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‘I’ll give you a challenge if you don't back off!’ I threatened, raising my hand again. Taking a leisurely step backwards, he cocked his head.
‘Plus, you’re from a good family. Most of those stuck-up mothers at Sir Philip’s ball wouldn’t have let a poor soldier like myself near one of their daughters. But your aunt… I think she’d be happy if she could convince a beggar to take you. If I made you mine, she’d be delighted - and so would I. Granted, you don't have money, and neither does your family, so the dowry won’t be worth marrying for, but in the military a good name is more often of greater worth. You have that, so you’ll suit me admirably. The only thing that remains is for me to make it official.’
‘Official? What are you talking about?’
‘Why, marrying you of course.’
My eyeballs almost dropped out of my head. ‘Marriage? I’m not getting married to anybody! And most certainly not to you!’
He sneered. ‘What? You’d prefer a covert thing between us? I wondered whether that might be more your style.’
Covert thing? What kind of covert thing? The glint in his eyes told he was talking about something dark, something far less innocent than my little sister’s secret meetings in the back garden. I had no idea what exactly and, honestly, I didn’t want to find out.
‘But I’m afraid I can’t help you there,’ he continued. ‘I’m a gentleman and unfortunately have to behave as such. I shall have to wait until we are married before I can start taming you.’
‘Go now,’ I said, making my voice icy in my best imitation of Rikkard Ambrose. ‘Right now! Or I will scream until the entire city of London comes running!’
He hesitated - then shrugged.
‘Very well, just as you like.’ The bastard had the audacity to wink at me! ‘But I will get you, make no mistake. And you know you’ll enjoy it when I do.’
I wondered whether there were smaller, feminine versions of that handy cane-sword that Mr Ambrose had used the other day. If so, I was going to buy myself one with my very first pay cheque. Occasions like this required a weapon more effective than a parasol.
‘Who do you think you are?’ I hissed at him. ‘You can’t just say such things to me! Who the hell do you think you are?’
‘I?’ He raised an arrogant eyebrow. ‘I am your suitor.’
‘My what?’
‘Your suitor. I want you, and I’m going to get you one way or another.’
‘No you won’t! Not when I tell my family what you dared to say to me!’
‘Oh really?’ His eyebrow wandered up another inch. ‘I have witnessed how very, um… dear you are to your aunt. Whom do you think she will believe? Bright, brilliant young Lieutenant Ellingham or a niece who can’t even behave herself properly at her first ball?’
He raised his hat to me and made a slight, mocking bow.
‘Good day to you, Miss Linton. I look forward to seeing you again.’
And he walked away.
*~*~**~*~*
Blast! If only he hadn’t vanished that quickly! I might have punched him! Or bitten him! Or…
All right. I admit it. The thoughts that ran through my head as I walked through the streets of London, towards home, weren’t the most romantic ones for a girl to whom a man had just as good as proposed. But then, it hadn’t been the most romantic quasi-proposal. In fact, even I, who was definitely not an expert on quasi-proposals, could say that it had been about as romantic as a bucket of vomit.
Which, by the way, was also a very fitting description of my suitor.
‘Bloody bastard! Oh, the next time I see him, I’ll… I’ll…’
I couldn’t even find the words. Maybe I would have to sneak into the room where Mr Ambrose was holding Simmons, to get some inspiration on torture.
‘Something spiky… with wicked screws, maybe!’
Only when I got home and saw my aunt’s delighted harpy-smile as she looked at the latest flowers Lieutenant Ellingham had sent did I fully realize the son of a bachelor had been right.
Bugger! She really expects me to marry him!
