slapped her across the face. And Mr Ambrose…
The chair he was clutching groaned as Mr Ambrose’s hand tightened like a vice around the back. In a flash, I realised what Dalgliesh was doing.
He’s trying to provoke Mr Ambrose. He’s trying to make Mr Rikkard Ambrose angry.
And what was really disturbing: it seemed to be working. Mr Ambrose’s perfect granite mask was still in place, still unbroken, but it had grown thin. Through his eyes, I could see the emotions roiling underneath. And suddenly, I was terrified of what would happen if that mask would shatter.
‘Thank you, My Lord.’ Lady Samantha’s voice was so cold it could almost have rivalled her son’s. ‘That means so much, coming from you.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’ Lord Dalgliesh’s smile widened. ‘I might be coming to visit your delightful home more often in the future. Now that you have such beautiful blossoms decorating these halls…’
His eyes slid over the flowers all around - and then landed on Adaira.
There was the crack of wood, as something snapped under Mr Ambrose’s hand.
Adaira groaned behind me. ‘Now we’re in deep crap.’
Mr Ambrose was just about to take a step forward and plunge the whole room into war when the door behind us opened. Glancing around instinctively, I jumped when I saw an unfamiliar, liveried servant with a long staff in hand enter the winter garden.
‘Attention please, ladies and gentlemen.’ The servant cleared his throat, and struck his staff against the ground in an ominous manner. He certainly had my attention - and that of every other person in the room. ‘Please rise for your illustrious host. It is my pleasure to announce-’
Oh no. Don’t say it. Not now.
‘-His Lordship The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose.’[12]
And, as the servant stepped aside, a dark figure marched into room, clad in a pristine black tailcoat and searching the room with piercing, cold, sea-coloured eyes I had only ever seen on one other person. They found what they were looking for, halting on Mr Ambrose and hardening into stone.
Adaira had been wrong. Things had been rosy before. Now we were in deep crap.
A Promising Start
Breakfast. So significant for a healthy life. The most important meal of the day, they said.
Or maybe the most deadly?
The Marquess Ambrose stepped into the room, accompanied by utter silence. He was a tall man - nearly as tall as his son - and might, long ago, have been as perfectly beautiful. But long years had eaten furrows into his face, and his waistcoat bulged over an impressive paunch. Still, his eyes…
His eyes were exactly the same as those of Mr Ambrose.
The same ice.
The same
darkness.
The same iron will.
All innocents duck. Let the battle of the titans begin.
Adaira seemed to share my thoughts. Beside me, she took a tentative step back.
‘Pardon my delay in joining you, my dear guests,’ the Marquess said in a voice as warm and welcoming as an arctic blizzard. ‘Important matters kept me detained. However, now that I have been able to join you, let me personally welcome you to Battlewood Hall. Consider my house yours for the duration of your stay. Breakfast will be served in a moment. Please be patient while I greet a…very special guest.’ His gaze returned from his guests to Mr Ambrose. ‘Someone I haven’t seen in a very, very long time.’
No one dared object as the Marquess stepped towards Mr Ambrose, lowering his head about half an inch.
‘Son.’
Mr Ambrose lowered his head as well - no more than a quarter of an inch, at most.
‘Father.’
Silence.
And more silence.
It stretched out like an insurmountable precipice between the two great men, becoming wider, deeper and more deadly with every passing second - while Lord Dalgliesh stood a little way away, watching. The corners of his mouth were twitching.
‘William!’ Trying to force a brave smile onto her lips, Lady Samantha stepped right into the middle of the deadly crevice, gazing up at her husband. ‘You’re here! It was most inconsiderate of you to remain absent and leave it to me to greet all our guests.’
‘My apologies, my dear.’ The Marquess didn’t sound particularly apologetic. He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes were still riveted to those of his son, fighting a silent battle of wills. ‘As I said - I had some important matters to attend to over the last few days. Besides…’ His eyes bored into Mr Ambrose with renewed force. ‘I had hoped that certain guests of mine would not object to climbing a few insignificant stairs to see me again after so many years.’
‘That is the problem with hopes one has of relatives,’ Mr Ambrose shot back, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. ‘They are so often disappointed.’
‘Marquess! Such a pleasure to see you again, after such a long time.’
Two pairs of sea-coloured eyes broke contact and flicked to the speaker who had dared to interrupt. Lord Dalgliesh didn’t flinch under the double onslaught of ice. He didn’t even shiver. One brilliant, shark-like smile deflected everything.
‘Lord Dalgliesh.’ The Marquess inclined his head. It did not escape my notice that he bowed significantly lower than he had for his own son. My hand suddenly itched to reach out and slap the old man across the face. But since I was not suicidal, I refrained. It would have been madness enough to get involved before, when there were only two people wanting to kill each other. But now? By the looks of it, there were three people, each of which wanted to kill the two others - the only reason all were still alive being that no one could decide on whom to murder first.
‘Ah, those family reunions…’ I jumped, nearly breaking my neck whirling around to see that Miss Bardley had joined Adaira and me. She had - surprise, surprise - a smile on her face. I’m not kidding. A smile. ‘Aren’t they wonderful? Family and friends finding each other again after such a long time always makes me feel warm inside.’
‘Yes, um. Very warm indeed.’
Mr Ambrose took a step forward. Instantly, my attention jumped back to the threatening battle in the room. ‘Lord Dalgliesh was just complimenting Mother on your beautiful home,’ my dear employer informed his father. Your home. Not ours. He really knew how to wield every word like a blade. And between the words, there was another meaning, one able to do much more damage. I could feel it slamming into his father.
‘Was he?’ The Marquess pierced Lord Dalgliesh with a look, then gave the same treatment to his beloved son. ‘I would have thought you might have learned to be cautious about paying attention to idle words from certain sources by now, son.’
‘Oh, I have.’ Mr Ambrose’s gaze was ten times as cold as his father’s. ‘Independence is a useful trait, particularly when dealing with stubborn old men who-’
‘Shouldn’t we sit down for breakfast?’ Lady Samantha broke in with an insanely hopeful smile. ‘Our guests are surely getting hungry!’
‘Oh, do not hurry on my account, My Lady.’ Lord Dalgliesh gifted her with a bright smile. ‘I’m enjoying myself immensely.’
She glared at him, and he closed his mouth.
‘Now, William,’ she insisted. ‘We are keeping our guests waiting.’
The Marquess exchanged one last, long, lethal look with his son, then turned to offer his wife an arm.
‘Of course, my dear. Let me escort you to your seat.’
*~*~**~*~*
I had to admire Lady Samantha. With superhuman skills of diplomacy, she managed to scatter her husband, her son and Lord Dalgliesh around the table, with plenty of military men and talkative young ladies as buffers between them. By the time she was finished, I couldn’t even see Lord Dalgliesh, and neither could Mr Ambrose, from where he was positioned. As for his father - he was so far away, safely placed at the host’s rightful position at the foot of the table, that he and his son could do nothing but shoot each other icy glares - which they did. Apparently, a little ceasefire had been declared. I started to breathe a little more easily.
At least until Lady Samantha appeared beside me with Lady Adaira.
‘Mr Linton, may I entrust her to you?’ she gazed up at me with big, hopeful eyes. ‘I have those three men to contend with and if I have to keep an eye on my little girl…I simply can’t. Please.’
I stared at her. ‘B-but…’
‘Please?’
Crap! Why did she have to have such big, blue grandmotherly eyes? How was I supposed to be able to say no?
‘Very well.’
‘Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mr Linton. You are a true gentleman.’
And she dashed off, leaving behind a stunned me and an Adaira convulsing with giggles.
‘It’s not funny!’ I snapped.
‘Oh yes it is, Mr Linton!’
‘What am I supposed to do now?’ Panicked I glanced around. All of the other men - crap, had I just thought ‘other men’? - were standing beside their chairs like stuffed penguins. ‘I have no idea how a gentleman behaves towards a lady at the breakfast table!’
‘I’m sure you’ll do fine,’ Adaira said, watching Mr Ambrose who grabbed his dinner partner, dumped the lady onto a chair and shoved it forward before taking his own seat. ‘As long as you do the exact opposite of my dear brother.’
Grimacing, I pulled out a chair for her.
‘Why, thank you, Sir.’ Batting her eyelashes up at me, she sank onto her seat. ‘My mother was right. You are a true gentleman.’
‘Shut up! This is not funny!’
‘On the contrary. Three men who would like to kill each other but are forced to be civil because of table manners? A lady in trousers as my dinner partner? This is first-class comedy. It’s a wonder I’m not rolling around on the floor with laughter.’
I had to admit, she had a point. The situation was funny - in the same way that an assassin being pecked to death by a murder of crows was funny. Lady Adaira seemed to have an admirable talent for looking at the bright side of life.
Her poor mother, though…
‘Toast, Sir? Mushrooms? Kipper?’
Torn from my thoughts I looked up to see a footman standing beside me, balancing a huge platter with food on one hand and wielding a scary-looking serving fork with the other. I prayed Mr Ambrose wouldn’t get his hands on that while his father and Lord Dalgliesh still were in the room. Otherwise, things at the breakfast table might get rough.
I opened my mouth - and underneath the table felt the pressure of a foot against mine. Ah yes. Manners.
‘Ladies first.’ I gave Adaira a strained smile.
‘Thank you, Mr Linton.’ The little minx beamed at me. ‘It’s so heartwarming to see that there are still men with manners out there in the
se uncouth, modern days.’
She really was enjoying this a little too much.
‘A selection of everything for me, please, Oscar.’
‘Certainly, Your Ladyship. And the gentleman?’
It took a gentle kick from Adaira to make me realise he was talking to me.
‘I, err…I’d just like a few mushrooms on toast, please. I’m not feeling very well. I, um…didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.’
‘Oh, really?’ Adaira’s eyes lit up with ravenous curiosity. ‘Why was that? Do tell. Were you very…busy?’
Crap, crap, crap! Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut?
I sent her a censorious look. ‘No, My Lady.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. If you must know…’ My eyes flicked to Mr Ambrose and his father. ‘I was worried.’
It wasn’t a lie.
‘Oh, well…’ Adaire cocked her head, thoughtfully. ‘I think I know what we can do about that.’
That took me by surprise. ‘You do?’
Had she suddenly become a miracle worker?
A cheeky grin spread over her face. ‘Oh yes. We only have to catch my brother’s attention.’
‘And how do you propose we do that, my Lady?’
‘Simple. All we have to do is make him think about something that he is even more obsessed with than money, power, or his feud with our father.’
‘Such a thing exists?’
She gave me a very odd, very long look. ‘I think it does.’ And without waiting for a response, she turned towards her brother, leaning over towards him and asking sweetly: ‘Tell me, brother - where did you find this charming secretary of yours? I’ve never met such a pleasant man in all my life.’
Conversation all around us halted. All the guests’ eyes focused on me. And then, a moment later came the eyes that mattered. Cold eyes. Hard eyes. Eyes that sent a tingle down my spine.
‘Indeed?’
‘Oh yes, indeed.’ Adaira gifted her brother with a smile. ‘It was most unkind of you to hide such a handsome young fellow away in your dusty office all this time.’ And she gave me a flirtatious smile. Mr Ambrose nearly choked on a fish bone.