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‘Um…why don’t you go in, dear? The ball will start soon, and I am quite certain that you shouldn’t miss a minute of it.’
With that strange statement, she gave me a gentle push towards the door. Shaking my head in confusion, I entered. What had all that been about?
The moment I stepped into the ballroom, Lady Samantha’s odd behaviour was driven out of my mind. The place was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Magnificent. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles on majestic chandeliers illuminated the gigantic hall, casting it into a golden light that really wasn’t even necessary, because the place was already golden. Golden and white and silver and every other pure and precious colour you could think of. Exquisite paintings covered the walls and ceiling where they weren’t gilded, depicting gods and titans and ancient heroes. Images which should have clashed with the occasion - but somehow they didn’t. Somehow, that mystical scenery of ages past dancing in the shadows created the perfect contrast to the giant tree rising in the middle of the room, in the centre of the light.
The tree he had put there.
The thought was like a dagger through my heart. Except that a dagger would have ended all of this. The blasted thought just hurt like hell. Damn!
But if I was still alive, at least that meant I would still get a look at her. My curiosity was stronger even than my desire to crawl away into a corner and die.
Quickly, I let my gaze drift around the room - but he wasn’t here yet. And if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t be either. Ladies almost always entered the ballroom on the arm of their escort - if they had one. And whoever this girl was, she would most certainly be walking in on the arm of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. None would be stupid enough to miss that chance. Quickly, I let my gaze slide over the faces of the ladies who were already here. I spotted Lady Caroline, Lady Dorothea and Lady Eveline and felt a surge of satisfaction.
So…they’re here without him tonight, are they?
My satisfaction disappeared abruptly when I remembered that so was I.
‘My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen?’
All eyes snapped to a liveried servant who had appeared at the entrance of the ballroom, holding a staff. With his instrument of authority, he pounded the polished floor three times, making clear what his duty was tonight.
‘It is my great honour and pleasure to welcome you to the Christmas ball at Battlewood. Please greet the man who will be your host for tonight. Lord-’
A hand shot out, wrapping mercilessly around the man’s wrist and squeezing. A few cold, whispered words floated through the air, too low to be understood.
‘…um, Mister Rikkard Ambrose.’
And there he was. Rikkard Ambrose, as he lived (and maybe even breathed if he wasn’t made of stone). He towered in the doorway, more perfect and beautiful than he ever had been. And on his arm, walking proudly beside him with a broad smile on her face was…
I blinked.
Then I looked again, just to be sure. But I hadn’t made a mistake. If there was one young lady in this house that I’d recognise even with a bag over my head, it was Lady Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose.
His sister.
He had come to the ball with his little sister!
I remembered what he’d told me about his dance partner at lunch. Suddenly, his words appeared in a slightly different light.
I’m quite fascinated by her. I’ve known her for quite a while, but since arriving here at Battlewood she has impressed me with her charm, her fiery spirit and her intelligence. She’s going to play a big role in my future life.
I was going to kill him.
Slowly.
Painfully.
And then I was going to resurrect him and kiss him till he suffocated.
Wait…maybe you should rethink that, Lilly.
Indeed?
Yes. Perhaps you should kill her, first.
What a wonderful idea! I searched my treasure trove of Spanish and Arabic swear words for a word that was bad enough for my dear friend Lady Adaira, the traitorous little witch, but found nothing. The little vixen had known all along! And she had let me stew in my own over-romantic juices for the fun of it! Oh, when I got my hands on her…!
Maybe I should team up with Karim. He probably knew lots more torture methods than sweet little me, and would be more than willing to help avenge himself on the creator of Prince Fragrant Yellow Flower in the Happy Moonlight, Heir to the Principality of Rubbish. Maybe he’d even lend me his sabre.
