Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

We continued up the river at a quick pace. If there were any pursuers on our metaphorical heels, they had no chance of catching us. The river was a raging torrent, and even with the steam engine, we sometimes had trouble making our way.

One night, a few days after the fight on the docks at Santa Fe, I was just about to cuddle up under the blanket on my bunk, when I heard a creak from overhead. Who would still be up at this hour? We were anchoring at the shore for the night, and while there were guards posted, they were on land, and not on the deck above me. Curious, I went up to investigate.

When I stuck my head out of the door, I saw a dark figure standing on the poop deck, black coat tails fluttering in the wind. Sighing, I stepped out and closed the door behind me.

‘Trying to repeat your no-sleep-experiment, Sir?’

He didn’t turn.

‘No, Mr Linton. I’m thinking.’

‘At this hour? It’s barely twenty minutes to midnight.’

‘You don’t say.’

I climbed up on the deck and positioned myself beside him, leaning on the railing. He threw me a cool look.

‘I prefer to think alone, Mr Linton.’

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. ‘You don’t say.’

A pause. Then:

‘You know those men were sent by Dalgliesh, don’t you, Sir?’

‘Yes, I know.’ Cocking his head, he regarded me shrewdly. ‘What I want to know is how you know, Mr Linton.’

I smiled winningly at him. ‘Female intuition?’

My winning smile didn’t quite seem to work, to judge by the look he sent back at me out of the corner of his eyes. ‘Mr Linton…!’

I shrugged. ‘Or I might have seen one of those goons and Dalgliesh at a ball together.’

His head whipped around, his dark eyes boring into me with unsettling intensity. ‘You met Dalgliesh at a ball? When?’

‘Oh, a few weeks ago, back in London.’

At the ball where my engagement was announced.

I didn’t mention the last part to Mr Ambrose, though. For some unfathomable reason, he seemed to be rather easily aggravated when it came to any suitors I might have. He probably thought I would slack off at work if someone managed to wrestle a ring on my finger. Not that that would ever happen!

‘Weeks ago?’

Oh-oh…I could practically hear the frost growing on Mr Ambrose’s voice. He fully turned to face me, concentrating all the considerable force of his dark, penetrating eyes on me. ‘And you didn’t see fit to mention this to me until now?’

Actually, I hoped I could avoid telling you altogether…

‘Well, you know, you’re a busy man, and I thought-’

I didn’t get any farther than that. To my utter shock, I was suddenly engulfed in a vice-like grip, clutching me to a chest as hard as stone.

‘I do not pay you to think, Mr Linton!’ I heard his ice-cold voice at my ear. ‘Understood?’

‘Yes, Sir. I only wanted to-’

The rest of the sentence ended in a wheeze as his grip tightened even more. Then, before I could really grasp what happening, he was gone, and I could breathe again. Panting, I grabbed the railing to steady myself, and stared up at the dark, towering figure beside me gazing out onto the river as if I didn’t exist.

Had this really just happened? Had Mr Ambrose, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, just hugged me?