Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

‘I believe that even were one of us to marry,’ I said poignantly, ‘the other could not survive without her sister. We would always have to be together.’

Horror washed over Wilkins' face. Like a drowning man stretching out of the water to grasp a cliff, he jumped from his chair and tapped a passing gentleman in a black tailcoat on the shoulder. In the background, the music of the last dance faded as it came to an end.

‘Excuse me, my friend.’ The words tumbled out of Wilkins' mouth into the sudden silence. He couldn’t get them out fast enough. ‘The next dance will be starting soon, and this lady here has held me captive… um, I mean, has had to sit down for several dances, lacking a partner. Would you be so kind as to oblige?’

‘If you wish it, Wilkins,’ said a horribly familiar, cold, curt voice. ‘You were most obliging in our recent dealings, I owe you a favour.’

‘It is too kind of you to say so,’ Wilkins sighed, relief breaking out all over his face.

‘No. I’m never too kind.’ Turning, Mr Ambrose nodded to Sir Philip. ‘Now, where is this lady of yours?’

Then he saw me.

Slowly his eyes wandered up and down my figure, as if he could not believe what he was seeing. He opened his mouth a fraction of an inch. I swear he was about to make a cutting remark about me wearing no trousers! Then his eyes met mine, and he remembered who and where we were.

‘Ambrose, may I introduce Miss Lilly Linton.’ Wilkins' voice was a distant buzz in the background, his gestures meaningless. ‘Miss Lilly Linton, this is Mr Rikkard-’

‘We know each other,’ Mr Ambrose cut him off. His dark eyes didn’t leave my face, boring into me with searing intensity.

The music had started playing. Around us, people were busy chattering. Nevertheless, in our small portion of the ballroom you could have heard a pin drop.

‘Y-you do?’ Sir Philip looked from me to Mr Ambrose and back again. So did Ella, who was suddenly completely awake again. There was a pause.

‘Where from?’ Wilkins inquired added in a tone of undisguised curiosity and scepticism. As if I didn’t exist on the same level as His Mightiness Mr Rikkard Ambrose!

Well, I didn’t, monetarily speaking, but still. It was pretty cheeky coming from a chap who went about London bombarding innocent young ladies with flowers!

‘We bumped into one another in the street,’ Mr Ambrose explained, still not taking his eyes off me. His gaze wasn’t just dark and intense, there was something else in it. A promise…

The promise of retribution. That’s what’s in his eyes - a threat! Is he afraid I’d give him away? Shame him in front of London society by revealing I worked for him? Yes, blast him, that’s it!

Well, he’d just have to learn that I could keep my mouth shut!

And he’s supposed to dance with me, is he? To hold me lovingly in his arms and sweep me over the polished floor in a passionate whirl?

To judge by the arctic look on his face, it was obvious that nothing was further from his mind, so I did him a favour. Not acknowledging his presence in any way, not even nodding to him, I rudely turned my head away. Soon enough, the crow in her green dress would probably appear and whisk him off.

There was a heavy silence. No footsteps. He did not move away. He was not whisked off. Blast him, why didn’t he leave already? My rudeness was giving him the perfect excuse!

‘Well, Miss Linton?’

Miss! He called you Miss! He admitted you’re female!

Well, it was rather hard to ignore, considering the ball gown I was wearing. Still, that little admission tugged at my heart - and my head. Reluctantly, I turned it towards him.

‘Well what?’ The retort was abominably rude, but that was all right since it came from me.

Those dark, sea-coloured eyes of his were still fixed on my face. I made the mistake of looking into them and was caught. Blast!

He held out his hand for me to take. ‘Miss Lillian Linton, will you do me the honour of dancing with me?’

My mouth fell open slightly. Was he joking? But then I remembered who this was. No, he wasn’t joking. Dear Lord in heaven, how was I going to get out of this?

And then something utterly incredible happened - something more horrible than the Napoleonic Wars and the Black Plague put together.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I heard myself say in a shy, breathy voice.

What? What the heck was the matter with my vocal cords? How could they betray me like this? It wasn’t fair!