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I stared back at her, taken aback - then I remembered that to her, I was Mr Victor Linton, a man, part of the chauvinistic machinery that prohibited young ladies like her from doing almost anything. Anything interesting, anyway. Time for a little progressive manliness.
‘Certainly, why not?’ Putting the safety on the gun, I held it out to her, grip first. She approached it as if it were a snake that could strike out at any moment.
‘I…I don’t know whether I should…Father would never allow…’
‘Your father is currently cooped up in his study, refusing to come down to breakfast because he’s too stubborn to welcome home a son who has returned after over a decade abroad. Does that sound like someone you should be taking advice from?’
‘Well…if you put it like that…’
Licking her lips, she tentatively reached out, let her fingers slip around the handle - then suddenly flinched back again. I worked hard not to laugh.
‘Go on, take it. It won’t bite. Well, at least not while you’ve got the safety on.’
‘Safety?’
‘That little lever there. As long as it’s up, the gun won’t fire. Pull it down, and you’re ready to unleash your wrath upon unsuspecting passers-by.’
Adaira gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Mr Linton…You’re unlike any man I’ve ever met!’
‘You have no idea how right you are about that, My Lady.’ Stepping behind her, I took hold of her arms. ‘Now, first the stance. Face the target squarely, legs apart…’
‘Mr Linton!’
The voice was like a knife of ice, cutting through the air with the threat of violence. Jumping back, I whirled around, and came face to face with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He was striding across the snowy yard, his face set into an immovable mask, a storm of cold fury roiling in his eyes.
‘What,’ he whispered in a way that made me shiver even through five layers of clothes, ‘do you think you’re doing?’
Adaira stepped forward. ‘It was my fault. I just wanted to learn-’
‘Silence.’
The word wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even angry. But it shut Adaira up quicker than a gag in the mouth. Her eyes, though… her eyes screamed murder and rebellion.
Mr Ambrose met her gaze head-on. ‘Go to your room.’
‘You can’t - !’
‘Go. To. Your. Room. Now.’
The last word was like a whiplash. And once more, I witnessed the miracle of Mr Ambrose’s ice cold voice, a voice that could strike terror into the hearts of kings, scatter armies, and make a little sister obey her big brother. Fuming, Adaira turned and marched off towards the house.
Which left only one target for Mr Ambrose’s freezing gaze: me.
‘What,’ he whispered, his voice even lower and more dangerous than before, ‘was that?’
I shrugged, desperately flicking through any ways I might know to disappear into thin air. None came to mind.
‘Err…well…’
‘I’m waiting.’
‘She, um…wanted to learn how to shoot. So I thought I’d teach her.’
‘You? Teach my little sister how to use a firearm?’
I raised my chin defiantly. ‘Hey, I’m pretty good at it! I bet I could-’
He moved so fast I didn’t even have time to blink. From one moment to the next, he was in front of me, grabbing the gun I still held half-raised, twisting it out of my grasp and around, until the muzzle pointed directly at me.
