Storm of Bells

27. Searching Pockets and...Other Places

'Welcome back, Miss Linton.' The cool voice welcomed me the moment I stepped into the entrance hall. 'And where exactly have you been?'

Crap, crap, crap!

My eyes zeroed in on the tall, dark figure standing at the top of the entrance hall staircase. His eyes were glacial and...yes.

His little finger was twitching at double tempo. Yay!

Quickly, I hid the hand that was still holding the revolver behind my back. Behind me, Barb sniffed my hand and chewed on the gun barrel. Down, boy! Down!

'Oh. Um...hello, Sir. Lovely day, isn't it?'

'That, Miss Linton, depends on your definition of "lovely".' Dark eyes blazing, he started stalking down the steps towards me. 'Some people, for instance, might think that the fair weather does not count as much as recent events.'

He knows! He knows! How the heck does he bloody know?

Did I really have to ask? This was the man who, when going out of the country, had his bodyguard shadow me, disguised as a bearded rosebush. Did I really think he'd miss a clandestine meeting with his archenemy?

Well, I was still left with the trusted friend of all delinquents and scallywags: plausible deniability. Carefully, I slipped the revolver into the back of my skirt—hoping to hell I had remembered to put the safety on—and started to retreat.

'Um...it's not what you think. I just...I was just...'

'Don't bother.' His arctic eyes flashed. 'I know everything.'

Crap! He really does know! How? Is he omniscient?

Not that I didn't intend to tell him. Of course I was going to tell him! He was the man of my dreams. The man I loved more than anything else in this world. I wanted to share everything with him.

Eventually.

Once he didn't look like he wanted to eat me alive and spit me out again. And once I'd had a chance to perform a full-body-search for that key of his. Ah, the joys of being blackmailed...

Coming to a stop in front of me, Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised his hand, and jabbed one finger at me.

'I. Know. Everything.'

Crap, crap, crap, cra—

'You've been out with your "friends", picking out wedding dresses. Dresses paid for by my money. Just you wait until I get my hands on you...!'

Oh.

Thank you so much, Dear Lord I don't believe in!

'Yes, exactly!' Beaming, I nodded so hard my head nearly fell off. 'I've been really, really bad. I spent more money in one afternoon than in the last two years combined, and not a penny of it is mine. Would you like to inflict some horrible punishment on me?'

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. 'Well...yes, but...'

'Excellent, excellent! Let's go upstairs, shall we? And let's close the front door, all right? I'm sure there couldn't possibly be anything interesting outside, and, anyway, I'm sure you'd like to concentrate on punitive measures. What would you like to do? Cut my wages in half? Cut me in half? Let's go do that, shall we?'

Grabbing him by the arm, I started to manoeuvre him towards the stairs, and—

Thud!

Slowly, mine and Mr Ambrose's gazes dropped to the ground. Wire, with admirably horrendous timing, shoved my skirt aside with his wet nose, revealing the revolver lying on the floor. Mr Ambrose raised his gaze to mine, his ice-cold eyes boring into me.