Silence Breaking (Storm and Silence 4)

‘No.’ His voice abruptly hardened into granite. ‘It was worse. It was a hundred times worse, thanks to you and Mother! It was blood and guts and bone-breaking work - most often literally. I have a scar across one finger, where a man broke it because I could not pay my debts. I have a burn on my head from a black powder explosion that nearly ripped my skull apart! And yet I’m still here, and my debtors and enemies are gone. You don’t want to be one of them. I have seen a lot of things, and done a lot of things. Remember that next time you try to play the parent.’

The next thing we heard was the sound of a door slamming so hard the doorframe cracked.

I waited a moment, till a second door closed, then turned to Adaira with a tremulous smile.

‘Well, that went well, didn’t it?’

*~*~**~*~*

The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose did not come out of the house to see his son off. But that was all right. It was cold enough outside anyway.

Lady Samantha, wrapped in a thick fur coat that was almost larger than she was, stood at the bottom of the front stairs, Adaira beside her and the staff arrayed in two lines right and left. Tears were sparkling in the old lady’s eyes, and errant snowflakes in Adaira’s. I knew that the latter were melting snowflakes and definitely not tears, because she had assured me and her brother of that fact three times already.

‘Don’t you dare think I’ll miss you,’ she told him, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. ‘You are rude and dictatorial and the worst big brother on this earth, and if you come back in a hundred years it’ll be too soon!’

Mr Ambrose inclined his head about half an inch. ‘My feelings exactly.’

‘Good bye, Lilly!’ Turning to me, Adaira threw her arms around my neck and hugged me hard enough to squeeze the breath out of my lungs. ‘Come back soon, will you? I miss you already! You’ll always be welcome at Battlewood.’

‘Yes, Miss Linton.’ Smiling shyly, Lady Samantha stepped forward and squeezed my hand. ‘You’re welcome here any time. Especially if your stay here….’ Her gaze flitted to Mr Ambrose. ‘Especially if your stay would be a longer one.’

Mr Ambrose made a noise in the back of his throat. ‘If you are all quite finished fawning over my secretary’s little sister, we have to be going.’

‘That goes for you, too.’ Undaunted by his frosty demeanour, Lady Samantha took his her son’s hand. ‘You’re welcome here any time.’

‘As long as you bring Miss Linton with you,’ Adaira added, which earned her a stern glance from her mother and a grin from me.

‘I shall endeavour to have her never leave my side,’ Mr Ambrose shot back at his little sister. Only I noticed that when those words left his mouth, his eyes flicked over to me, and there was hunger in them. I had a feeling he wasn’t just making a retort.

For the first time, I wondered what he had planned for me when we had returned to London. The thought alone sent a delicious shiver down my back. Yet, back in London there didn’t just await endless possibilities - there also awaited infinite dangers. First and foremost among them my aunt and uncle. It had begun to dawn on me that my refusal of his marriage proposal might not seem as insurmountable an obstacle to Mr Ambrose as it appeared to me. After all, was it usually the girl who decided her future husband? No. It was her parents or her guardians. And if Mr Rikkard Ambrose, or better yet, Lord Rikkard Ambrose, son and heir of The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose, approached my dear aunt and uncle, asking for my hand…

Aunt Brank would probably be ready to chop it off with a meat cleaver and hand it over to him wrapped in fancy paper. And Uncle Bufford…

Our conversation would most likely go something like this:

Uncle Bufford: Do you like him?

Me: Yes, but-

Uncle Bufford: Is he rich?

Me: Yes, but-

Uncle Bufford: Good. Marry him. And make sure he pays for the wedding.

Me: But-

Uncle Bufford: Out, girl! I’ve got important business to attend to. I have lots of money to count.

Yes, that would be a very productive talk.

‘Miss Linton?’

A familiar cool voice tore me from my thoughts, and I looked up into the dark, sea-coloured eyes of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. They were deep as the ocean, and just as alluring. I couldn’t help but get lost in their depths.

Would he go to my aunt and uncle? Could he? Could he ever do something like that to me?

I remembered his confession, wrestled from his heart with brute force: I might be slightly irrationally infatuated with you. I may even have certain impulses towards you that border on caring about you.