‘You know…’ Thoughtfully, Lord Dalgliesh tapped his chin. ‘I thought the same thing only a short while ago. But then you came along. I had my initial suspicions when I first saw the two of you dancing together at Lady Metcalf’s ball. Still, I thought to myself “No, this is Rikkard Ambrose. It can’t be.” Of course, I had you investigated nonetheless, and I discovered that Mr Ambrose’s secretary had the same name as you do - but from what I could find out, neither he nor Mr Ambrose were connected to you in any other way. And then, when you made no other appearance in his life, I began to think it was nothing. I began to forget - until I received a very interesting letter from my agent in Newcastle.’
His Lordship slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a letter on thin, rumpled paper. It looked so insignificant. Hard to believe that such a thing could spell my doom.
‘Urgent!’ Lord Dalgliesh read in that sleek, aristocratic voice. ‘Ambrose spotted with male and female companions in Newcastle. Last known location: London. Companions: Bodyguard, deputy manager, secretary Linton, and…’ He looked up, meeting my eyes. ‘…and unknown female.’
I swallowed.
‘Imagine my surprise, Miss Linton, when I discovered that “unknown female” was in fact you. The only woman whom Mr Ambrose was ever known to dance with without an ulterior motive. The only woman who’d brave danger for him. The only woman he ever invited to meet his family.’
Flipping the letter shut, he gave me a look.
I answered it by raising an eyebrow. ‘What, you think meeting the The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose is a mark of distinction Mr Ambrose bestows on a lady? I would rather see it as a threat, or a method to efficiently make her lose interest.’
His Lordship chuckled. ‘Ah, yes. The marquess has some less than pleasing qualities. But then…so has his son.’
Shut up! Shut up! You slimeball, you don’t know what you are talking about! There’s only one person who’s allowed to insult Rikkard Ambrose, and that’s me!
‘If you’re willing to put up with one, I very much doubt you’d balk at the other. In any case, this isn’t about
the marquess’s likability. This is about Mr Rikkard Ambrose, after ten years, suddenly returning to his family. A month ago, I would have said he cared about them as much as he does about a rock in the Kalahari Desert - one without gold ore inside. He let them stew for over a decade. I would have said he never wanted anything to do with them again. And then you somehow managed to get him up here.’ He gave three long, slow claps. ‘Impressive. Quite impressive. Too bad you will not be reaping the rewards of your labours.’
‘What happened?’ I demanded, teeth gritted. ‘What the hell did you do to the Ambroses? What could anyone do to sow so much hatred between father and son?’
‘What? He didn’t tell you?’ A mocking aristocratic eyebrow rose. ‘Dear me. You must not have him as tightly wrapped around your finger as I thought.’
‘Right now, I’d like to wrap something around your neck!’
‘Tut, tut. Such unladylike language.’
‘Tell me!’
‘Hm…’ He started walking, circling me like a predator would a prospective victim. ‘I wonder what would be more amusing…to tell you, or to leave you wondering…’
‘Tell me! What did you do?’
‘Hm…interesting how you automatically assume it was me.’
My head snapped around. ‘It wasn’t?’
He smirked. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me, I was, shall we say…the catalyst for the happy event? But it needn’t have ended in their family breaking apart. Oh no, that the Ambroses managed all on their own.’ Passing out of my sight, he moved behind me, his voice making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. ‘You see, thanks to my help, it came to a little disagreement between the marquess and his son. Not being quite so cool and composed back then, he went into battle with a vengeance. The old man responded in kind and…well, things took their course. From what I’ve been able to learn, they shouted at each other loud enough to make the walls rattle, until finally the marquess told his son to get out.’
One of his fingers touched my cheek, and I shuddered.
‘And he did,’ Lord Dalgliesh whispered. ‘And didn’t return for over ten years.’
Oh God…
I didn’t want to believe it - but I could see. Two proud men, father and son, raging at each other, unwilling to give in…and then the fatal words.
Get out.
Any ordinary young man would storm out of the room, and that would be that. But Rikkard Ambrose was not and had never been an ordinary man.
‘He left the country?’ I whispered. ‘Because of that?’
‘Indeed he did.’
My eyes flashed up to His Lordship’s. ‘What did you do?’