Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘No. But I have this,’ Mr Ambrose told him and placed the title deed of his shipping company on the counter.

The man blinked.

He blinked again.

Then his chin slipped out of his hand and slammed onto the desk. It landed only inches away from the title deed. Horrified, the man jumped to his feet and hurried around the desk.

‘M-my apologies, messieurs. If there is anysin’ I can do for y—’

‘A cabin. Now.’

‘Yes, certainly, certainly. Please follow me. Right sis way, messieurs.’

The journey back across the channel passed quietly. However, there wasn’t a single storm or shipwreck, nor even an encounter with a stowaway. There was a slight disturbance when someone—of course I had no idea who—tried to enter my cabin at night, only to find out head-first that I had locked the door.

Thud!

‘Ow!’

Rolling over, I pulled the blanket up under my chin and smiled into the pillow. I was really looking forward to my wedding night. Anticipation was a wonderful feeling.

Outside, someone uttered a low curse and stomped off into the night.

When a few days later we landed at Dover, the bruise on Mr Ambrose’s forehead had almost vanished. Stepping towards the gangway, I extended my hand to him.

He took it.

‘How are going to do this?’ My voice was little more than a whisper. Inside my head, though, there was shouting.

I’m getting married. Married. Bloody married!

‘Well, the traditional way is for the suitor to approach the parents or guardians of the lady in question and ask for her hand.’

‘What?’ My hand clenched into a fist instinctively, crushing Mr Ambrose’s fingers. I whirled around to face him. He didn’t even blink. ‘No way! I’m not some prize to be given away! I’m my own woman. I’m going to go to my aunt and uncle and tell them I’m getting married, and that’s it!’

His cool gaze was implacable. There wasn’t a hint of emotion on his face and he leaned forward and calmly spoke one authoritative word.

‘No.’

‘No?’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘What do you mean, n—’

One elegant finger against my lips cut me off abruptly. Leaning even closer, Mr Ambrose captured my face in his hands.

‘You are not going to tell them. We are. Tradition be damned.’

Never had I loved him as much as I did in that moment. So I showed him. Standing up on my tiptoes, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him for all I was worth. Granted, it wasn’t much, counted in pound sterling, but so what? This, right here in his arms, was where I belonged.

Only when shocked gasps came from behind me did I remember that, while I was still wearing trousers, the rest of the world might disagree.

Oops.

Letting go of Mr Ambrose, I took a hurried step back. That didn’t exactly soothe the nerves of the onlookers, however. A small crowd of our fellow passengers had gathered on the deck to stare down at us. One elderly gentleman’s face slackened so his monocle fell and hung dangling from its chain. A lady gave a gurgling noise and keeled over backwards, hitting the planks of the deck with a thunk.

‘Oh. Um…hello there.’ I waved at the audience—then hurriedly glanced at Mr Ambrose. ‘You don’t happen to have a fast coach standing by, do you?’

‘I have something better.’

Mr Ambrose waved his hand imperiously. Immediately, a towering shadow fell upon the onlookers.