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Quickly, I lowered my gaze and let go of Lady Samantha. Karim, I saw to my intense relief, was already beside me, looking dependably massive and dangerous.
As soon as her mother let go, Adaira decided that, apparently, she hadn’t had quite enough of hugging yet and came back for seconds.
‘He’s watching you,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘Dalgliesh, I mean.’
‘I know. Are you sure we shouldn’t tell your parents-’
‘No!’ Her grip tightened. ‘All those things you’ve told me about him…’ I felt her give a light shudder. I had not spared her the nasty details of mine and Mr Ambrose’s encounters with Lord Dalgliesh. At least one member of the household needed to know how dangerous he was. ‘They’d never believe it! They’ve had a falling out, true, but still…He’s a peer of the realm!’
I knew she spoke the truth. Lady Samantha was far too innocent to comprehend the truth. And her husband - he was one of those men who thought being ‘nobility’ really meant that you were noble, in the true sense of the word. There was no convincing him.
‘Don’t worry.’ I patted her back before I let go. ‘I’m well-protected, and so are you.’ There were enough people in Mr Ambrose’s employ on t
he estate to keep an eye on us both. Everything was going to be fine.
‘Miss Linton?’
I would have known that voice anywhere. So cold, so hard - and yet there was no way I could ever confuse it with his father’s. Smiling, I looked up at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. With the grace of a gazelle, I dipped into a curtsy.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
Unfortunately, most gazelles weren’t particularly good at curtsying. But that didn’t seem to bother him. His icy gaze was devouring me from top to bottom.
‘Why don’t you come walk with me, Miss Linton? There is something I would like to discuss with you.’
In the background, I could see Lady Samantha stumble, and nearly swoon with happiness.
‘Certainly, Mr Ambrose. Lead the way.’
He marched me off, and Adaira trailed behind, the dutiful chaperone (or nosy little minx, depending on your perspective). We were hardly out of hearing range before Mr Ambrose hissed: ‘We have a problem!’
*~*~**~*~*
‘When did this happen?’ I whispered, aghast, as I stared down at the bandaged, bruised, unconscious figures of Hastings and the footman.
‘Hardly an hour after Karim left to “fetch you”,’ Mr Ambrose retorted, the words like cold shards of ice. That muscle in his jaw was ticking like a time bomb. ‘Dalgliesh must have known all along which of the servants are in my employ.’
‘What about the maids?’ I demanded, desperately trying to remember their names. Had I even bothered to ask?
‘They’re fine. But what use are they?’ He glanced at me, and I knew what he really meant: How will they be able to protect you?
‘They have two pairs of eyes, and two healthy sets of lungs on them. They can watch and, if necessary, bring the house down with their screams.’
Again, that ticking muscle. ‘Better than nothing, I suppose, but…’
He glanced at me again. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
But it would be risky.
But I wouldn’t be safe.
But Lord Dalgliesh might get me.
Or, worse, he might get Mr Ambrose. We held each other’s gaze for a long, long moment.
‘Holy hell!’ Suddenly overcome with rage, I slammed a fist into the wall. Rage for him. Rage for me. But, most of all, rage for the two unfortunate souls lying bruised and bandaged in front of us. ‘How was he able to do this? I don’t understand…!’
‘An “accident”.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was dispassionate, but still, used as I was to trying to read him, I could sense a touch of bitterness in it. ‘A Christmas tree fell on top of them, or something like that. It always is with him.’
