Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

You’re a genius, Lilly! Just act like an arrogant, patronising, chauvinistic son of a bachelor. After all, who in their right mind would want to be with a man like that?

With an arrogant smirk, I crossed my legs under the table. Something tugged at my trousers. Damn! I didn’t need a street urchin and stowaway trying to remind me of my gentlemanly manners! Especially not since I had only just gotten rid of them. With my foot, I gave the squirt a gentle shove, telling him to keep his nose out of my business.

Time to start your career as a chauvinistic bastard, Lilly!

‘I’m really looking forward to seeing France again, you know.’ I informed Miss Harse.

‘Again?’ The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You mean you’ve been there before?’

‘Of course. I’ve been all over the world.’ Dismissively, I flicked a speck of dust off my tailcoat. Heck, being arrogant was fun! Time for a bit of chauvinism. ‘But France is one of my favourite places to be. French girls are simply…oh la la.’

‘Mr Linton!’ The scandalised girl covered her mouth with one hand, a fierce blush rising to her cheeks. ‘You shouldn’t say these things in front of a lady.’

I gave her an arrogant smirk, the kind of which usually earned my suitors a kick on the shins. ‘Well, as the French say, Vous êtes une botte asymétrique liée à une courgette.’[3]

‘Mr Linton!’ Blushing furiously, she took a step backwards. An impressive result, considering I was quite sure she had no idea what I had just said, and incidentally, neither had I. ‘You wicked, wicked man.’

Her blush deepened. Oh yes. I was making quite a good start in my career as a blackguard, rake and general arsehole. Only…why hadn’t she run away yet? She was still standing there, her eyes resting on me with strange fascination. I supposed I would have to use more drastic measures.

‘Well, it’s been nice chatting with you. But now run along little girl, will you?’ With one leisurely hand, I waved her off. ‘I think my meal is coming, and you’re blocking my view of the ocean.’

Wow. I really was talented at being a chauvinistic arsehole—almost as though I had rehearsed the role. How could that be?

Oh well, who cared? As long as my patented arsehole method would get rid of Miss Emilia Harse, what did it matter?

‘Y-your view?’ The girl blinked. ‘Oh. Of course.’ Giving me a shy smile, she curtsied. ‘I’ll go find my mother. I hope we meet again, Mr Linton. Very soon.’

And with another blush, she hurried away, while I stared after her, dumbfounded. She hoped we’d meet again? Very soon?

Why?

‘Gorblimey!’ A dirty little head emerged from under the table, gazing after Miss Harse. ‘She’s got it bad for you, guv. You played her good!’

‘What do you mean, I played her?’ I blinked at him. ‘I was an arrogant bastard! My manners were worse than those of Attila the Hun with a hangover. She would have to be insane to want to spend another minute in my company.’

The little boy glanced up at me—then gave a cackle. ‘You’re serious guv, aren’t ye? Ye God! Ye’ve got a lot to learn about women.’

I

glowered at him. ‘Get back under the table before I change my mind about the food.’

He stuck his tongue out and vanished with another grin.

Shaking my head, I grabbed for a paper and put up a dignified wall between me and insolent stowaways. Me, not knowing anything about women? Ha! Ridiculous!

‘Sir?’

Lowering my paper, I spotted the approaching waiter swaying under the weight of my meal. ‘Here you are, Sir,’ panted the poor man, dropping the first three courses in my lap. Somehow, I managed to slow their descent and steer them onto the table.

‘Thank you.’

Straightening, the waiter wiped sweat off his forehead. ‘Will you be needing anything else, Sir?’

I gave him a smile. ‘Well, yes. The next course, in about ten minutes.’

‘Ten minutes?’ With wide eyes, the poor man stared down at the three humongous plates in front of me, stuffed to the brim with food. ‘But…’

‘Oh, that?’ I glanced at the plates while a small hand sneaked out from under the table and, unbeknownst to the waiter, snuck a slice of French pie from my plate. ‘Don’t worry. I have a feeling it’ll be gone quite soon.’