Adaira was still staring. She simply didn't seem able to wrap her pretty little head around what she was seeing. Slowly, she took a step back and sat down, unaware that she had sat on a dresser instead of a chair. Still staring, she pointed a trembling finger at me.

'Mr Linton. Mr Victor Linton.'

'Well...yes. And no.'

'Mr Victor Linton. In bed with my brother.'

'Um...yes.'

'Oh well....that's...that's just...Bugger it all!'

'Adaira!' Mr Ambrose snapped, sitting up abruptly to glare at his little sister. 'Mind your language.'

Her eyes flew to him and suddenly flashed with fire. 'I'll say whatever I bloody well want, thank you very much. Besides, it wasn't a curse. It was a description! The two of you were...oh my God! I can't even...!'

I cleared my throat demurely. 'It's not as bad as it looks.'

She raised an eyebrow at me.

'All right, all right, it probably is. But still–'

I didn't get to finish. Springing to her feet, Adaira started pacing up and down gesticulating wildly.

'Hell! Bloody, stinking hell! Rick, do you have any idea what will happen if people....Oh God, I don't even want to think about it! And if mother hears about this...no, no, no! She's going to have a coronary. She'll think it's her fault. She will! She'll tell herself she should never have let you play with those dolls when you were a toddler, and–'

My head whipped around to stare at Mr Ambrose. 'You played with dolls?'

He gave me an arctic look. 'Mr Linton! Would you please focus on the most important subject of the current discussion?'

A grin spread across my face. 'I am! What kind of dolls? Were they nice and cuddly?'

'Be quiet! The both of you!' Pulling out her folded fan, Adaira waved it in our direction like a sword. 'You've done enough damage for one day – or should I say night? Good God! The thought of what the two of you have been up to...'

'Actually, we just–'

'Don't! I don't want to know!' Pressing a hand hard over each ear, Adaira retreated, grabbing the doorknob of the connecting door. 'I have to think! I have to get out of here! And...heck.' Her eyes darted to me. 'I have to warn your sister! She doesn't have any idea what's going on here, does she, Mr Linton? You have been making the beast with two backs with my brother all this time, and have dragged that poor, innocent girl into this house of sin you've created, this Sodom and Gomorrah? What kind of man are you? Oh, I don't even want to know! Where is her room? Tell me! Where can I find her?'

I pondered how best to answer that question. 'Um...well, you see...'

'Never mind! I'll find her myself!'

And she dashed through the connecting door, into my room, on the search for clues.

There followed a few moments of silence.

Then, slowly, she backed out of the room again, clutching an empty dress in her hand.

'Why,' she asked in a very calm, very collected voice, 'is there a lady's dress on your dresser, Mr Linton? The same dress I saw your sister wear the first time I met her?'

I didn't answer. Instead, I simply rose to my feet, took the dress out of her unresisting hand, and held it up against myself, raising my chin and meeting her gaze. Adaira's eyes went wide with comprehension. Wider than saucers. Wider than dinner plates. Wider than wagon wheels, actually.

'Oh my,' she breathed.

'Yes.' I nodded. 'Let's just say...I'm versatile.'

*~*~**~*~*

'So...you're really a girl under that tailcoat?'

It was about a quarter of an hour later. Adaira and I were alone in Mr Ambrose's room. My dear employer had departed to establish new security parameters with his men, and to avoid more questions on the subject of dolls. No matter. I would get my hands on him sooner or later. For now, it was more important to acquaint his little sister with my alter ego.

I smiled at Adaira.

'Yes. Yes, I am.'

'Really? You're sure?' Cautiously, Adaira poked a finger in my side – then yelped and pulled it back when she felt something hard.

'Relax! That's just my corset.'

'R-really?'

'Yes!' I grinned. 'I'm one hundred per cent certified female. Here, see?' Taking her fan, I snapped it open and waved air at myself and batted my eyelashes in a way no self-respecting man could have imitated without choking to death. Well, except Sir Philip Wilkins, maybe.

'Heaven be praised! You're a girl. A real, honest to God girl!' Placing a hand over her heart, she sank back into an armchair. 'Thank God! My brother is a ruthless womaniser!'

'That's one sentence I'd never thought to hear out of a sister's mouth,' I commented.

'Well, considering the alternative...' Adaira shook her head, dazed – then suddenly started to laugh. 'Heck...I only just realised! You have been his secretary for over a year haven't you? How long has this been going on? How long has my dear brother, the patron saint of miserdom and abstention, been carrying on an illicit office affair behind the backs of London's high society?'

'Well, I wouldn't exactly call it an illicit–'

'How long?'

I felt my face heat. I was blushing! Why was I blushing? I was a feminist! A strong, independent woman, who happened to believe that a woman's body was her own and that she could do with it whatever she liked, thank you very much. I didn't care about social norms or other people's opinions.

So why are your ears getting red from the nosy questions of a pesky young girl?

'Ha!' She pointed at me, grinning as if she had won the grand prize in a lottery. 'I knew it! You've been at it this whole time!'

'What? No, we–'

'Ooooh, this is sweet! So sweet.' She rubbed her hands, her eyes dancing in ecstasy. 'I'm never going to let him forget about this. My dear brother had better not dare be difficult next time I want to go dancing with Thomas Ecclestone. If he is – oh, the things I'll do...' She sighed in bliss, fully in devious little-sibling mode.

I decided this would be the best time – maybe the only time – for me to escape. Cautiously, I shifted towards the door. But the moment I tried to slide away, she abruptly returned from big brother torture paradise and grabbed my arm.

'Where do you think you're going? You're not getting out of this room until you've told me every single little detail about the two of you. I want to know how you managed to convince the king of chauvinists to take on a girl! You've been with him on his travels, right? Was it dangerous? Did you see pirates? Indians? Pyramids?'

'Err...well, pirates and Indians, yes. Pyramids, no, not unless you count the South American kind.'

'Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.' She was jumping up and down like an overexcited baby kangaroo. 'Do you think he'll take me along one day, too? I've always wanted to see America, and Paris, and Rome and the African jungle, and India and...oh, we'll talk about that later! Tell me about yourself? How did you manage to talk him around? What did you do? Did you seduce him with your feminine wiles? Did you work your irresistible charm on him until finally he succumbed to you and–'

Clearly, I decided, someone had to check up on Adaira's reading material. Her mother obviously wasn't paying close enough attention.

'I most certainly did not,' I told her. 'I was accepted for the job solely for my intelligence and diligence as a working woman.'

'You were?' Now an expression of awe was spreading across the girl's face. 'By my brother?'

'Yes. The seducing with feminine wiles came later.'

'I knew it! How did you do it? How?'

I smiled.

'Come,' I told her. Gently grasping her arm, I led her to the bed and settled us both down, relaxing for the first time since she had burst in through the door. 'Now that you know, it's probably best if I tell you everything. It all started on a misty, cold morning in London, on the day of the general election...'

*~*~**~*~*

My wide-eyed audience went through several stages while I told my story: incredulity, awe, admiration and voracious curiosity, finally settling on hilarity. By the time I had ended my story, Adaira was sprawled on the floor, laughing hysterically. Bottom line: she was so relieved that her brother wasn't going to be executed for buggery, and so happy she'd gained a major piece of leverage for the sibling wars, that she didn't care a bit about the fact she had caught him in bed with a girl he was not married to. Perhaps not the ideal positive impression a girl could hope to make on her man's sister, but you couldn't have everything, right?

As for my alter ego, Mr Linton – Adaira was so eager to hear about all of my adventures that she wasn't really bothered by the fact I was a crossdresser. By the time we were finished talking, Lady Adaira Ambrose and I were the best of friends. Somehow, I felt as if I'd known this fiery girl with the eerily familiar sea-coloured eyes all my life.

Which was the reason why I felt comfortable enough to take a deep breath and ask, 'Adaira?'

'Yes?'

Somehow, during our little chat, we had switched to first names.

'I was wondering...Lord Dalgliesh–'

The mere mention of the name caused the smile to vanish from her face. A storm started brewing in her eyes. 'That man doesn't belong under this roof!'

'No, he doesn't,' I agreed. 'But what I want to know is: why? What did he do to all of you? To your brother in particular?'

She shook her head, a frown marring her lovely brow. 'I wish I knew. But I was only five years old back then, and when that night came...' She shuddered. 'All I know is that Dalgliesh and my brother had been friends. Dalgliesh was a sort of mentor or elder brother to him. Rick followed him around everywhere. Then, that night came...that terrible night. Someone from Dalgliesh's staff came to visit, and the next thing I know, wild shouts are coming from downstairs. Father bellowing, Rick yelling back – things were being thrown around! I was afraid they'd kill each other. The next morning, my brother was gone. That was the last I saw of him for over a decade.'

She glanced at me. 'In a way, I never saw him again. Because the happy, carefree big brother I knew never came back from America. That cold, calculating man who came back...' She swallowed, moisture glinting at the corner of her eyes. 'He's a stranger. I don't know if I know him.'

I felt a tug at my heart. Instinctively, I wanted to fold the girl in my arms and hug her close – but, just as instinctively, I knew that would be the completely wrong thing to do. She was an Ambrose. She had pride. Lots of it.

Her eyes suddenly became hard again. 'But one thing I know: just like Dalgliesh was the man my brother most admired when he was young, he's now the man my brother hates more than any other in the world. If Rick decides it's time to have it out with Dalgliesh here and now, we are in deep, deep trouble.'

*~*~**~*~*

We sat there for a few minutes in silence. Finally, I elbowed her gently in the ribs. 'Hey – isn't it time for breakfast? I'm hungry.'

Immediately, she brightened. 'Of course! And...oh my!' She covered her mouth with a hand, hiding her sudden grin. 'I only just realised! I get to parade you in front of the whole household in trousers and a tailcoat, and only I will know that there's a girl under there! Please let me take you to breakfast as a man! Please!'

'Certainly.' Rising, I gave a mock bow. 'I wouldn't be a proper gentleman if I didn't offer to escort a young lady to the table, now, would I?' And I offered her my arm.

She nearly keeled over from laughing.

'You wound my manly pride,' I chastised.

Gasping for breath, she managed to scramble to her feet, and grabbed me by the arm. 'Come on! Come on! Oh God, this is going to be brilliant!'

When we stepped outside, Karim was still standing guard next to the door, his hand on the pommel of his sabre. I glanced at the girl beside me, then raised an eyebrow at him. 'I shall defend this door with my last breath? No one will cross this threshold as long as I have life in my body?'

The bodyguard tried his best to hide behind his beard. Giggling, the two of us escaped down the corridor. Only when we approached the breakfast parlour did I take care to assume a more gentlemanly demeanour and once again offered Adaira my arm.

'Why, thank you, Sir.' She smiled and accepted with a gracious curtsey.

A footman awaited us in front of the breakfast room, bowing deeply as we approached.

'Lady Adaira, Mr Linton – the Marchioness desired me to let you know that the company will be taking breakfast in the east-wing winter garden today. She thought the scenery might, ehem...lighten the mood of her guests.'

With Lord Dalgliesh still among the guests? Adaira and I exchanged doubtful looks.

'Come on.' Gripping my arm more tightly, Adaira pulled me off in the direction of the east wing. 'We'd better go.'

It didn't take us long to reach the winter garden, and we didn't waste a minute before stepping inside. The sight that met our eyes would have been comical – if it hadn't been so deadly serious.

In the centre of the garden, amidst beautiful flowers beyond which lay the sparkling glory of the wintery landscape, a table had been erected and ornate chairs placed all around it. No one had taken their seat yet. They were standing around admiring the beautiful scenery. Or at least most of them were.

The more intelligent people present had caught on to what was happening in their midst and had retreated to the corners of the garden, leaving a space in the middle for the two contestants. On the left, Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, steel-blue eyes as hard as a bank-vault door, his golden hair glinting like an angel's halo in the morning sunlight. On the right, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his eyes dark as the fathomless depths of the sea, and just as warm and inviting. Every single line of his perfect face was etched in stone.

The air between the two men was like the Antarctic before a thunderstorm. The air crackled. The The hairs on the back of my neck stood up just from watching.

'Ah, Lady Adaira. There you are.' A plump young lady stepped towards us, a bright smile on her face, completely unaware of what was happening. I hardly spared her a glance. 'We've all been waiting for you. Won't you introduce your companion to me?'

Adaira, unlike me, managed to scrounge up enough presence of mind for a reply. 'Certainly. Mr Victor Linton, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Miss Violet Bardley?'

'If you really think it's a pleasure,' I replied absent-mindedly, my whole attention still focused on the pair of men staring each other down in the centre of the room. Adaira coughed. The plump girl beamed as if I had given her a huge compliment.

'Um...Mr Linton is my brother's private secretary, Miss Bardley.'

'Really? That must be such an interesting occupation.' Miss Bardley smiled even more brightly. It seemed to be her aim in life to outshine the sun. 'It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr Linton.'

'Charmed,' I murmured to a potted plant about half a yard to the left of Miss Bardley's ear. People had started milling about, obscuring my view of Mr Ambrose and Lord Dalgliesh. Had they drawn weapons yet? God, if that bastard Dalgliesh harmed him...!

'I'm really glad I accepted Lady Samantha's invitation to come here to celebrate Christmas. It's so wonderful up here in the north.' That was Miss Bardley again. She gave a sigh, no doubt meant to encourage my agreement. 'So serene and peaceful.'

Craning my neck, I managed to peek through the crowd – just in time to see Mr Ambrose clench one hand around the back of a chair, as if tempted to throw it. 'Um...well, yes. Serene. Peaceful. Absolutely.'

'I have a feeling we're going to have a memorable Christmas.'

'Err...well...'

That was the moment when Lord Dalgliesh moved forward.

'Excuse me!' Shoving Miss Bardley aside, I darted forward. Without paying any attention to the startled yelp behind me, I began to work my way through the crowd. How fortunate I had well-practised elbows. 'Sorry, sorry, excuse me, pardon me, secretary coming through! Sorry sir, I'm in a hurry! I have to–'

Despairing of coming up with a convincing excuse, I just shoved the startled gentleman aside and dashed forward, one hand sliding into my tailcoat, gripping my gun. If push came to shove, I wouldn't hesitate. Not an instant!

Lord Dalgliesh took a step towards Lady Samantha. The hand around my gun tightened. He opened his mouth.

'What a beautiful home you have, Your Ladyship. I must congratulate you. It must have been quite a bit of work to restore it to its former glory after...certain unfortunate events.'

I almost collapsed with relief. Panting, I came to a stop. My hand relaxed – but then tensed again. The words were perfectly harmless. Perfectly normal. But Lady Samantha paled as if he had slapped her across the face. And Mr Ambrose...

The chair he was clutching groaned as Mr Ambrose's hand tightened like a vice around the back. In a flash, I realised what Dalgliesh was doing.

He's trying to provoke Mr Ambrose. He's trying to make Mr Rikkard Ambrose angry.

And what was really disturbing: it seemed to be working. Mr Ambrose's perfect granite mask was still in place, still unbroken, but it had grown thin. Through his eyes, I could see the emotions roiling underneath. And suddenly, I was terrified of what would happen if that mask would shatter.

'Thank you, My Lord.' Lady Samantha's voice was so cold it could almost have rivalled her son's. 'That means so much, coming from you.'

'I'm glad to hear that.' Lord Dalgliesh's smile widened. 'I might be coming to visit your delightful home more often in the future. Now that you have such beautiful blossoms decorating these halls...'

His eyes slid over the flowers all around – and then landed on Adaira.

There was the crack of wood, as something snapped under Mr Ambrose's hand.

Adaira groaned behind me. 'Now we're in deep crap.'

Mr Ambrose was just about to take a step forward and plunge the whole room into war when the door behind us opened. Glancing around instinctively, I jumped when I saw an unfamiliar, liveried servant with a long staff in hand enter the winter garden.

'Attention please, ladies and gentlemen.' The servant cleared his throat, and struck his staff against the ground in an ominous manner. He certainly had my attention – and that of every other person in the room. 'Please rise for your illustrious host. It is my pleasure to announce–'

Oh no. Don't say it. Not now.

'–His Lordship The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose.'

And, as the servant stepped aside, a dark figure marched into room, clad in a pristine black tailcoat and searching the room with piercing, cold, sea-coloured eyes I had only ever seen on one other person. They found what they were looking for, halting on Mr Ambrose and hardening into stone.

Adaira had been wrong. Things had been rosy before. Now we were in deep crap.