Before I could do so much as blink, my back slammed into a cold stone wall, and an arm pressed against my throat, holding me in place. Coughing, I blinked up into the aquiline face of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh. Time hadn't been kind to him since last we met. In fact, the considerate lady with the hourglass seemed to have given him a good kick in the derrière. There were new lines in his face that accentuated the aristocratic arrogance etched into every inch of his visage, and, for the first time since I'd known him, I spotted a few gray hairs in his blonde lion's mane. A small part of me took savage satisfaction in that. The bigger part of me, however, was concerned with the hard arm digging into my throat—and with what he'd just said.
So nice to see you again, Miss Linton—or should I say Mister Linton?
He knew.
He knew everything about me.
Well...
Maybe not 'everything'. If he'd known everything, he would have made sure to grab hold of my feet as well as my arms.
My foot rose and, with full force, smashed down onto his elegant, soft, black-leather town shoes.
'Aar! You b—'
And then he said a word I would have added to my collection of insults if it weren't exclusively applicable to ladies.
'Now, now, then, Lord Dalgliesh,' I said, slipping underneath his arm just as I slipped my hand into the pocket that held my revolver. 'Manners!'
Suddenly, two more figures appeared out of the shadows at Dalgliesh's side. They were dressed in plain farm hand's clothing, but from the way they held themselves, I doubted very much they'd spent much time working in agriculture. Besides, not many farm hands had brand-new military-grade rifles strapped to their backs. Rifles for which they were just now reaching.
'I wouldn't, if I were you, boys,' I told them, holding up a warning finger. They hesitated, their gazes travelling from my revolver's muzzle to their employer and back.
Lord Dalgliesh's jaw moved for a moment—then he jerked his head sideways. 'I told you to keep your hands off your guns, fools! That's not the way to deal with her.'
'So...' I cocked my head. 'You've learned a lesson since we last met.'
'You could say that.' Sharp, steel-blue eyes bored into me. 'I've learned how to deal with you. The two of you?' He gestured at his henchmen. 'Leave! Mr Linton and I have some private business to discuss.'
'Mister?' One of the goons was stupid enough to glance around in confusion. 'But I don't see any Mist—'
'Leave!'
Lord Dalgliesh's command cut through the air like a whip. Paling, the two henchmen scuttled away into the shadows. I was left next to the house of God, alone with a man who thought he was one. For the first time, a slight shiver of fear went down my spine.
'So.' Pushing away my trepidation, I met his gaze head-on. 'You know.'
'I do.' He smiled in a way that gave the words additional meaning. A meaning that I didn't like whatsoever.
My eyes narrowed. 'Why are you here?'
'I'm so glad you asked, Mr. Linton.' His smile broadening, he started to circle me. Quickly, I moved into the corner between the wall and one of the buttresses. That, unfortunately, only provided him with an opportunity to corner me in. His eyes sparkled. 'I have a proposition for you, Mister Linton.'
'No.'
He lifted an eyebrow. 'You haven't even heard what I want to propose.'
'Exactly. It's the you proposing it part that stinks. I don't want to listen to a word you have to say.'
'Hm.' The corner of his mouth quirked. It was a cruel curve, like the tip of a scimitar, ready to strike. 'Do you really think I care?'
Good point.
He stepped towards me, and his hand slammed against the stone wall, right next to my head. I couldn't suppress the tiniest of flinches.
'Now listen here, Mister Linton, and listen closely. I have to admit, it took me a while to figure out the game you're playing, and when I did, well...' He laughed. 'I could hardly believe it at first. I mean, who could ever think that he'd be so easy to hoodwink?'
Huh?
What was he babbling about?
'For a mere girl to fool the mighty Rikkard Ambrose...' He shook his head, almost admiringly. 'For her to dupe him into marriage, while the entire time dressing up as a man and getting the job of his private secretary...'
Oh.
Oh my.
Did he think...
I just barely managed to keep a grin of my face. He did! He actually did!
'As I said, I don't know what your endgame is, Mister Linton. And, to be honest for a change, I don't really care. Do you want to steal from him? Do you get off on the thrill? Or were you just plotting to get him to the altar like any other breathing woman in England? I am not the slightest bit interested in what your goals are.' He leaned closer until his face was only inches away from mine. I could feel his breath on my face and was almost disappointed it wasn't a foul stench. 'I don't care, because your goals don't matter anymore. From now on, your goals are my goals.'
Oh, they are, are they?
I quirked an eyebrow. 'What exactly does that mean?'
I already had a pretty good idea. But if this truly was what I thought it was...
Once again, I had to suppress the insane urge to giggle.
'Very simple, Miss Linton.' His steely eyes bored into mine. 'From this moment onward, you are mine. From this moment onward, you will do exactly what I say, when I say it.'
'And if I don't?'
'Do I really have to spell it out for you? Dear me, you are more stupid than I believed.'
Ditto, Lord Dogleash.
'Very well.' His eyes flashed, and he smirked, as if he had just won a triumphant victory. 'You're in my power now. Unless you want me to tell Mr Rikkard Ambrose what his beloved fiancée gets up to in her spare time, you will be my eyes and ears from now on!'
You are in my power now? Dear me, he really was putting the melodrama on thick. Well...the least I could do was reciprocate.
'F-find out?' I did my very best to inject a healthy dose of terror into my voice. After all, I did have an Opera prima donna for a friend. She'd be really pissed off if I didn't deliver a good performance. Giving a dramatic sigh, I pressed a hand to my heart. 'You...you don't mean...you're blackmailing me?'
Or whitemailing? Greymailing? Mailing-that-used-to-be-black-but-faded-in-the-wash? What exactly did you call blackmail that didn't work?
Whatever the name for it was, I was loving it! I could hardly keep the grin from my face. 'You blaggard!' I proclaimed experimentally. 'You dastardly villain!'
His wicked smile widened. The stupid little female had finally gotten the hang of things, and now he was going to enjoy tearing her down.
But not nearly as much the stupid little girl was going to enjoy this.
'Please!' I clutched my hands together in an impressively desperate plea, my eyes widened to the size of saucers. Maybe next time I'd get them up to dinner plates. 'Please don't...'
His face twisted cruelly.
'Oh yes, I'll tell him. And after I've told him, I'll tell anyone else who might be interested.' A cruel smirk flitted over his face. 'Can you imagine what his darling little sister would think when she found out that underneath her future sister-in-law's commonplace exterior lurked a devious, double-crossing wench? Can you imagine what she would say?'
'Oh God!' I covered my face with my hands, to obscure the grin that I could no longer prevent from spreading there. 'I...I...can picture it...almost as if I'd seen it myself. Oh, no, please don't!'
Could a girl choke on her own laughter?
'And what of the man himself?' His smirk turned downright malevolent.
Pulling away my hands from my face, I lifted my chin, which, by now, I had managed to subdue into a mask of fear with my considerable acting ability. Claudette would be proud of me! 'W-what makes you sure he won't f-forgive me?'
'Forgive you?' He gave a bark of laughter. 'God, you're naïve! You might think you know Mr Rikkard Ambrose, but you have no idea who he truly is. He'd rather eat live slugs than have a woman for a secretary!'
'R-really?' I made my lower lip tremble while thinking I should check Mr Rikkard Ambrose's daily diet, just in case.
'Of course, you little fool! Any self-respecting gentleman would.'
'P-please! Have mercy!' I clutched his lapel, wondering if I would have time to choke him before he noticed. 'Please...'
'Yes?' His expression bordered on the diabolical, he was enjoying this so much. 'Please what?'
'Please have a soft head.'
He blinked. 'Huh? What—'
My grip on his lapel tightened. Abruptly, I tugged him forward and lifted my leg. Stumbling forward, he fell straight across it, towards the stone wall of the church, and—
Crack!
'Nnng!'
'Oh dear,' I said solicitously. 'Did you stumble? Let me help you?'
Promptly, my foot helped him by slamming down on his.
'Aargh!'
'Whoops. So sorry about that.' Slipping out of his grip, I moved away from the church wall into the light. 'Or not.'
'You...you miserable little...'
Lord Dalgliesh's hand shot beneath his coat. Mine wasn't any slower. We froze like this, staring at each other, waiting. For a move. For a twitch. For the slightest sign of attack.
Just then, I heard a sharp noise from around the corner. It almost sounded like...
'Dogs?' Dalgliesh hissed, and we both turned just in time to see Barb and Wire shoot around the corner, tales bristling, ears thrust forward.
'Ha! Good boy!' Beaming, I reached out to Barb. 'You know just when to show up—hey!'
Hurriedly, I pulled my hand back as the dog snarled at me. I thought over my words, and then tried again.
'Err...adequate boy?'
Instantly, a happy yip came from the ferocious beast's throat and it wagged its tail. Wire, meanwhile, stalked towards Dalgliesh.
'Stay back, you beast! Stay back, or...'
Wire lunged forward, snapping at the His Lordship's noble bollocks.
'Adequate boy!' I clapped. 'You two are starting to become my favourite animals.'
Clenching his teeth, Dalgliesh reached under his coat again and half pulled out a pistol. 'Get that beast off me, or you know the consequences, you silly tart! Are you too stupid to even know when you're beaten?'
I considered several answers to this.
A) Look in the mirror, mister.
B) Oh yes, I'm totally beaten. You can tell by the way I can hardly keep from breaking out laughing.
Or
C), my absolute favourite:
Eat lead, skanky tosser!
'Would you like me to shoot this bag of fleas and go to the mansion right now?' he hissed, leaning forward. 'Would you like me to tell Mr Rikkard Ambrose everything about the little game you've been playing?'
Oh yes, please go. Please go to Mr Ambrose and explain how he must learn the insidious secret I've been hiding beneath my male clothing. He'll be so shocked! After all, he's only seen me strip it off two or three dozen times on a steamy march through the South American jungle. Who would remember a little thing like that?
However, then I considered what might happen if Lord Dalgliesh marched into Mr Ambrose's home and started to postulate about what was or wasn't hidden beneath my clothing, after having shot his trusted guard dogs. Quickly, I changed my mind. I preferred my wedding to happen without a prenuptial massacre.
Time to be victimized!
'Y-you are t-too clever for me,' I whispered, cowering away from him. 'Too powerful. I can't best you. T-tell me. What do you w-w-w-w-ant me to do?'
Crap! Want, not ant! Successful stuttering was hard!
It seemed, however, that Lord Dalgliesh didn't require particularly high standards in his victims' terrified stuttering. Lowering his injured foot to the ground, he once again fixed me with his venomous stare.
I'm going to make you pay for this, the stare said. Dearly.
The poor man had no idea. If there was one lesson I had learned from Mr Rikkard Ambrose: never pay for anything you don't want.
'What do I want you to do?' He took a menacing step forward. 'Oh, I'll tell you what I want you to do. You will return to your fiancé's house. You will not waste any time. You will go straight to his desk. Next to his desk, you will find a small black briefcase. You will unlock the briefcase—'
'Where can I find the key?'
His hand cut through the air impatiently. 'He'll have it with him. He'll have it on his person. In his pocket, hidden in beneath his clothing—I don't really care. You will have to get it somehow.'
Oh, I would have to, would I? Searching Mr Ambrose's pocket, and under his clothing...Hm. Who knew that being blackmailed could present such intriguing opportunities? How would I get hold of that key, if I had to? Hm...
Sidling up to him in the dusk, slipping my arms around him to slip my hands in his back pockets and—just to check for the key, of course, not to feel other things...
Lord Dalgliesh didn't seem to notice the way my thoughts were wandering. There was a gleam in his eyes as he stared at me. 'Inside the briefcase, you will find an envelope addressed to the The Manhattan Company. I want that envelope. I want what's inside it.'
Opening his buttons, exploring beneath his shirt with my fingers—again, of course just to check for any keys—
'Hey! Are you even listening to me?'
'What? Oh. Right.' Remember. He, big bad blackmailer. Me, scared little victim. Darn, this was hard! 'Please!' Clutching my hands together, I gave him a wide-eyed stare of pure fear. Or maybe the cross-eyed gaze of a traumatized ferret. Where was a mirror when you needed one? 'Please don't make me do this!'
Oh yes, yes! Please make me do this! Just you wait, key, I'm coming for you! I'll find you, no matter how thoroughly I'll have to search...
'Save it!' His mouth gave another cruel twist. Was he enjoying this? Well, not nearly as much as I was! 'You will do as I say. Or else...'
'No, please!' My hands shot up, as if to ward him off. 'Please! He can't find out about this!'
At least not until I've had the chance to search for that key in his pockets and...other places.
The cruel twist of his mouth widened. 'Your secret shall be safe with me, Mister Linton—at least, as long as you do as I say.' His eyes hardened. 'The envelope. I want it, and I want it fast. Bring it to me. I will expect you back here with the item in three days at ten o'clock in the morning. Come alone.'
I swallowed, making sure to make my Adam's apple wobble impressively, and gave a sharp nod. My playacting must have been impressive, because even Barb and Wire bought it. They rushed to my side and surrounded me, whining and growling at my feet, their glares fixed on Dalgliesh. My voice wobbling with just the right vibrato, I whispered, 'I'll be here.'
'Excellent.'
A smile of triumph spread over his face, and, pulling his cloak around him, he retreated into the shadows. 'Au revoir, Mister Linton.'
With a whirl, he vanished around the corner—and a smile spread over my face.
I hadn't lied. I would be here. I just wouldn't come alone. Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh was in for the surprise of his life.
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GLOSSARY:
Buttress - not the female form of butter, unfortunately, because that would be very nifty. A buttress is a support structure, used most often in medieval Gothic architecture. The difference between a traditional column and a buttress is that a buttress doesn't support a roof, but supports a wall. It is a protruding part of the wall that is thicker and more stable than the main wall, thus keeping it from collapsing. Medieval Gothic Cathedrals, for example, are full of buttresses. You will find elements of stone jutting out from the main cathedral wall in nearly all Gothic cathedrals, especially the bigger ones.