Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5) - Page 119
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Things that are more important than the fate of a whole continent?’
‘Yes,’ he told me and took my hand firmly in his.
The whole cab ride back to the opera house passed in silence. And yet…I couldn’t help the feeling that something was going on. Mr Ambrose exchanged more than one look with Karim. Then, halfway through the ride, he suddenly reached out and took my hand again.
‘Mr Ambrose? What’s the matter?’
He didn’t answer.
About ten minutes later, the cab rolled to a stop in front of the opera house. During the whole ride, Mr Ambrose had not once let go of my hand. When the coach stopped and the door opened, he didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he stepped from the coach and held out his hand to guide me outside—not something a boss usually did for his trouser-wearing secretary. Something a man might do for his sweetheart. My heart was started pounding.
‘Mr Ambrose?’
No answer. He pulled me through the front door, and started up the main stairs. I glanced back, and Karim, the bloody blighter, was standing next to the coach, arms crossed. What was going on? Karim went everywhere with Mr Ambrose! Why wasn’t he coming with us?
‘Mr Ambrose, what’s going on?’
The only reply was silence. Cold, hard, all-encompassing silence.
I tried to tug my hand out of his—just out of habit. I might as well have tried to tug free from an iron clamp.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir? Why are you holding my hand?’
‘To manipulate your direction of movement, Mr Linton.’
‘I had sort of noticed that! Why?’
‘Because I want to.’
‘Where are we going?’
Silence.
‘Where the heck are you leading me?’
More silence. Still, the question was answered a moment later when Mr Ambrose pushed open the doors in front of us and we entered the great hall of the opera house. It was completely empty and silent, and yet, for some reason, the lights of the stage were shining brightly, casting the whole scene into a warm glow. Step by step, Mr Rikkard Ambrose lead me up onto the stage. The red velvet of the curtain fell like a waterfall behind us, enveloping us in fiery warmth. In contrast, Mr Ambrose’s eyes were like cool, dark oceans threatening to drag me under. Tightening his grip on my hand, he turned to face me head-on.
‘Now are you going to tell me?’ I demanded. ‘What are you doing here?’
His only answer was more silence. But he didn’t really need to say anything. It became pretty clear what he wanted when he reached into his pocket sank to one knee.
A Big One on the Finger
Holy Mother of Molys…
I stared down at Mr Rikkard Ambrose kneeling in front of me, and at the ring in his hand. The big, golden ring. Were my eyes deceiving me? This couldn’t be real, could it?
‘Upon consideration,’ Mr Ambrose stated, ‘I came to the conclusion that we should take this customary step to formalize relations.’
This was real. Only Mr Rikkard Ambrose would make such a breathtakingly romantic proposal.
This was real. He was real. He was mine. I swallowed and forced my dry mouth to open.
‘Formalize away.’
Reaching up, he took my hand with a care that almost approached tenderness.
‘Miss Lillian Linton, do you want to become my wife?’
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