Silence No More

13. Mashed Chocolates with Bear Hair

I couldn't have that, now, could I? If anyone was going to kill that bastard, it was me!

"You want to know who I am?" Stepping forward, I gave the Frenchman a smile. There was not an ounce of warmth in it. "I'm the one who is going to wipe that smirk off your face."

"Oh? Vraiment?" The Frenchman cocked his head. "And how, if I may ask, Madame, are you going to accomplish that? I am about to be engaged to such a beautiful mademoiselle..." He gestured towards Adaira, who was staying behind her brother and me, eyes narrowed. "I do not think there is anything that would make me stop smiling anytime soon."

"Oh?" I cocked an eyebrow. "Then you wouldn't mind giving up on your engagement to Adaira?"

The Frenchman's smile froze in place. "Pardon?"

"You heard me."

The vicomte shifted his grip on his rifle. "The marquess is most impressed with me. I very much doubt he will abandon his plans because of a random woman."

"Perhaps not," Mr Ambrose agreed. "But he might because of my wife. Or rather, because of her brother."

"What?" Saint-Celeste's eyes narrowed into slits. "What brother?"

"Oh, you haven't heard?" I blinked up at him innocently. "You're not the only one vying for Adaira's hand anymore."

What the heck are you doing, Lilly? A few hours ago, you were ready to bash your dear husband's head against the wall because he came up with this idiotic ruse! And now you're actively promoting it?

True. But I had to admit...the smirk on that far-too-bloody-handsome bugger's face really made me want to slip into a pair of trousers and show this bastard who was the better man!

"Pardonnez-moi? What did you say?"

"Oh yes, you heard correctly." I gave the Frenchman my most beautiful smile. "It seems that my brother is also interested in pursuing Lady Adaira. In fact, he is heading northwards as we speak. Quite the coincidence, isn't it?"

"Oui. Quite the coincidence indeed." The frozen smile disappeared from the Frenchman's face—only to reappear a moment later looking far more dangerous. "How fortunate, then, that I have taken steps to impress upon the marquess that I, and I alone, am qualified to compete for his lovely daughter's favour."

"Oh?" Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "What steps, pray?"

"I think," the hard, vaguely familiar voice of an older gentleman came from up above, "I would like to know that as well."

Abruptly, I glanced up—and there he stood, at the top of the stairs that led up to the manor's entrance: William Alexander Ambrose, Fifteenth Marquess Ambrose. His wife was right behind him, watching the scene with anxious eyes. An emotion with which I could thoroughly empathise. My eyes flicked back to the vicomte. What had this devil from across the Channel cooked up now?

"Why, it is simple. Whoever this beautiful Madame's brother might be," he nodded in my direction, "I doubt very much he can compete with me, a vicomte of the French Empire. Not where it really matters. Namely, supporting Lady Adaira in the style to which she is accustomed. And to prove this, I have already taken the necessary steps."

Behind me, I felt Adaira shrink in upon herself. I didn't blame her. I could feel it, too. Whatever was coming, it would be a devastating blow to our plans.

"As we are speaking," Saint-Celeste continued confidently, "a baggage train full of gifts for my beloved is heading towards Battlewood. The latest fashion from Paris, jewellery that can make a lady's heart stop, works of art from around the world... I have gathered all kinds of presents to please my wife-to-be. In fact, it is quite likely that Mr Ambrose might have encountered them on the road north without realising what he was seeing."