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A thousand questions buzzed through my head. Who was she? Why was she here? Why had he brought her? Was she rich? Was he in love with her? Were they engaged? And most important of all, why the blazes were all of my questions about her?
I forced my eyes back to Mr Ambrose. It was him I should be concerned about.
Should be.
But wasn’t.
I was concerned about her. Or, more specifically, her and him in combination.
My eyes snapped back to her. Heat welled up inside me. The heat of some dark unnamed emotion. Was it possible to want to claw a stranger’s eyes out? Well, people said there was such a thing as love at first sight. Why not hate at first sight, then?
‘Um, Miss Linton? My hand, if you please?’
Blinking in surprise, so suddenly ripped from my thoughts, I looked up at Lord Dalgliesh, then down at his hand, which I was clenching so tightly that it was white from lack of blood. I let go as if I had burned myself. ‘Oh, excuse me!’
‘No matter,’ he said, took his other hand off my arm and stepped back from me. His attention seemed to be on something else. He was looking towards the two newcomers.
Well, if he wasn’t interested in me any longer, all the better. Quickly, I stepped back and ducked into the crowd.
Just in time: Mr Ambrose had spotted Lord Dalgliesh.
There was a moment suspended in time. T
he two men’s eyes met, and it was as if they were two lions meeting at a Sahara watering hole. They were the kings, the rest of us were just so many zebras and antelopes.
Mr Ambrose prowled forward. Lord Dalgliesh, ignoring Lady Metcalf, who was still trying to engage the newcomers’ attention, shook out his mane of golden hair and started to advance as well. People in their way stood aside hastily, as if they felt the tension in the air. I certainly did.
Finally, they stood facing each other. I watched from behind the shoulder of a bulky military gentleman who didn’t realise he was being used as cover.
The two of them stared at one another, waiting for the other to bow first. After seemingly endless seconds, they both inclined their heads about half an inch, at the same instant.
‘Lord Dalgliesh,’ Mr Ambrose said.
‘Lord Ambrose,’ Lord Dalgliesh said.
A shiver went down my back? Lord Ambrose? What the…!
‘Mister Ambrose, your Lordship.’ Mr Ambrose’s tone was arctic, but Lord Dalgliesh didn’t flinch. He just smiled a friendly smile. A fake friendly smile. ‘Of course. My mistake.’
There was a spell of silence so intense it pressed against my eardrums.
‘It has been long,’ Mr Ambrose said.
‘Yes, it has,’ Lord Dalgliesh said. ‘Quite some time since last we met.’
The air between them seemed to crackle. Lord Dalgliesh started to say something else, but I didn’t catch it because at that very moment the evil crow descended on Mr Ambrose, grabbing his arm again.
‘Come, my dear Rikkard,’ she said with the broadest of smiles. ‘I wish to dance a reel or two.’
Rikkard? Rikkard? She was allowed to call him by his first name? Who was this creature? The writer of the pink letters?
Well, if so, he seemed to pay a lot more attention to her in person than he did to her correspondence. With a last dark look at Lord Dalgliesh, he took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor.
‘What was that?’ I heard some lady whisper beside me. ‘Between Mr Ambrose and His Lordship, I mean. I’ve seen a lot of important people taking the measure of each other, but that…’
‘That was eerie,’ agreed another in whispered tones. I was inclined to agree.
Lord Dalgliesh still followed Mr Ambrose with his eyes. He had his back turned to me, so I couldn’t see his expression. But I didn’t really want to.
