'Master Rikkard?' The old man stepped towards us, staring. Karim made a threatening step forward, his hand on the pommel of his sabre, but Mr Ambrose held him back. His gaze was riveted to the old man as if looking at a ghost. His face twitched, breaking his usual cold mask. 'Elsby?'

'It is you, Master Rikkard!'

He started forward with arms outstretched as if to hug – yes, hug! – Mr Rikkard Ambrose, but then he realized that all eyes in the room were on him. His gaze flicked from the other patrons, over me and Karim, to Karim's sabre, where they stayed for a long, long moment.

He froze.

'Ah yes.' In an instant, Mr Ambrose's face smoothed out, and he was back to his cool, impenetrable persona. 'Let me introduce you. Karim, Mr Linton – this is Charles Elsby, my father's steward. Mr Elsby, this is Mr Linton, my private secretary, and Karim, my bodyguard.'

'Um...charmed.' Elsby's gaze was still on Karim's sabre. Slowly, he raised his eyes to those of the Mohammedan and gave him a weak smile. Karim didn't smile back.

Finally, Elsby's gaze returned to Mr Ambrose. Swallowing, he took another step forward – and stopped. It seemed like he had much to say and no idea how to say it in front of so many people and one very sharp sabre.

'Making the rounds of the tenant farms, I suppose, Elsby?'

'I was.' Taking a deep breath as if he'd just come to a decision, the old man stepped towards the door. 'But not any longer. I'm heading straight home to let His Lordship know you're coming.'

My ears pricked up. His Lordship? Not Lord Dalgliesh, surely!

Hopefully?

Please, please, please?

'I hardly think that is necessary.' Mr Ambrose's voice was a whip of biting ice. Elsby flinched, but then squared his shoulders and opened the door.

'Begging your pardon, Master Rikkard, but oh yes, it is.'

And with that, he left the inn, shutting the door behind him. A few errant snowflakes that had fluttered inside drifted to the ground, where they melted instantly. Mr Ambrose didn't melt. He just stood there, frozen like a block of ice – then suddenly whirled around and marched across the room and up the stairs. Somewhere above, a door slammed hard.

For a moment or two, utter silence reigned in the common room. Finally, the landlord stepped forward with a kettle in hand and a desperately hopeful smile on his face.

'Um... hot tea, anyone?'

*~*~**~*~*

I took some time to empty and refill myself. The inn not only had decent lavatories, but, astonishingly, decent cooking, too. True, I had to pay for both out of my own pocket, but so what? I could afford it. And besides, I had some time to kill. I couldn't go upstairs yet. I suspected Mr Ambrose needed some time to himself.

After three helpings of roast ham, I finally put my fork down, nodded at the landlord and started upstairs. The inn was quiet, any sound from outside dampened by the softly falling snow. Our room was at the very end of the corridor, far away from any prying eyes and curious ears. I hesitated in front of the door, Amy's words echoing in my mind.

And when ye and him are alone next time in a nice, quiet place...

Was it time?

I wanted him. Was here and now the right time to take what I wanted?

Bad Lilly! You saw how upset he was! You can't coldly and ruthlessly take advantage of him in a situation like that just to get what you want, can you?

Of course I could. I had learned from the best, after all.

I took the last few steps to the door. When I cautiously cracked it open, I expected Mr Ambrose to be asleep or pouring over his papers as usual, but he was doing neither. Instead, he was marching in circles, his back ramrod straight, every step like a punch to the poor wood floor.

The door slid shut behind me.

All right. If I wanted to make my move, now was the time. We were alone in his room together. It was a cold winter night. And with the state he was in right now...

Watch carefully, I heard Amy's voice whisper in my ear. Wait. And when the time has come, when he's weak and defenceless – pounce!

I licked my lips. Now was time. I had to pounce! Now! I had to pounce, now!

So why wasn't I pouncing?

Damn! Why hesitate, Lilly? Do it already!

But he just looked so...so alone. So terribly alone.

Well, go and do it! He won't feel alone once his clothes are off, and you and he....

Wouldn't he?

I glanced away from him. As if by magic, without asking my permission, my legs carried me over to the bed and I slid under the thin blanket, fully clothed. Shivering, I curled up into a ball. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Rikkard Ambrose: he was standing in front of the window now, his arms behind his back, his posture as stiff as a rod of iron.

I felt a tug at my heart.

Damnit, Lilly! Your heart is not the part of your anatomy you wanted to focus on tonight.

I couldn't help it. I was forgetting all about my insidious seduction plans for the night.

Finally, he unfroze from his post at the window and silently moved towards the bed. Another tug at my heart – he was being quiet because he didn't want to wake me. Mr Rikkard Ambrose being thoughtful? Impossible! And yet...

Stiffly, he lifted the other end of the blanket and slid into bed.

Now! Now's your chance. Jump him! Make him see you. Make him want!

Instead, all I did, was whisper softly into the darkness: 'Feeling a bit restless?'

He gave a little jump as he realized I was still awake. For a long time, no reply came. Then...

'Yes.'

I bit my lip. 'Nervous about seeing your family again?'

'Yes.'

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why, to demand answers to all my questions, or better yet, demand that he take his clothes off and let me ravish him.

Instead, I simply turned towards him and, reaching out into the dark, found his hand.

For a moment, he stiffened like a spring under tension – then slowly relaxed under my touch. Oh, how I wished it wasn't so dark. What I wouldn't give to see his eyes right now...

'Don't worry.' The words seemed to be pulled from my mouth without my knowing how or where they came from. 'I'm here.'

His grip on my hand tightened. 'I know. I...'

'Shh.'Sliding over, I snuggled up against him. 'No words. Just... I'm here. Always.'

The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was his arm sliding around my waist, holding me close.

*~*~**~*~*

Light. Bright, white light. That was the first thing I saw when, with all my might, I managed to drag up one eyelid the next morning. Yawning, I rolled over. My hand reached out – only to find that I was alone in bed. From downstairs, I could hear a familiar cool voice barking orders, and smiled into the cushion.

With another yawn, I pulled myself up and slid out of bed, padding over to the window on unsteady feet. The sight that greeted me took my breath away.

Out there lay a winter wonderland. Over rolling hills and high-rising trees lay a sparkling blanket of snow, painting everything in an angelic white. The sun, peeking through the trees at the horizon, was just beginning to tinge the land in a faint hue of gold. A deer stuck its head out of the forest, blinking in the morning light – then dashed off across the fields, leaving its tracks on the virgin snow.

Daring. Wanting to leave its mark.

I smiled.

'Mr Linton?' came a familiar voice from downstairs. 'Mr Linton, I know you're awake! Stop wasting time and get your posterior down here. We're leaving.'

My smile widened.

'Coming, Sir!'

And I was. Whatever dangers awaited us out there in the cold – we would face them together. Grabbing my suitcase, I took just enough time to straighten my clothes in the hope it wouldn't be quite so apparent I had slept in them, then exited the room and started down the stairs. When I arrived in the common room, the innkeeper was just trying to persuade Mr Ambrose to stay for breakfast.

'But Sir, you can't go to Battlewood this early! His Lordship and Her Ladyship won't even be up yet.'

'They'd better be,' was Mr Ambrose's curt reply. 'I didn't travel all this way for nothing.'

'Sir! I don't know who you think you are, but this is the Marquess and Marchioness Ambrose we are talking about! You can't simply appear on their doorstep at this ungodly hour of the morning!'

'Oh, I can't, can't I?' Reaching out, Mr Ambrose shoved the fat little man aside. 'Mr Linton?'

'Right here, Mr Ambrose, Sir!'

'We're going. Come!'

The innkeeper had gone very white in the face. 'A-Ambrose?'

I gave him a pat on the head in passing. 'I don't think the marchioness will mind terribly if we're a bit early. Mothers usually like it when their sons come to visit.'

And I followed Mr Ambrose outside into the sparkling snow.

The coach was waiting for us, freed of snow, all four horses ready and waiting, and Karim standing next to them like an extremely large, extremely bearded watchdog. He held open the coach door for Mr Ambrose, then slammed it shut so I had to open it again myself. Ah, the manners of a true gentleman...it was a wonderful thing to experience. Simply wonderful.

The moment the door shut behind us, Mr Ambrose slammed his cane against the roof. 'To Battlewood!'

And despite the beautiful winter world around us, I couldn't help feeling the name of the place would turn out to be an omen.

We rolled out of the yard, and, glancing back, I saw the landlord standing in front of the door, surrounded by a gaggle of servants and curious guests, wildly gesticulating after us. Over the rattle of the carriage wheel, I could just hear the words 'Ambrose' and... 'air'?

Were they complaining about the cold air?

No. Not 'air' I realized with a sudden, chilling certainty. 'Heir.'

Slowly, my eyes wandered over to Mr Ambrose, sitting stiff as a poker on the other bench. Not just a son, then. The son.

Silence reigned all around as the coach whizzed through the winter wonderland. Sparkling crystals of freshly fallen snow whizzed up into the air on either side, surrounding us with a glittering halo. Soon, the path we were travelling on was engulfed by a tall, proud forest, interspersed with beautiful clearings and glittering, frozen lakes. Game abounded everywhere, deer and rabbits poking their heads out of the trees right and left. Dear God... did all this country belong to his family?

Finally, the forest opened up and we rolled out onto a broad, snow-covered meadow on the other side of which stood a low stone wall. In its centre, a tall cast iron gate rose towards the sky. And in front of the gate, ready and waiting, stood old Elsby, a younger servant slouching against the wall behind him.

The moment they caught sight of the coach, Elsby took a deep breath and the young servant jerked up, as if right up until then, he hadn't believed anyone was actually coming.

'Move, boy!' The old man gave his young companion a whack. 'Get the gate open! And then run up to the house and tell Her Ladyship that our guests are here. Master Rikkard has come home!'

The gate swung open, and we rolled up the driveway. The coach came around a bend, and another. Finally, I caught sight of smoke rising in the distance. Chimneys! We were approaching the house. Slowing down, the coach rolled around a final bend and...

Oh, dear merciful Lord!