by Robert Thier
Quickly, I let my gaze drift around the room - but he wasn’t here yet. And if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t be either. Ladies almost always entered the ballroom on the arm of their escort - if they had one. And whoever this girl was, she would most certainly be walking in on the arm of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. None would be stupid enough to miss that chance. Quickly, I let my gaze slide over the faces of the ladies who were already here. I spotted Lady Caroline, Lady Dorothea and Lady Eveline and felt a surge of satisfaction.
So…they’re here without him tonight, are they?
My satisfaction disappeared abruptly when I remembered that so was I.
‘My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen?’
All eyes snapped to a liveried servant who had appeared at the entrance of the ballroom, holding a staff. With his instrument of authority, he pounded the polished floor three times, making clear what his duty was tonight.
‘It is my great honour and pleasure to welcome you to the Christmas ball at Battlewood. Please greet the man who will be your host for tonight. Lord-’
A hand shot out, wrapping mercilessly around the man’s wrist and squeezing. A few cold, whispered words floated through the air, too low to be understood.
‘…um, Mister Rikkard Ambrose.’
And there he was. Rikkard Ambrose, as he lived (and maybe even breathed if he wasn’t made of stone). He towered in the doorway, more perfect and beautiful than he ever had been. And on his arm, walking proudly beside him with a broad smile on her face was…
I blinked.
Then I looked again, just to be sure. But I hadn’t made a mistake. If there was one young lady in this house that I’d recognise even with a bag over my head, it was Lady Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose.
His sister.
He had come to the ball with his little sister!
I remembered what he’d told me about his dance partner at lunch. Suddenly, his words appeared in a slightly different light.
I’m quite fascinated by her. I’ve known her for quite a while, but since arriving here at Battlewood she has impressed me with her charm, her fiery spirit and her intelligence. She’s going to play a big role in my future life.
I was going to kill him.
Slowly.
Painfully.
And then I was going to resurrect him and kiss him till he suffocated.
Wait…maybe you should rethink that, Lilly.
Indeed?
Yes. Perhaps you should kill her, first.
What a wonderful idea! I searched my treasure trove of Spanish and Arabic swear words for a word that was bad enough for my dear friend Lady Adaira, the traitorous little witch, but found nothing. The little vixen had known all along! And she had let me stew in my own over-romantic juices for the fun of it! Oh, when I got my hands on her…!
Maybe I should team up with Karim. He probably knew lots more torture methods than sweet little me, and would be more than willing to help avenge himself on the creator of Prince Fragrant Yellow Flower in the Happy Moonlight, Heir to the Principality of Rubbish. Maybe he’d even lend me his sabre.
In just that moment, Lady Adaira glanced up and spotted me. Smiling, she dipped into a perfect curtsy - and then winked at me.
She winked at me.
Oh, that was too much! She was…she was…
…impressive? Admirable?
No! No, horrible! Outrageous! A disrespectful, mad little imp!
The difference to you being?
I’m sure I would have found a satisfactory answer to that question if not at that very moment, the musicians had started playing, and Mr Ambrose had swept his sister off onto the dancefloor.
Oh my God.
He could dance.
I mean really dance.
The other guests were just as stunned as I. They drew back in hushed silence as he and Adaira whirled across the parquet, dancing with the grace and elegance of two professional dancers. They were like fire and ice, like water and stone. She moved with a fae-like fluidity, he with a precision that calculated every step, every twitch of every muscle. And I?
For just one moment, I didn’t feel envy or anger or anything like that. I saw the light in her eyes, and the intensity with which Mr Ambrose looked at her. He might not have always been the big brother she wanted or needed. He might have been far away for years upon years. But Rikkard Ambrose always paid his debts. This was his apology. His way of saying sorry without uttering a word. Tonight, he made her shine, for all the world to see.
Dammit! Where had my blasted anger gone? Where was my desire to strangle her?
Things weren’t any better than they had been ten minutes ago. All right, so he wasn’t dancing with a mercenary little witch who wanted to snatch him away from me, but so what? He wasn’t dancing with me, either, and by the looks of it, he had no desire to do so. There was only one thing left for me to do. Only one thing that would soothe my wounded heart and make me feel marginally better.
Slowly, the other couples began to join them on the dancefloor. As the ballroom started to fill with music, the sound of dancing feet and flowing silk, I retreated into a corner. Inconspicuously, I slid my hand into my dress and pulled out my salvation.
‘I knew it,’ I sighed. ‘I knew I was going to need this.’
And I took a big bite from my emergency solid chocolate ration.
*~*~**~*~*
In general, balls were just about the most sophisticated form of torture you could have devised for me. They inflicted a maximum of suffering with a minimum of screaming and broken bones. This ball was a little different. Usually, I was in the company of my aunt, who insisted on towing me onto the dancefloor and thrusting me into the arms of partners she considered suitable. This time, I was without such a lovely, helpful companion. Plus, due to Lady Samantha’s matchmaking preparations, there were plenty of young ladies present who were much more eligible than me, and the fact that most of them were also eligible for the hag-of-the-year award didn’t seem to deter most of the gentlemen present. Many of the young officers especially, all younger sons who had gone into the army because of a lack of inheritance, were looking for an heiress to catch - which I was most definitely not.
So, for once, I was being left alone. I could sit peacefully in my corner and munch my solid chocolate. Nobody even approached to ask me to dance. How great! I was being left in peace for once in my life. Wonderful. Fantastic. Stupendously, remarkably marvellous. I was so lucky tonight.
Nnng! Lilly, who are you trying to fool?
Without my being able to prevent it, my eyes slid to the dancefloor, searching. But in vain. If Mr Ambrose was still there, he was hidden by the whirling figures of dozens of other guests, having the time of their life. Smiles shone everywhere. Here and there, a happy laugh rose over the crowd. Everything seemed to sparkle with that very special golden shine that only a happy gathering at Christmas could produce.
A gathering I wasn’t part of.
Merry Christmas, Lilly. Very merry Christmas.
Sighing in misery, I took another bite of solid chocolate.
The night dragged on. Once in a while, the dance music ceased and the dancers could rest their feet while the musicians struck up a popular carol. Some people were so merry, they actually sang along. Personally, I didn’t particularly feel like singing about joy and good cheer. If there were a carol about misery, murder and mayhem…now that would have been a different thing.
I thought the night had reached its all-time low - and then my solid chocolate ran out. It was like a dagger through my battered heart. For a moment, I considered leaving. But then I caught a glance of Lady Samantha through the press of people. I couldn’t run out on her! Whatever might be said about her son, The Marchioness Ambrose had been nothing but kind to me during my stay at Battlewood. Leaving her Christmas party after my male alter ego had specifically asked for me to be invited and she had agreed against all odds, would be unaccountably rude. And while I had no problems with being rude to most of the world
’s population, she was a definite exception.
Finally, the candles started to burn low, and a liveried servant stepped in front of the musicians to announce the last dance. I sighed. In relief? In pain? I didn’t really know. Either way, it was good that all this would soon be over. Maybe in sleep, I would be able to forget how much my heart was aching.
I was just about to rise and make my way to the door when a hand suddenly came down to rest on my shoulder. A strong, hard, familiar hand.
‘Miss Linton?’
That voice…
I swallowed, my heart giving another agonising pang.
‘Mr Ambrose.’
Slowly, I turned to face him. I thought I had prepared myself for the sight of him - but I’d been wrong. He was magnificent. The flickering light of the candles accentuated every hard line of his chiselled face, giving him a golden shine that somehow made him look like an angel descended from heaven. Only…the guardian or the avenging kind?
‘What do you want?’
Taking a step towards me, he leaned forward and pinned me with his arctic eyes. Those unfathomable eyes, pools of dark, stormy water, drew me in, destroying any chance I had at resistance before I’d even begun to try.
‘This is a ball, is it not?’ Bowing just deep enough for our eyes to be on one level, he hit me with the full force of his commanding gaze. ‘Miss Lillian Linton, will you grant me the honour of your hand for the last dance?’
Silence Broken, Words Spoken
I stared at him.
And then I stared at him some more.
Finally, Mr Ambrose cocked his head. ‘An answer, Miss Linton?’
‘Now?’ My voice was half-growl, half-whisper. ‘You’ve had the whole evening to ask me to dance, and you choose to do it now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes? Yes? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?’
‘Yes.’
And before I could think of a comeback to that magnificent statement, he had captured my arm with his and was leading me off to the dancefloor.
‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘I haven’t said yes, yet!’
Mr Ambrose gave me a cold look that told me he read more into my words than just one dance. ‘I know.’
Oh dear…
He was angry. The kind of arctic anger which only Mr Ambrose and a Canadian blizzard were capable of. And in his anger, he was only more beautiful.
‘The last dance, My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen!’ The liveried servant in front of the musicians clapped his hands and stepped into the shadows.
Mr Ambrose held out his hand to me. Before I could think about it, my fingers had already closed around his.
What is happening? He’s been an arse to me! Why should I do this? Why should I…
The remainder of that question slipped out of my mind when I was whirled around with consummate skill, and dipped back. A strong arm came up behind me to catch me just before I fell. Breathing hard, I gazed up into the stunningly perfect face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
‘Shall we?’
I felt as if I were dreaming. Only…was this a dream or a nightmare? Was he only doing this to humiliate me further? To get his revenge for my refusal?
But it wasn’t revenge I saw burning in his eyes. It was the cold fire of desire.
‘I feel that I am making an objectively true statement,’ he whispered, ‘when I say that you look beautiful.’ His eyes slid up and down my form, caressing every curve, and I shivered under his scrutiny. ‘Especially in that dress.’
Ah yes. The dress.
I felt heat burn in the tips of my ears. Suddenly, my choice of gown didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
‘Adaira picked it,’ I hurriedly asserted. Well, it was mostly true.
‘Indeed?’ He leaned forward, his gaze becoming somehow even more intense. My knees felt as if they would buckle any second. ‘And did she decide on that colour, too?’
‘No,’ I muttered, glancing down at the ball gown that was a fascinatingly deep, dark sea-coloured shade somewhere between blue, green and grey - the exact same colour as his eyes. ‘That was my decision.’
‘I see.’ So quickly I had no time to protest, he pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it. When it was over, the only evidence it had ever happened was the burning brand on the back of my hand. Tingles travelled up my arm, and somehow, it felt as if I’d been permanently marked. ‘It’s…adequate.’
‘Why, thank you so much for the compliment, Sir.’
‘You’re welcome, Miss Linton.’
The musicians struck the first notes of the dance. Breathless, I felt Mr Ambrose’s arms tighten around me. He was really going to do it. He was going to dance with me.
‘Why?’ I demanded in a whisper.
Why did you do this? Why the last dance, not the first? Is that all I am to you? An afterthought?
He seemed to read all those silent questions in my eyes. Twirling me into the first move of the dance, his cold gaze speared me with the force of a crashing glacier.
‘The first dance for the first woman I knew, the last one for the last. You may not have been the first woman in my life, Miss Linton - but I promise you, you will be the last. There won’t be anyone else as long as I live.’
For a moment, I forgot to breathe. Good God that was…
That was so Mr Ambrose. Ignoring me the whole evening, and then trying to pass it off as romantic.
And do you know what the worst thing was?
It worked. It bloody worked, curse him! And oh, how very well! All I wanted to do right then and there was to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him until I passed out. And he knew it, too, dammit! There was victory in his eyes, victory and power.
Instantly, I felt the fire of rebellion rise in my belly. ‘The last woman in your life, eh? So does that mean you intend to remain celibate for the rest of your life, Sir?’
He met my eyes head-on, not a hint of shame on his granite face as he said, ‘Not at all, Miss Linton. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
I felt heat rise to my face. Blast! That had backfired! Quickly, I glanced around.
‘Mr Ambrose! Remember where you are!’
‘I know exactly where I am. I’m in a ballroom at Battlewood Hall dancing the waltz, and you are in my arms.’
Before I could reply, he whirled me around to a trill in the music, and suddenly, I was bent backward again, and he was leaning over me, his hot breath caressing my skin.
Breathe, Lilly! Breathe!
‘Well, you may feel like I’m the one,’ I whispered. ‘But what if I don’t? I could decide to take another lover any time. Ten, in fact. Ten dozen, if I wanted.’
If I ever stopped loving you.
In a flash, he pulled me up again and whirled me the other way, his hands pulling me along like magic.
‘Over my dead body, Miss Linton!’
‘That could be arranged!’
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Interpreting emotions is not my forte, Miss Linton-’
‘You don’t say.’
‘-but can it be that for some reason you feel aggravated?’
At first I wanted to snap back at him, to thump his thick head against a wall, anything - but then I took a deep breath and did something a thousand times harder: I told him the truth.
‘Yes. There is a reason.’ I lowered my head, so he wouldn’t see my face. ‘You didn’t ask me for the first dance!’
There was a moment of silence. Then…
‘You didn’t give me any reason to believe I would get it if I asked.’
‘What?’
Incredulous, I stared up into his dark, ice-cold eyes, and for a moment saw something there I had never seen before. Was it…could it be hurt?
No! No, that couldn’t be! For it to be hurt, Mr Ambrose would have to be able to have real feelings!
Feelings like love, you mean?
Good point.
I wet my lips, trying to find the right words. ‘Just because…just because I sa
id no to marriage doesn’t mean I said no to everything. I want you. I need you. You make me crazy, and sometimes I want to kill you - but I couldn’t imagine my life without you.’ One corner of my mouth quirked up. ‘Especially without that monthly pay cheque of yours.’
It was a joke, meant to lighten the mood. So his next words hit me like the blade of a dagger, sharp, hard and cold.
‘That’s all you want me for? My money?’
The cold demand shoved past all my defences straight into my chest. I was about to retaliate with a barrage of insults of my own, when I saw that uncertain shimmer in his eyes again, and suddenly the truth began to dawn on me.
‘That’s what all this is about?’ My voice was no more than a whisper. ‘You think I don’t love you?’
Whirling me around, he pulled me close until our faces were only inches apart. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
‘It’s a reasonable conclusion to come to, don’t you think? I asked you to marry me. I asked you to be mine, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish. And you said no.’
‘But that doesn’t mean I don’t…! How would you even get the idea into your head that…? You know how I feel! Of course you know! I mean, I told y-’
The word stuck in my throat as I realised something.
I had never told him.
He had told me about his feelings. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the living incarnation of stubborn silence, had wrenched open his jaws and confessed his love to me - and I had forgotten to say ‘Ditto!’
Oops.
‘Ehem…Well…’ I cleared my throat. ‘I may have made a slight oversight.’
‘Indeed, Miss Linton?’
‘Indeed, Sir.’
Around us, the musicians struck up the last chords of the dance. We turned into a final whirl, and then, suddenly, the dancers were slowing down, and the first candles at the edge of the dance floor were guttering out. The night was coming to an end.
‘Well, Miss Linton?’ His face even more beautiful now that it was half-cast in shadow, Rikkard Ambrose stared down at me with enough intensity to make my bones melt. ‘What is it that you’ve forgotten to tell me?’