Silence Breaking (Storm and Silence 4)

‘Oh, put a sock in it! Enough is enough!’

I was pissed off. Really pissed off. And do you know why? Officially, of course, I was pissed off because Mr Ambrose, that chauvinistic son of a bachelor, was trying to control who I could and could not speak to. That was outrageous! Unspeakable! As a strong, independent woman, I simply could not allow it.

But really, deep down inside, I was pissed off because I could have used a suitor-deflecting shield like Karim years ago. He would have come in so damn handy during my adolescent years, when my dear aunt’s goal in life was to marry me off before I was sixteen. But had he shown up then? Oh no, he and his megalomaniac master had to wait till I was grown up and able to fend for myself before they appeared in my life. Thanks, but no thanks!

Finally, the exhausting day drifted to a close. With a sigh, I slammed the door of my room behind me and leaned against it. At least here I was safe from persecution. At least here I would be blessedly, blissfully alone.

‘Well?’ came a cool voice from right beside me, nearly making me jump out of my skin. ‘Ready to hold up your end of our deal?’

I whirled.

It was dark inside the room. Too dark to see, really. But even if I hadn’t recognised the tall, dark, figure in the shadows in an instant, that cool voice would have removed any doubts about its identity.

‘You!’ Breathing heavily, I stabbed an accusing look at the dark silhouette. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Collecting my dividends,’ Mr Rikkard Ambrose said in a voice that betrayed not a hint of remorse.

‘You dare show your face here after what your goon has put me through today?’

He took a step forward. ‘I gather you are referring to Karim?’

‘You bet I’m referring to Karim! I didn’t ask for you to set him on my tracks like some overeager guard-dog! I didn’t-’

In that moment, my voice cut off.

Why?

Because Mr Rikkard Ambrose had taken a step forward, gripped my face in both hands and claimed my mouth with a kiss. It was a long kiss. A hard kiss. A kiss he worked for all it was worth, until he’d tripled every single penny of his investment, and made me melt into the bargain. When he finally released me, my breath was gone and my brain was on holiday.

‘Karim stays,’ he told me, his voice as hard and cold as a frost giant’s sword. ‘Your safety comes first.’

Gathering what tattered remnants of sanity I could recover, I glared up at him. It wasn’t easy, after such a kiss. ‘My safety? Bollocks! This isn’t about my safety.’

‘It is.’ His eyes bored into me, deep, dark, sea-coloured pools of danger. ‘Because if I catch that army captain anywhere near you, Mr Linton, you won’t be safe. And neither will he.’

And with that, he tore open the door and marched out of my room.

Well, well…

Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s version of a gentle good-night kiss, threats and tyranny inclusive. Wasn’t I a lucky girl?

As I touched two fingers to my throbbing lips, I had to fight hard against a persistent little voice in the back of my head that told me, over and over again, that yes, indeed, I was.

I wouldn’t listen! I wouldn’t lie down and let him trample all over me! Safety? Protection? Ha! He could take his protection and stuff it where the sun didn’t shine!

Later that night, as I lay in bed, slowly drifting to sleep, I determined that there was no way around it. I had to assert my independence. And there was only one way to do that, only one way to show Mr Rikkard Ambrose once and for all that he couldn’t order me around as he pleased: I had to go on a rendezvous with Captain James Carter.

Princified

I woke up next morning with a plan formed ready in my mind. And, oh, what a beautifully diabolical plan it was. Lying in my warm bed, gazing up at the portraits of fat little cherubs on the ceiling, I smiled. Poor Karim… He had no idea what I had in store for him.

Rising, I slipped into my female guise and, whistling merrily, stepped out of the room. Karim was already awaiting me and followed on my heels as I made my way down to breakfast. And when I say ‘on my heels’, that was less of a metaphor than I would have liked it to be. More than once I had to suppress a yelp of pain as the tips of his shoes stabbed into my ankles.

Patience, Lilly. Patience. Vengeance shall be thine.

When I entered the breakfast parlour still whistling and smiling, Mr Ambrose threw me a suspicious glance. But what could he say? You look suspiciously happy this morning. What are you up to?

Not the kind of thing you ask a lady in front of your mother and two dozen guests.