In an instant, everything changed. From one moment to the next, the peaceful winter wonderland around us transformed into a warzone, swords waiting to be drawn, the hounds of death salivating to be unleashed. Mr Ambrose's hand instinctively jerked to the place where he kept his revolver hidden – only to freeze when Dalgliesh leisurely brushed his tailcoat aside, revealing a holster, and glanced at Lady Samantha.

'By all means,' his steel-blue gaze was saying. 'Go ahead.'

Mr Ambrose's hand moved back to hang at his side, clenching and unclenching. Instinctively, I reached out, squeezing his hand from behind. He squeezed back, and suddenly everything between us was all right again.

Now if we only survived to enjoy it...

Mr Ambrose's stare bored into his enemy with a force that would have made any normal man freeze to death. 'Lord Dalgliesh...What a surprise to see you here.'

'Oh, I couldn't stay away.' A broad smile spread over His Lordship's face. The kind of smile unfortunate swimmers in southern waters might see, topped with a grey fin and rapidly approaching. His eyes wandered over the assembled Ambrose family. 'I had heard that the son of the house had returned to the fold. How could I miss such a unique event?'

For the first time, I dared to take my eyes off him and glance over at everyone else. Lady Samantha's face was white as a sheet. Adaira's lips were pressed into a thin line. The rest of the company, however, didn't seem to have picked up on the subtle threat of murder and mayhem under the polite, polished words that were being exchanged. Whatever had happened between Lord Dalgliesh and Mr Ambrose in their mysterious past, the secret had been locked away more tightly than an ancient Pharaoh's tomb.

And Lord Dalgliesh was playing on that exact fact.

'Well?' His smile hardened the tiniest bit. 'Won't you invite us inside?'

I glanced around. Nearly everyone was smiling, waiting, expecting to go back inside. The eyes of the world were watching. Mr Ambrose knew it, and he had to act accordingly.

'Certainly.' The word was steel and ice. 'Only let me call the servants to take care of your luggage. Mr Linton?'

His hand shot out, taking hold of my wrist in a grip that was almost painful.

'Mr Linton, please fetch the servants – especially my trusted servant Karim. I think I might have need of him ere long.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'And then stay inside. There are a few things His Lordship and I need to discuss in private.'

I opened my mouth to object – but the look in his eyes stopped me. Besides – there was no time for objections. I had work to do!

Whirling around, I marched back up the steps. The moment I was out of sight, I started running. My feet slapping hard on the cold stone floor, I passed several startled servants before I reached the room somewhere between the servant and guest quarters in which Lady Samantha had situated Karim. When I skidded to a halt in front of the open door, the huge Mohammedan was just cleaning his sabre. Never had I been so happy to see so scary a sight.

His head snapped up the moment he heard my footfalls. 'What is it?'

Panting, I got out only one word – but it was enough. 'Dalgliesh!'

Instantly, Karim was on his feet. In whirl of steel, the sabre disappeared into its sheath, and from under his mattress, the bodyguard pulled two revolvers, fully loaded. I wondered what the chambermaid would say if she came across those while making his bed. But if today went the wrong way, I wouldn't have to bother about that. I would never find out.

'Where?' Karim demanded, already out the door.

'Entrance.'

Holy moly! I was becoming as taciturn as Mr Ambrose.

Mr Ambrose...!

Tightly, I clamped down on the surge of fear in my chest. For just a moment, I stood and watched Karim dashing off down the hallway – then I turned and ran. I had my own task to accomplish. And it wasn't staying nice and safe in my room, as Mr Ambrose had not-so-subtly suggested. Instead, I ran – up two flights of stairs, down another corridor, and into the first room facing to the courtyard that I knew would be empty. Gasping for breath, I dashed to the window and pulled it open. Cold air flooded in, slapping me in the face. Gritting my teeth against the icy cold, I plunged my hand inside my tailcoat and pulled out the one item that, since Newcastle, I always carried with me, no matter whether dressed as a man or as a woman. A moment later, the barrel of the revolver settled on the windowsill.

It swivelled, searching, searching for...there! There they were!

My hand froze.

Right there underneath me, out in the courtyard, were Mr Ambrose and Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh. I zeroed in on the latter, noticing that the guests and ladies were gone now, and once more, His Lordship had his hand at his belt, close to where I knew his gun would be.

Do it, bastard! Go on, do it! One wrong move towards my man, one twitch of your finger and I'll...

With a click, I pulled back the cock of my weapon.

Neither of the two men down in the courtyard noticed. They were too busy trying to kill each other with the pure force of their eyes.

Mr Ambrose's voice cut through the air like a whip.

'What are you doing here?'

Lord Dalgliesh's voice was lower – the whisper of a snake in the grass. I could hardly hear it over the wind whistling around the manor house.

'To celebrate Christmas, of course. Isn't Christmas the season of hope, love, and forgiveness?'

There was a moment of silence.

'There are some things,' Mr Ambrose said, vivisecting Dalgliesh with cold eyes, 'that cannot be forgiven.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes!'

'Well, well...if that is the case...'

Dalgliesh's hand slid to his belt again. Up in my bird's nest, I tensed, my forefinger curling around the trigger–

–and suddenly, the front door burst open, and there he stood: Karim, in full battle regalia, ready to reign down wrath upon anyone who would dare to touch a hair on Mr Ambrose's hard head. In that moment, I loved the turban-wearing, sabre-swinging son of a bachelor.

'Ah.' Lord Dalgliesh's hand froze, his eyes narrowing. 'The lapdog has arrived.'

'No.' Mr Ambrose took a step forward, and Karim marched down the stairs, taking a place beside him. 'When my dogs arrive, you'll know, because they'll be biting your hand off. Now leave.'

'What?' Dalgliesh raised his eyebrows in mock shock. 'You are denying entry to a guest? And at Christmas to boot? That is not exactly following the rules of polite society.'

'I don't care. Leave. Now.'

Karim and Mr Ambrose started moving forward, circling Dalgliesh, pushing him backwards. The muzzle of my revolver shifted with their movement, not deviating a fraction of an inch from its target. The coachman on the box of Lady Howard's coach watched all this with eyes as big as saucers. This probably wasn't the kind of welcome he'd expected at the Christmas party of the Marquess of Ambrose.

Suddenly, two men appeared from behind the coach, where up until now they had been hiding. They were dressed in the liveries of servants, but the hard set of their faces and the way they had their hands rested at their belts spoke a different language.

'Ah.' Lord Dalgliesh's smile widened. 'Gentlemen, may I introduce Harold and Thomas, my two manservants? They shall carry my luggage inside, and also assist me with any little...additional problems that might arise.'

My heart leapt. For a moment, my revolver did, too, jumping from Harold to Thomas and back again – before I remembered that, no matter how good they were with their weapons, there was only one man who would give the orders. The man who was the real danger here. Instantly, the muzzle of my gun swung back aim directly at the heart of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.

His Lordship swept an imaginary speck of dust from his bespoke tailcoat. 'Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen... It has been a long trip, and I would like to settle in.'

He made to step forward, but Karim blocked his way.

'I don't think so,' he growled. 'I shall–'

I would dearly have loved to hear what Karim had thought up in that bloodthirsty, bristly brain of his. But at that very moment, the front door was flung open, and noise echoed through the courtyard. I was so focused on my aim, that it took me a moment to recognise the sound: the laughter of happy people looking forward to Christmas.

'There you all are!' someone called. 'What are you standing out in the cold for? Come in, come in!'

'Excellent idea.' Smirking, Lord Dalgliesh stepped passed Karim, and neither the bodyguard nor Mr Ambrose did anything to stop him. They watched in silent fury, as Dalgliesh strode up the steps of the portico and disappeared inside, into the ancient home of the Ambrose family.

*~*~**~*~*

I reached the entrance hall just in time to catch Mr Ambrose striding in. Or maybe 'striding' wasn't the right word. How about...devastating? Killing? Destroying?

At least that's what he wanted to do. I could read every one of those words in his eyes.

'Mr Linton!' Those very same eyes flashed with something undefinable the moment he caught sight of me. 'I told you to stay upstairs! I told you to–'

His words were cut off by my lips.

It was just a moment. A fraction of a second, incredibly risky, and incredibly foolish. But the moment I broke away and felt him trembling against me, I knew it had been worth it. Stepping back, I met his eyes.

'What now, Sir? What is Dalgliesh planning?'

'If I knew that, Mr Linton, he wouldn't be here.' His left little finger twitched, and twitched, punching a staccato rhythm against his palm. 'According to my spies, he is supposed to be in South Africa right now. Heads are going to roll for this.'

I didn't dare ask whether he was being metaphorical.

Behind Mr Ambrose, Karim entered the hall, swiftly barring the doors behind him.

'That'll only hold them for so long,' he growled, and I realised he had locked the charming Thomas and his fellow crony, Harold, outside in the cold. 'One of the servants will let them in eventually, unless we can get rid of their master.'

'I still can't believe he's here!' Shaking my head, I gazed down the corridor. From the other end drifted the sound of merry laughter. 'How could the Marchioness let him breathe the same air as Adaira? Doesn't she know the things he's done?'

Not that I knew much myself, of course—but what I'd seen was more than enough.

'She knows enough to hate him,' Mr Ambrose spit out. 'But not enough to fear him.'

A shudder went down my back, and I had to resist the urge to run down that corridor drag Adaira and her mother away from that man.

'How could they not know?'

'The better question is why would they? I haven't talked to my family in years, haven't told them of any of my dealings with Dalgliesh over the last few years. What they know doesn't scratch the surface of what he's done. If they knew...' That muscle in his jaw twitched. 'I have to talk to my father. If mother and Adaira... I...I have to get that man out of here!'

I could see the struggle under the perfect façade of his impassive face. If this had been his house, he would have just thrown Dalgliesh out, social niceties be damned. But it wasn't. And the fact that he had to go up there to his father, the man he hadn't spoken to in over a decade and ask...

I watched with trepidation as he stomped off, down the hallway and towards the stairs leading up to the first floor and to the rooms of The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose.

*~*~**~*~*

I sat in my room, straining my ears, trying to hear anything – anything at all – from upstairs. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing, until–

Bam!

I jumped. Either...either Mr Ambrose had just shot his father, or someone had slammed a door, really, really hard.

When, a few moments later, Mr Ambrose marched into the room, no gun in his hand and no blood spatters on his ten-year-old mint-condition tailcoat, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, when I saw the non-expression on his face, I realised that had been too soon.

'What's the matter?'

Mr Ambrose's jaw worked, hard. 'He stays.'

I blinked. 'What?'

'I said he stays.' Reaching out, Mr Ambrose grabbed the poker and rammed it into the fireplace, making the flames of the fire shoot upwards. A fire he would not, or could not, allow to burn within himself. 'Dalgliesh will remain. Apparently, since he came as an escort to one of our guests, he now, too, is a guest, and that cannot be undone. Apparently, my dear father tells me, it would be ill breeding to get rid of him.'

Once again, the poker stabbed into the flames.

Getting to my feet, I slowly, tentatively approached. I had never seen him in...was this a mood? Dear me! I was actually witnessing Mr Ambrose being in a real life mood! That was halfway to emotion. I had to hand it to him, he hid it well – every movement still methodical, his face still as impassive as a block of granite – but I had been with this man for over a year. I had seen him bloody, bare and lost to the world. I knew how to read the signs.

Slowly, carefully, my arms came around him from behind, my hands coming to rest on his clenched, trembling fingers.

'Did you tell him the things we've seen Dalgliesh do?' I asked, my voice quiet.

'Of course I did!'

'And?'

One corner of Mr Ambrose's mouth twitched for just an instant. But it was most definitely not a smile. 'He didn't believe me. A peer of the realm smuggling, stealing, committing murder? That doesn't happen in my father's world.' His hands clenched into fists. The next words were spoken so low I wasn't even sure he said them. 'Sometimes I wish I could live in the same deluded dream.'

'So...' I swallowed hard, gathering strength to say the words. 'Dalgliesh is staying.'

'Yes.' His whole body was tensing now, as if preparing for a battle. 'I want to kill something, Mr Linton! The thought of being under the same roof as him, of my mother and my sister sleeping just a few rooms down the hall...' He finished the sentence by tearing one of his hands from my grasp and slamming a fist into the wall. That was the moment when I realised that Mr Rikkard Ambrose, Mr Cold-hearted Miserable Miser Ambrose, loved his family. He might have died rather than admit it, might not even know it himself, but he would fight for them to the death. For his mother and sister, at least. As for his father – in that case, I thought fighting with him to the death was the more likely option. But still, he cared. He cared a lot.

I did the only thing I could. I tightened my grip around him and pulled him against me, willing all my warmth to flow into him and heat his icy heart from the inside. I didn't expect to get to get a response. I most certainly didn't expect him to turn around, grab me tightly and lift me up to crush against him.

'And you...' His voice was a threat of death in a desert of ice. But not to me. No, the threat was to anyone who dared to harm me. 'How can I stay here, knowing he'll be under the same roof as you?'

'Don't worry.' I smirked up at him. 'I'm just Mr Victor Linton to him, just one among thousands of your downtrodden serfs. He doesn't care about me.'

And he won't know that you do, either.

He met my eyes, and the darkness that flashed in them sent a forbidden shiver down my back. 'Why do you think I'm still standing here and not calling in my men to break through the window of his room and dispatch Dalgliesh with a bullet through his head?'

It took a few moments for the meaning of his words to penetrate.

'You brought armed men to a family reunion?'

The look he gave me looked almost insulted. 'Of course, Mr Linton! Did you think I'd come unprepared?'

I didn't quite know how to answer that, to be honest. I had never considered an armed escort as one of the necessary preparations for a family Christmas. But then I remembered Aunt Brank, and Anne and Maria. When you thought about it like that...

'Where are they?' I demanded. 'I've seen no one except Karim.'

'Some are camped out in the forest all around the hall. A few are permanent members of the staff here.'

'Permanent members of the–'

A look from him cut me off. 'I like to keep an eye on my father's activities.'

And an eye on how your little sister is doing, I thought, but didn't say a word aloud. I was too busy gazing up the man in front of me, at his hard, perfectly chiselled face, his beautiful cold eyes, wondering how I ever thought an enemy could take him by surprise.

'These men...they had their guns trained on Dalgliesh during that whole little confrontation out in the courtyard, didn't they?'

'Certainly. What do you think I pay them for?'

Take him by surprise? Ha! He was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Slowly, a grin began to tug at the corners of my mouth. We were on more even footing than I had thought.

And besides...even if those men hadn't been there, there had been one more gun trained on Dalgliesh in that moment. One that nobody, not even Mr Ambrose, had known about.

You want war, Dalgliesh? All right, you can have it!

'What do you think he's planning?' I whispered, right into Mr Ambrose's chest.

'I have no idea. But whatever it is, it'll have to wait for tomorrow.'

Only then I noticed how dark it had gotten around us. The fire in the hearth was the only source of light in the room now. Not even the moon, hidden behind thick clouds as it was, sent a sliver of light in through the windows. Exhaustion flooded over me. Captain Carter, all those ladies, Lord Dalgliesh...it all suddenly became too much. I could see it in Mr Ambrose, too. In the light of the flames his face was still an impassively perfect mask, but that tension in his shoulders...

He was just as exhausted as I was.

But how could one sleep in a house that held the world's worst enemy?

Mr Ambrose, apparently, had an answer to that ready. A determined hand grasped me by the shoulder, pushing me forward. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself stumbling through the connecting door into his room, where Karim was waiting, a silent sentinel in the corner.

'What...what are you doing?'

'You are going to share my bed tonight, Mr Linton.'

'I'm going to what? But I–'

His eyes flashed in the darkness. 'No buts! Do you think I would dare letting you out of my sight while Dalgliesh is within ten miles of this place?'

It was the tremor in his voice that did it. It was so, so slight...hardly detectable with the human ear. But I heard it. He wasn't simply being dictatorial. He was scared. Scared for me.

I nodded. 'All right.'

I felt his arms tighten around me. Looking up, Mr Ambrose met the eyes of his bodyguard, and in that one look conveyed a command as unshakable as any of the Ten Commandments.

Karim nodded. 'I shall stand guard before your door.'

Then, to my utter shock, he turned to me and, in a voice that almost sounded...kind? He said, 'Do not fear, Sahiba. I shall defend this door with my last breath. No one will cross this threshold as long as I have life in my body.'