The Final Storm

02. From Bad to Worse

"Any suggestions, Karim?" Mr Ambrose demanded, glancing towards his bodyguard.

A grim shake of the head was the answer. "No, Sahib."

"I don't have any either." My shoulders slumped. "There's no way she'd be able to pull it off. Of course, if I had to find a way, I'd be able to, but that's only because I'd—"

Abruptly, my voice cut off, and my eyes flicked up to meet those of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. "Oh heck! You don't think she'd actually do that, do you?"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned over, his icy eyes darkening. "Do what, pray, Mrs Ambrose?"

"I, um..." Desperately, I glanced from side to side, trying to find a way to escape. Mr Ambrose was already quite displeased that his baby sister had run off to elope with his former rival. If now he found out that Adaira had most likely copied the method of her escape from sweet little me, he would probably eat me alive.

Which, if done right, would be a rather pleasant prospect, wouldn't it?

Shut up, stupid inner voice!

"Err...wait here for a moment, will you? I have to check something!" Not waiting for him to reply, I whirled around and dashed towards the carriage that had been following us, with Berty and some staff and guards inside. "Stop the coach! Stop the coach now!"

The coachman on the box quickly complied. Pulling on the reins, he directed the vehicle to the side of the street and let it roll to a stop. Before it had even fully halted, I jumped up, snatched my suitcase from the roof, ran around the coach, pulled open the carriage door, slammed the suitcase onto one of the seats and flipped open the lid. Berty was watching the whole procedure with interest, but right now, I didn't really care.

Why?

Because there, right in front of me, in my suitcase, were various sets of my clothes. And, more importantly, there was a missing set of clothes. Missing male clothes.

"Oh dear." A nervous chuckle rose from my throat. "Oh dear me."

"What, Mrs Ambrose?" came a familiar, arctic voice from approximately three inches behind me.

"Um, well..." It took considerable courage to turn around to face him. It took even more courage to try and smile at him. Twisting my fingers into knots, I did my best to look anywhere but at his eyes, think of any excuse—then suddenly, the words burst out of me. "Oneofmytailcoatsismissing."

He stiffened. "What did you say?"

"M-my tailcoats. One of them is missing. And one of my trousers. And a bow-tie. And—"

Abruptly, I was interrupted by the enraged growl that erupted from Mr Ambrose's throat.

"N-now, calm down." Carefully, I patted his shoulder. "Adaira is a smart girl. There's no way she would do something like what you're thinking."

"No, of course she wouldn't," he agreed, his icy gaze boring into me. "I mean, from whom could she possibly have gotten the idea?"

Oh crap.

***

Adaira tugged at the unfamiliar clothing she was wearing and looked at herself in the mirror. Resisting the urge to curtsy instead, she dropped into an unfamiliar bow and gave the mirror a fake smile. "Why, hello there. My name is George Adair. I am a macho man and notorious swashbuckler heading for a new adventure in faraway lands. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Frowning, she shook her head and, lowering her voice several octaves, tried again. "Hello there. My name is...cough, cough! Agh! Goddammit, this pretending-to-be-male thing is harder than Lilly makes it look. Maybe I should have asked her for a few tips? Hm...better not. That probably wouldn't have gone over well with Rick."