Breakfast. So significant for a healthy life. The most important meal of the day, they said.

Or maybe the most deadly?

The Marquess Ambrose stepped into the room, accompanied by utter silence. He was a tall man – nearly as tall as his son – and might, long ago, have been as perfectly beautiful. But long years had eaten furrows into his face, and his waistcoat bulged over an impressive paunch. Still, his eyes...

His eyes were exactly the same as those of Mr Ambrose.

The same ice.

The same darkness.

The same iron will.

All innocents duck. Let the battle of the titans begin.

Adaira seemed to share my thoughts. Beside me, she took a tentative step back.

'Pardon my delay in joining you, my dear guests,' the Marquess said in a voice as warm and welcoming as an arctic blizzard. 'Important matters kept me detained. However, now that I have been able to join you, let me personally welcome you to Battlewood Hall. Consider my house yours for the duration of your stay. Breakfast will be served in a moment. Please be patient while I greet a...very special guest.' His gaze returned from his guests to Mr Ambrose. 'Someone I haven't seen in a very, very long time.'

No one dared object as the Marquess stepped towards Mr Ambrose, lowering his head about half an inch.

'Son.'

Mr Ambrose lowered his head as well – no more than a quarter of an inch, at most.

'Father.'

Silence.

And more silence.

It stretched out like an insurmountable precipice between the two great men, becoming wider, deeper and more deadly with every passing second – while Lord Dalgliesh stood a little way away, watching. The corners of his mouth were twitching.

'William!' Trying to force a brave smile onto her lips, Lady Samantha stepped right into the middle of the deadly crevice, gazing up at her husband. 'You're here! It was most inconsiderate of you to remain absent and leave it to me to greet all our guests.'

'My apologies, my dear.' The Marquess didn't sound particularly apologetic. He didn't even glance at her. His eyes were still riveted to those of his son, fighting a silent battle of wills. 'As I said – I had some important matters to attend to over the last few days. Besides...' His eyes bored into Mr Ambrose with renewed force. 'I had hoped that certain guests of mine would not object to climbing a few insignificant stairs to see me again after so many years.'

'That is the problem with hopes one has of relatives,' Mr Ambrose shot back, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. 'They are so often disappointed.'

'Marquess! Such a pleasure to see you again, after such a long time.'

Two pairs of sea-coloured eyes broke contact and flicked to the speaker who had dared to interrupt. Lord Dalgliesh didn't flinch under the double onslaught of ice. He didn't even shiver. One brilliant, shark-like smile deflected everything.

'Lord Dalgliesh.' The Marquess inclined his head. It did not escape my notice that he bowed significantly lower than he had for his own son. My hand suddenly itched to reach out and slap the old man across the face. But since I was not suicidal, I refrained. It would have been madness enough to get involved before, when there were only two people wanting to kill each other. But now? By the looks of it, there were three people, each of which wanted to kill the two others – the only reason all were still alive being that no one could decide on whom to murder first.

'Ah, those family reunions...' I jumped, nearly breaking my neck whirling around to see that Miss Bardley had joined Adaira and me. She had – surprise, surprise – a smile on her face. I'm not kidding. A smile. 'Aren't they wonderful? Family and friends finding each other again after such a long time always makes me feel warm inside.'

'Yes, um. Very warm indeed.'

Mr Ambrose took a step forward. Instantly, my attention jumped back to the threatening battle in the room. 'Lord Dalgliesh was just complimenting Mother on your beautiful home,' my dear employer informed his father. Your home. Not ours. He really knew how to wield every word like a blade. And between the words, there was another meaning, one able to do much more damage. I could feel it slamming into his father.

'Was he?' The Marquess pierced Lord Dalgliesh with a look, then gave the same treatment to his beloved son. 'I would have thought you might have learned to be cautious about paying attention to idle words from certain sources by now, son.'

'Oh, I have.' Mr Ambrose's gaze was ten times as cold as his father's. 'Independence is a useful trait, particularly when dealing with stubborn old men who–'

'Shouldn't we sit down for breakfast?' Lady Samantha broke in with an insanely hopeful smile. 'Our guests are surely getting hungry!'

'Oh, do not hurry on my account, My Lady.' Lord Dalgliesh gifted her with a bright smile. 'I'm enjoying myself immensely.'

She glared at him, and he closed his mouth.

'Now, William,' she insisted. 'We are keeping our guests waiting.'

The Marquess exchanged one last, long, lethal look with his son, then turned to offer his wife an arm.

'Of course, my dear. Let me escort you to your seat.'

*~*~**~*~*

I had to admire Lady Samantha. With superhuman skills of diplomacy, she managed to scatter her husband, her son and Lord Dalgliesh around the table, with plenty of military men and talkative young ladies as buffers between them. By the time she was finished, I couldn't even see Lord Dalgliesh, and neither could Mr Ambrose, from where he was positioned. As for his father – he was so far away, safely placed at the host's rightful position at the foot of the table, that he and his son could do nothing but shoot each other icy glares – which they did. Apparently, a little ceasefire had been declared. I started to breathe a little more easily.

At least until Lady Samantha appeared beside me with Lady Adaira.

'Mr Linton, may I entrust her to you?' she gazed up at me with big, hopeful eyes. 'I have those three men to contend with and if I have to keep an eye on my little girl...I simply can't. Please.'

I stared at her. 'B-but...'

'Please?'

Crap! Why did she have to have such big, blue grandmotherly eyes? How was I supposed to be able to say no?

'Very well.'

'Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mr Linton. You are a true gentleman.'

And she dashed off, leaving behind a stunned me and an Adaira convulsing with giggles.

'It's not funny!' I snapped.

'Oh yes it is, Mr Linton!'

'What am I supposed to do now?' Panicked I glanced around. All of the other men – crap, had I just thought 'other men'? – were standing beside their chairs like stuffed penguins. 'I have no idea how a gentleman behaves towards a lady at the breakfast table!'

'I'm sure you'll do fine,' Adaira said, watching Mr Ambrose who grabbed his dinner partner, dumped the lady onto a chair and shoved it forward before taking his own seat. 'As long as you do the exact opposite of my dear brother.'

Grimacing, I pulled out a chair for her.

'Why, thank you, Sir.' Batting her eyelashes up at me, she sank onto her seat. 'My mother was right. You are a true gentleman.'

'Shut up! This is not funny!'

'On the contrary. Three men who would like to kill each other but are forced to be civil because of table manners? A lady in trousers as my dinner partner? This is first-class comedy. It's a wonder I'm not rolling around on the floor with laughter.'

I had to admit, she had a point. The situation was funny – in the same way that an assassin being pecked to death by a murder of crows was funny. Lady Adaira seemed to have an admirable talent for looking at the bright side of life.

Her poor mother, though...

'Toast, Sir? Mushrooms? Kipper?'

Torn from my thoughts I looked up to see a footman standing beside me, balancing a huge platter with food on one hand and wielding a scary-looking serving fork with the other. I prayed Mr Ambrose wouldn't get his hands on that while his father and Lord Dalgliesh still were in the room. Otherwise, things at the breakfast table might get rough.

I opened my mouth – and underneath the table felt the pressure of a foot against mine. Ah yes. Manners.

'Ladies first.' I gave Adaira a strained smile.

'Thank you, Mr Linton.' The little minx beamed at me. 'It's so heartwarming to see that there are still men with manners out there in these uncouth, modern days.'

She really was enjoying this a little too much.

'A selection of everything for me, please, Oscar.'

'Certainly, Your Ladyship. And the gentleman?'

It took a gentle kick from Adaira to make me realise he was talking to me.

'I, err...I'd just like a few mushrooms on toast, please. I'm not feeling very well. I, um...didn't get a lot of sleep last night.'

'Oh, really?' Adaira's eyes lit up with ravenous curiosity. 'Why was that? Do tell. Were you very...busy?'

Crap, crap, crap! Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?

I sent her a censorious look. 'No, My Lady.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. If you must know...' My eyes flicked to Mr Ambrose and his father. 'I was worried.'

It wasn't a lie.

'Oh, well...' Adaire cocked her head, thoughtfully. 'I think I know what we can do about that.'

That took me by surprise. 'You do?'

Had she suddenly become a miracle worker?

A cheeky grin spread over her face. 'Oh yes. We only have to catch my brother's attention.'

'And how do you propose we do that, my Lady?'

'Simple. All we have to do is make him think about something that he is even more obsessed with than money, power, or his feud with our father.'

'Such a thing exists?'

She gave me a very odd, very long look. 'I think it does.' And without waiting for a response, she turned towards her brother, leaning over towards him and asking sweetly: 'Tell me, brother – where did you find this charming secretary of yours? I've never met such a pleasant man in all my life.'

Conversation all around us halted. All the guests' eyes focused on me. And then, a moment later came the eyes that mattered. Cold eyes. Hard eyes. Eyes that sent a tingle down my spine.

'Indeed?'

'Oh yes, indeed.' Adaira gifted her brother with a smile. 'It was most unkind of you to hide such a handsome young fellow away in your dusty office all this time.' And she gave me a flirtatious smile. Mr Ambrose nearly choked on a fish bone.

'I have not been "hiding away" anybody,' he ground out. 'Mr Linton has been busy with work, as have I.'

'I bet.' Eyes twinkling, Adaira winked at her brother. 'I can just imagine all the boring work the two of you get up to behind closed doors.'

This time it was I who nearly choked. Bloody hell! Was she insane? Had she completely lost her mind?

But when I glanced around, the only reaction I could see were pitying glances – most likely from people who had heard of Mr Ambrose's reputation as an employer. Nobody understood the true meaning of her words. Nobody but her brother, that is, whose left little finger was now tapping a furious prestissimo on the table. His father tried to shoot him an icy glare and re-initiate the duel of eyes, but Mr Ambrose didn't seem to give a flying fig.

'We are indeed very busy,' he ground out. 'With work. Lots of work. Knowledge is power is time is money, Adaira.'

'Is it?' With a cheeky grin, she glanced sideways at me. 'I definitely have to agree that the knowledge of certain secrets can give you a certain amount of power. On that note...what will you be giving me for Christmas this year, my dear brother?'

I nearly swallowed my spoon.

She wouldn't! She couldn't really...

No. She wouldn't. But to judge by the look in Mr Ambrose's eyes, he wasn't as sure about it as I was.

'I shall have to see,' he managed to get past his clenched teeth.

She gave him a bright, brilliant I've-got-you-by-the-balls smile. 'Do that. I really hope it's something nice and sparkly. And expensive.'

I tore my handkerchief out of my pocket just in time to bury my face in it and disguise my snort of laughter as a sneeze – or at least so I thought.

'Something wrong, Mr Linton?'

'N-no, Mr Ambrose, Sir. Nothing at all.'

'Linton?' The voice that cut in was chillingly familiar. I looked up to see Lord Dalgliesh lean out from between the row of guests to study me. 'Any relation to Miss Lillian Linton?'

From one moment to the next, my urge to laugh evaporated.

'Yes,' I answered hesitantly. 'I am her brother.'

'Her brother....?' His Lordship stroked his chin, studying me through narrowed eyes. 'Hm...most interesting. Most interesting indeed.'

'Who is this Miss Linton we're talking about?' one of the other guests asked.

'Oh, a most charming young lady,' Lady Samantha answered before I could even open my mouth. 'As Mr Linton said, she's the sister of my son's secretary, and a smarter, sweeter girl you couldn't wish to meet.' Glancing around the table, she frowned. 'I wonder where she is. I've been so preoccupied I only just realised she isn't at the table.'

'What – Miss Linton is a guest here? At Battlewood Hall?' Now Lord Dalgliesh's eyes seemed to be positively gleaming. They flicked from Mr Ambrose to me, then back to Mr Ambrose, filled with a malicious understanding I didn't like. Not at all. 'How fascinating. I am very much looking forward to renewing our acquaintance.'