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Then suddenly he turned, again with his charming smile on his face. ‘Miss Linton,’ he began. ‘I apologize for the interruption. Shall we finish our…’
His smile flickered and went out when he saw that I was no longer there beside him. I didn’t wait to see what he would do next. By the time the music had started up again, I was already halfway across the room, trying to locate my little sister Ella.
I had to find Ella! It was essential that I found her again and helped her through the evening as well as I could. It was also essential that I occupied myself with something, anything which could keep my mind off the fact that Mr Rikkard bloody Ambrose was dancing in this bloody ballroom, probably only a few yards away from me, with some bloody female I had never seen in my life!
I felt like hitting something. Preferably Mr Ambrose. Or her. Oh yes, he could snap at me and even continue to deny the fact that I was a girl, but present him with a girl with long lashes, a demure smile and a pretty dress, and he was suddenly dancing and going to balls and whatnot. Typical man!
Or is he? whispered that tiny voice inside me. You heard Dalgliesh call him Lord. It’s not every man who has a noble ancestry but chooses to deny the fact. Why do it?
No matter. Nobleman or common man, he was still a man! Self-centred, arrogant, infuriating!
I should just ignore his antics the way I had learned to ignore most men’s chauvinist behaviour over the years. But… but… there was this possessive way in which the black-haired girl had linked arms with him. For some reason I could not ignore that.
I spotted them in the distance, twirling over the dance floor, and a stab of envy shot through me. No, I could not ignore that at all.
But why?
Fuming, I whirled around and left in search of Ella.
Bloody hell, why?
*~*~**~*~*
‘There you are!’
I swooped down on my prey like a hawk on an unsuspecting field mouse. Well, maybe not quite. For one thing, I didn’t grab Sir Philip Wilkins by the neck, but by the hand. For another, I didn’t carry him off to my nest on a distant, rocky crag to devour him, but simply dragged him over to a chair next to the closest refreshment table, away from an exhausted-looking Ella.
‘I have been looking for you,’ I said with a reproachful little smile and more or less forced the lanky, long-nosed lord into a chair beside me. Ella, an expression of sublime relief on her face, dropped into a chair on my other side, out of range of his romantic attentions.
‘All this dancing can be so exhausting, can’t it?’ I asked cheerfully as the first notes for the next dance sounded. ‘I’m sure you’ve been longing for a break.’
‘Well, actually I was rather enjoying-’ Wilkins began, his gaze wandering with dreamy longing between Ella and the dance floor.
‘So terribly exhausting!’ I cut him off. This was the perfect time to test a very handy technique for talking with men I had recently discovered: if they were gentlemen, and a lady intimated there was something she might like them to do, they were usually too polite to refuse. Of course, nobody ever used this technique because it was ruthlessly impolite. But then, nobody had ever accused me of politeness. ‘I’m sure you would love a little conversation for a change, wouldn’t you?’
He hesitated. ‘Um… well, yes, if you think so, but…’
It works! It works, it works!
‘I must admit I found our discussion of your house in town extraordinary,’ I cut him off again with a bright smile. ‘So exciting, in fact, that I was wondering: Do you have any estates in the country, too?’
‘Well, yes…’
That was all I needed. I let him have it - a full broadside of verbal cannonballs!
‘Wonderful! That is so interesting. How many manors are in your possession? Are they large? Is there good hunting there? Not that I myself hunt, of course, but I find the noise of guns so soothing. Reminds me of good old English traditions, and that an excellent supper will soon be on the table, don't you know? Do you yourself hunt? Oh, forgive me for even asking! You are a true gentleman, of course you hunt! I’m sure you’re an excellent sportsman, and that is so important in a man, especially an Englishman, since it’s really so central to our national character. I mean, if a German or a Frenchman don't know how to shoot, that’s all right, they can drink beer or think up poems and philosophy and everybody will say “Here we have a true example of our Nation”, but with us English, and the British in general, hunting and sportsmanship are so important. Rather demanding, don't you think? But then, our nation is the greatest in the world, I suppose that it is allowed to make demands of its subjects. What were we talking of again? Now I forgot. Oh yes, your family estates! I must ask you, do you have a library? For I am very interested in…’
And so I went on, and on, and on, until Wilkins' eyes became glassy, and Ella had settled into a comfortable nap. Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy to come up with boring subject after boring subject. Dull things to talk of aren’t as common as you might think.
Why don’t you talk about flowers and greenhouses, or romantic love? He’ll probably be happy to talk to you for hours then!
I snorted. But that was just it: I didn’t want him to be happy. I wanted him to finally see what a horrible family he intended to marry into, and run away screaming. So far, though, from the looks he gave me, the only result I seemed to be getting for my efforts was that he intended to marry Ella as quickly as possible and remove her to one of these country estates of his, as far away as possible from her deranged sister.
‘Of course,’ I said brightly, ‘Ella and I are insepa
rable. Wherever she goes, I go. Isn’t that so, Ella?’
I elbowed her in the ribs as discreetly as possible. Abruptly awakening from her nap, she mumbled: ‘What…? Oh yes. Inseparable, yes, of course.’
