‘Smile?’ One eyebrow lifted infinitesimally, daring to play innocent. ‘I do not waste time or facial musculature on such wasteful activities, Mr Linton.’
‘No, you don’t, you bloody block of stone! You just somehow smirk with your coat tails while keeping your face perfectly straight. It’s bloody infuriating!’
‘I have no idea what you could possibly mean, Mr Linton. I don’t—’
I hit him. Not hard—the episode with my finger had reminded me what kind of obstacle I was dealing with—just hard enough to get his attention.
He blinked. A bit like a giant who wasn’t quite sure whether a mouse had just been stupid enough to stab him in the foot. There was a moment of total silence as he gazed into the distance. When he lowered his eyes to look at me and opened his mouth, he found tears in my eyes.
His mouth closed again.
‘I was afraid for you.’ The words tore from my throat. I told myself that my voice didn’t quiver. Not the tiniest bit. Not the tiniest little bit! ‘You pretended to be in danger, and I was bloody afraid for you!’
‘Mr Linton…Lillian, I…’ Slowly raising a hand, he touched my cheek, his fingers so careful and tender one might think I was the most precious object in the world. Until he grabbed me hard and pulled me towards him.
Our mouths clashed like a prima donna and her manager, both wrestling for control and ignoring the fact that they bloody needed each other. My hands were suddenly in his hair, holding him tight, so tight it felt as if I could meld us together forever. And, dammit, that’s exactly what I wanted! I didn’t want marriage. I didn’t want to swear obedience. I just wanted him! Was that so hard to understand?
Well, since it’s Rikkard Ambrose you’re talking about, yes, probably.
Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with a nice, compliant egghead?
Then he kissed me again, and I remembered why. I remembered exactly. His lips were….oh…they were hotter than a furnace, stronger than a hurricane, and sweeter than chocolate melting on your tongue.
Well, maybe not the last, but that would be a bit too much to ask for from anyone. So I asked for something I knew he was willing to give. I asked for more. With my mouth, I begged for it, and for the first time in his life, Mr Rikkard Ambrose gave freely. Very freely indeed.
When we finally ran out of breath, I reluctantly released his hair from my grip. Placing a last searing brand on my lips, he broke the kiss.
‘All right,’ he panted. ‘You may have been correct.’
‘I? Correct? And you admit it?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘Goodness gracious! Where is my calendar? I must mark today in red for all eternity as a memorial to this momentous occasion.’
Silence.
‘So, tell me, Sir…in what regard was my correctness so correctly correct today?’
A muscle in his jaw ticked. ‘The things I told you about Dalgliesh—they were made up. There is no danger here.’
‘Ah! I knew it!’ I tapped an accusing finger against his chest. ‘I knew that everything is fine here, and nothing bad is happeni—’
It was then that the high-pitched scream of a woman pierced the air.
The Ifrit and the Banshee
It wasn’t difficult to find out where the trouble was happening. All we had to do was follow the ear-piercing screams. And they were screams this time, Mr Ambrose assured me, not high notes in a Mozart aria. Personally, I couldn’t tell the difference, but then, I was an expert on opera the same way a squid was an expert on mountain climbing.
‘Over there!’
Mr Ambrose pointed down a corridor, at the end of which a banshee seemed to be getting strangled. We started to sprint forward, and the farther we got, the more people joined us. It’s interesting how people always run away from danger when they’re being chased, but run towards it if they aren’t. One of the many proofs for the essential blockheadedness of humankind.
Finally, we reached a door with a name plaque on it that I didn’t bother to try and pronounce. To judge by the women crowding around the entrance and the shrill screams still issuing from inside, it was easy enough to deduce that there was a lady in there, but other than that, I had no idea what was going on. The women were blocking the way.
‘Stand aside!’ I ordered.
They ignored me.
I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose. ‘Maybe they don’t speak English?’
He gave me a look.