The first thing I noticed on waking up was that I wanted to die. Probably because of the intense pain that was burning in every inch of my body.

'Nnnnraaaarg,' I said.

Or at least something like that. You know, one of those lovely death-groans that murder victims utter just before they're given the gentle shove into the hereafter?

'Are you awake?'

That cool, distant voice... It sounded familiar. With all my might I tried to open my eyelids, but the stupid things wouldn't budge an inch! Who did that voice belong to? For some reason I had a feeling it was important to remember. Who? Who?

'Yes, you are awake.' A hand grabbed mine, pressing gently, almost lovingly. 'If you think that, because of the stupid stunt you pulled, I will give you paid sick leave, you are very much mistaken, Mr Linton. You will get better right now. That is an order. Open your eyes!'

Ah, yes. Mr Ambrose. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the only person in the world who could phrase get well wishes as a command. How could I have forgotten?

'Eyes, Mr Linton. Now.'

Was that worry in his voice?

Surely not.

Still, just in case...

With another monumental effort, I heaved. Slowly, incredibly slowly, my eyelids began to lift. Spears of searing hot light stabbed into me.

'L-light!' I croaked.

His hand was torn from mine. A second later, I heard the rustle of curtains, and blessed darkness spread across the room. I parted my parched lips to thank him – but then I closed them again. The silence and dark was just so nice, so comfortable, so...very...

'Mr Linton? Mr Linton, stay awake!'

'Hmmm?'

'Stay awake. That is an order!"

Oh. An order from Rikkard Ambrose. Well of course that had to be obeyed. A painful smile tugging at one corner of my mouth, I lifted one eyelid a bit higher, squinting up at his tall, dark form.

'Hello, Sir.'

'Mr Linton.'

So much lay in those two little words. So much hidden meaning. So much not-so-hidden wrath.

'Where are we?' I croaked.

'In the town house formerly inhabited by the late Mr Gibbons. You are occupying one of the guest bedrooms. Karim and I are sharing the other.'

'How charming. How are you two lovebirds getting along?'

'Mr Linton?'

'Yes, Sir?'

'I will make allowances for the severe head trauma you most likely suffered and pretend not to have heard that remark.'

'What a shame. I was so looking forward to your cold glare.'

Kind as he was, he promptly gave it to me. Wasn't Mr Ambrose a wonderful man? No wonder I had fallen in love with him.

Hm...with thoughts like that running through your mind, Lilly, maybe you really did get knocked on the head too hard.

'So,' I rasped, thinking it was time to change the subject, 'what happened after I, well, um...'

'...made yourself into the target at the Newcastle rock-throwing contest?'

'Well, that's one way to put it.'

'I grabbed you and shoved you back inside. And then...' His voice trailed off. Glancing up at him, I saw him staring at his hands. Both of them were covered in scratches and stains of dried blood. Straightening, he met my gaze with one of his own that made a shiver run down my back. 'Suffice it to say that I held them off from the door until reinforcements arrived. My men dispersed the strike, established a secure perimeter around the mine, and allowed a team of specialists to start working on putting out the fire.'

'And you?'

His gaze did not waver from mine. 'I made sure that you were safe.'

I swallowed. Warmth started to spread through my chest. With the way he looked at me right now, I did not for a moment doubt his sincerity. He'd had a fortune in coal going up in flames and a million things to do. And the first thing he had done was make sure that I was safe.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose never did anything without a reason. He analysed and judged all things according to their value. And he always took care of the most valuable thing first.

I didn't smile. I didn't say thank you. I just held his gaze, and gave him a small nod, signalling that I understood. He nodded back. For several more long, heart-pounding seconds, our gazes held – then I glanced away.

'And the mine?' I enquired.

'It was sabotage. There's no doubt about it. Once the fire was out, we found the body of the late Mr Gibbons at the bottom of a shaft. He was charred by fire and explosions, but not enough to conceal the giant hole in the back of his head. He was struck down from behind with a pickaxe.'

'A pickaxe? How can you be so sure?'

'Because we found the pickaxe, still with some remnants of bloodstains on it, under the bunk of the miner who killed him.'

My eyes flew back to him. 'You...you've found the man responsible?'

'Oh yes.' Mr Ambrose was standing at the window now, gazing out over the city of Newcastle through a gap in the dark curtains. I watched him flex and steeple his fingers. 'Oh yes, we have him. Or to be more precise – Karim does. He has not yet been able to discover who paid the man, but it is only a matter of time. Besides, even if he does not, I suspect I already know.'

A shadow seemed to fall over the room, blocking out even what little light streamed in through the gaps in the curtains.

I felt my mouth go dry. 'Dalgliesh?'

'Indeed, Mr Linton.'

Well, well...that was nice news to wake up to. If Mr Ambrose's nemesis had indeed returned from whatever dark corner he had been hiding in the last couple of months, we were in for interesting times. Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh was not to be trifled with.

But...could it really be him?

He couldn't possibly know that Mr Ambrose was up here in the north. Mr Ambrose had postponed all the arrangements until the very last minute, and I had been the only one to know about them in the first place. No. He couldn't possibly have known. It must have been someone else. Or maybe the discontented miner had just acted out of hatred. Yes. That had to be it.

'I must leave.' Mr Ambrose's cool voice tore me out of my contemplations. 'There are many things I still have to take care of. But I will make sure that you have the best medical care available.'

'Thank you, Sir.'

'The medical bill shall be deducted from your wages, of course.'

'How kind of you, Sir.'

'And...'

'Yes?'

In a flash, he was beside the bed and leaning over me. His stunningly perfect, granite-hard face was only inches away from mine, his fathomless, sea-coloured eyes boring into mine.

'Don't you dare do something like this ever again! Trying to shield me with your body, betting your life on the chivalry of a mob of northern mine workers? That is the single most foolish idea in the history of the world, and anyone who thinks of it should sell his brain for soup! If you ever try something like this again, you can consider yourself fired, do you understand? Fired!'

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

I simply lay there, gazing up at him for a long, long moment. Then, with a herculean effort, I lifted one aching hand and gently touched his cheek.

'Yes, I understand.' A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. 'Maybe even better than you, Sir.'

His eyes flashed – then, without another word, he whirled around and stalked out of the room.

*~*~**~*~*

The day drifted by in a haze of sleep and pain, with occasional spurts of normality. The doctor came to see me and was very solicitous for my health – until he learned that I, the humble secretary, and not the mega-super-ultra-rich Mr Rikkard Ambrose would be footing the bill for his efforts. He left in a huff, recommending leech therapy. The 'Why don't you stay then?' I shouted after him presumably didn't help.

Oh well, it was probably better if he didn't examine me too closely. If I lifted my shirt so he could check for broken ribs, it would have been rather difficult to explain what he found there. Not much, true, but enough to unequivocally disqualify me for trousers.

I was just poking experimentally at my ribs, trying to decide whether there was anything cracked, or whether it was the wobbly stuff that was hurting like hell, when I heard shouting from outside the house. Shouting, hoof beats and...trumpet signals?

Maybe I was becoming delirious.

Or maybe not, I decided a minute later, when heavy footsteps came thundering down the corridor.

'Sir, Sir you can't go in there! Sir, Mr Linton is recuperating, and–'

'I don't bloody care! Out of my way, woman!'

Hey, wait a minute! I knew that voice. That was–

Something – or someone – hit the door. It slammed open, and there he stood: Captain James Carter in his bright red regimentals, his hat still on his head and an expression on his face the like of which I had never seen before.

'Ah,' I croaked. 'Captain Carter, it's you. Do come in, make yourself comfortable. Such a pleasure to see you again.'

'I'm not here for pleasantries, Mr Linton!'

'Aren't you? Dear me, I would never have guessed from the courteous way you beat my door down.'

'Where is she?'

'Who?'

'You know perfectly well who! Lady Samantha told me you had taken her to Newcastle – then, not two hours later, Major Strickland receives a message that riots have broken out all over town, people are being lynched and houses are being plundered! Where is she, Mr Linton? Where is your sister?'

'Ah, ehem...well...' How best to answer this question? After a moment's consideration, I decided on, 'I'm afraid Lilly can't see you right now. She is too badly hurt to see anyone at the moment.'

To judge by the look on his face, it had been the wrong thing to say. 'Hurt? She was injured? Mr Linton, so help me God, if you don't act the man you are, get up off that damned sickbed and lead me to her right now, I will pull you up on your feet and strangle you!'

'Dear me. Well, if you put it like that...how can I refuse? I'm sure Lilly will really, really appreciate your concern. Please wait here while I see whether she is awake.'

Somehow, with the help of a bedpost, a curtain, a bedside table and a helpless nightshirt misused as a rope, I managed to manoeuvre myself to my feet. Groaning, I hobbled towards the connecting door leading to the next room.

'And you're sure you absolutely – ouch! – must see – ow! – Lillian, Captain Carter?'

'I will not rest till I've seen that she is safe and well. I won't trust her to you, Mr Linton. Not after today. From what I've seen of you so far, you are a highly reprehensible young man, and the sooner she is away from you, the better!'

'Really? Ouch! Good luck with that.'

Shutting the connecting door behind me, I quickly hobbled to the empty four-poster bed in the corner and sank down onto the sheets. Giving the curtains a hasty tug, I pulled them closed until there was only a slim sliver of myself visible, and pulled the covers up to my chin.

'Come in,' I called in a tremulous, pain-wrecked voice. Funnily enough, it wasn't very hard to fake.

With a squeak, the door swung open. Quick, lithe footsteps crossed the room, and, a moment later, the curtains began to move back.

'Please, no!' I called. 'The light hurts my eyes.'

'Miss Linton?'

'Captain Carter? Is that truly you? My brother said you were outside, but I–'

'–didn't believe it?'

'Well, not quite, no. I mean...why would you be here, in Newcastle?'

Cautiously pulling the curtains aside just a few inches at a time, he made a broad enough gap to peer in, and, kneeling beside the bed, gazed at my face. Thankfully not at the rest of me, though.

Please don't let him notice my tailcoat. Please don't let him notice my tailcoat.

I could only hope it was all hidden under the covers.

'My regiment was called in to disperse the strikers and rioters.'

'Oh?'

'But, for some reason, by the time we arrived here, they had already disbanded.'

'Fancy that.'

'Still...' Reaching out, he gently took my hand and pulled it towards him – far enough that the sleeve of my tailcoat slipped out from under the covers a few inches. Please don't let him see! Please! 'Still, Miss Linton – orders or no orders, I would have come. If I'd known what you were walking into, I would never have let you leave! I would have convinced you to stay safe at Battlewood. This would never have happened.'

'Don't be so sure.' Even though my face hurt from doing it, I gave him a smile. 'Convincing me of anything can be rather difficult.'

He smiled back at me – but then, his face suddenly turned unusually serious. He knelt at my bedside and, tightening his grip on my hand, he told me, 'I mean to try, nevertheless. Miss Linton, I... I wanted to ask–'

He hesitated.

I looked into his eyes – and instantly I knew what he was going to ask. It wasn't that I had suddenly turned psychic. It just so happened that I had considerable experience with this particular question, and even more experience in answering it with a resounding 'Hell, no!'

Only...

Was this the right answer here and now?

Screwing his courage to the sticking place, Captain Carter squared his shoulders and met my gaze.

'Miss Lillian Linton, will you do me the very great honour of becoming my–'

Shoeblack?

Pinworm?

Chicken soup?

I never found out whether this was what he would have said next, because right in that moment, quick footsteps approached from outside, and a second later, the door burst open, revealing the tall, dark form of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.