'Aah...' Sighing, I straightened and gazed contentedly at my handiwork. 'You were right, Adaira. This is a marvellous way to let off steam. Let me guess – when we're finished, this will depict...'

'Yes, it will. Let's just hope he doesn't find out.'

'We're at the back of the house, behind three rows of hedges. He won't even know where we are. Plus even if he found out, he can go eat my parasol!'

'A very commendable sentiment.' She grinned at me. 'I have often wanted to make him eat a parasol – or a cow, or a bucket full of rusted nails. However, last time I saw you and my brother together, I had the impression that your feelings towards him were, how shall I put it, of a more tender nature?'

I ground my teeth. 'Tender my foot! He...he...!'

'What did he do?'

My clenched fist slammed into the half-finished snow artwork we were building. It felt very satisfying. 'He told me he loved me!'

'How atrocious. I can see why that would upset you.'

'No! No, that's not it!'

'It isn't?

'No! I'm in love with him, too, curse him!'

'You are?' An expression of puzzlement crossed over her face that only the little sisters of attractive older brothers can produce. She shrugged. 'To each her own, I guess.'

I punched the snow again, then grabbed some more to fill out the holes I had made in our wintery masterpiece of art. We continued sculpting in silence for a while. Finally, Adaira said: 'Well, if that's not what you're angry about...what is it? Are you angry that he couldn't keep Dalgliesh from taking you?'

'What? No!' I made a dismissive gesture. 'That was nothing! I didn't even need his help to get away. I freed myself and was just about to start on my way back when he arrived.'

'You...you did?' There was an unholy amount of glee in Adaira's voice. Her eyes suddenly sparkled more brightly than the snow around us. 'Dear me.'

I had a feeling that Mr Ambrose would be hearing quite a few comments on this subject from his little sister in the days to come.

Good. Very good indeed.

'Yes. It's not about the kidnapping. It's not about him telling me he loves me on the ride back. But when we had returned, he...he...' Righteous anger made me choke on my words. Adaira made soothing noises, and I managed to gather myself enough to get out the words: 'He waited till the next morning – just one day after he swore that he loved me – and then he asked me to marry him!'

Silence.

Not cold silence. Not stony silence. No, this was a 'Yes,-and-what's-the-punch-line?' silence.

It took Adaira a moment to realise there wasn't one.

'Oh. How, um...atrocious? Horrific?'

I punched the snow in front of me, trembling, with...rage? Fear?

'I know, right? He said he loved me! How could he! How could he do this to me!'

'Um, yes. I must say it's really quite shocking. I mean, from love to marriage, how could anyone make that leap? It's an outrage.'

'Exactly! And that's not the worst of it!'

'It isn't?'

'No! His mother – your mother – wants it too! She approves of me!'

'My goodness! How scandalous. Though I must admit I understand the feeling.'

'There! There, you see?' I jabbed a finger at her, accusingly. 'Even you want me as your sister-in-law! This marriage madness is spreading like the plague!'

'My apologies. I simply cannot help admitting that you are by far the least despicable candidate for sister-in-law that I have ever met.'

'Gah!' Pulling at my hair, I gave the half-finished snow sculpture a good kick. 'Blast, blast, blast! Everyone is infected by this insanity! And do you know what's the worst?'

'No. What?'

'Even I am tempted! I! I should know better than anyone else that this can only end in a catastrophe – and still, I keep having these flashes of pretty churches, and wedding dresses, and him and me together, and I think I'm going insane! And it's all his fault!'

Adaira patted my back. 'Deplorable! That miserable cad! I'll help you eviscerate him.'

'Thank you! You are a good friend.'

'Just one thing...'

'Yes?'

'If you could explain to me why exactly you don't want to marry him, that might help me understand what you've been going on about for the last five minutes.'

I stomped on the ground, sending a cascade of glittering crystals into the air. 'Don't you see?'

'Err...no, not really. He loves you. You love him, hard as that may be to understand. So, why not make it official?'

'Because!' My foot slammed into the ground again. This time the snow flew so high it filled my shoe. Right now, I didn't care. 'Because it's marriage we're talking about! Marriage! Have you had both eyes and ears open? Have you heard the whispers, read the papers? Don't you know what some husbands do to their wives?'

'Rick would never–'

'–hurt me, I know. But that's not the point, Adaira.' Taking a step towards her, I took her hands and looked straight into her eyes. 'Do you know why I took the job as your brother's secretary? Do you know why I've been running after him for over a year now, through Egypt and Brazil and God knows where else?'

'I've had my suspicions, but I don't really know, no.'

'I did it because I want to be free! I want to be my own woman, go where I want, do what I want, be who I want to be. I don't want to be an appendage to someone else!'

'But you won't be! Rick–'

'–is a man. A powerful man, who is used to being in charge. And marriage is a contract. Do you know what it is I'd be signing up for?' Pulling a small, leather-bound book out of my pocket, I waved it in the air. 'I wasn't absolutely sure myself. I didn't want to listen to rumours and newspaper gossip columns. So I borrowed this from your mother's library. The Book of Common Prayer. It has the standard wedding ceremony in there, as prescribed by the Church of England.'

With trembling fingers, I opened the book at the page I had marked earlier. 'Do you really think that when the vicar steps in front of me and asks me Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and serve him? I will be able to answer with a "Yes"? Do you really think that when the vicar stands there and tells me, Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the Church: and he is the Saviour of the body. Therefore as the Church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything, I will be able to just stand there and meekly swallow it?'

Panting, I lowered the book. Adaira was looking at me with big eyes, dumbstruck.

'If you think that,' I whispered. 'You don't know me at all.'

She hesitated a moment – then nodded. 'You're right.'

My eyebrows shot up. 'I am?'

'Yes. Down with matrimony!' She slammed her fist into her palm, then lowered her voice and added: 'But for heaven's sake, don't let mother know I said that!'

A smiled tugged at the corners of my mouth. 'I won't.'

'And I hope you won't be offended if one day I choose to marry anyway?'

'Not in the least.'

'Because, you know...there are quite a lot of men out there who probably wouldn't stand on the letter of the contract.'

'True.' I gave her a weak smile. 'But Mr Rikkard Ambrose is not one of them.'

She nodded solemnly. She knew her brother more than well enough to know that a contract with him was not to be undertaken lightly.

'And do you know what's most important?' I asked her, my voice totally serious. "He knew all this, Adaira. He knew how I felt about marriage, he knew that I would die before giving up my independence. And still – one day after telling me he loved me, he asked me to become his wife. No, he didn't even ask – he ordered! Can you understand now why I would be a teensy-weensy bit annoyed with your dear brother?'

Adaira considered for a moment – then nodded. Bending down, she lifted up a compact ball of snow and slammed it on top of the figure we had been moulding. It was a tall figure, made of snow pounded so long it was almost as hard as ice. An old black top hat sat upon its head. For eyes, it had two sea-coloured pebbles, and the mouth was a thin line that looked as if it almost never opened.

'I think we did a really good job.' Cocking her head, Adaira regarded our masterpiece. 'He looks just like the original.'

'He has a carrot for a nose,' I pointed out.

'Like I said – just like the original.'

I really loved this girl.

Pulling a parasol from behind her back, she held it out to me. 'Want to do the honours?'

Really, really, really loved her.

'Nothing would please me more.'

I snatched up the parasol. Focusing my gaze on my hapless victim, I raised the deadly weapon above my head.

'You...you...you....'

'Son of a bachelor?' Adaira suggested. 'Foozler? Flapdoodle?'

'...you have known me for over a year now! How could you do this? How could you ever think this is what I want? What I need?'

'Oh. Pardon. I thought you were aiming for an insult. Don't let me interrupt.'

Dragging in a deep breath, I stabbed the parasol downwards. The old top hat flew away into the distance. And so did the head. 'Take that!'

'Good one! Now get him in the gizzard!'

'And that! And that! Ha! Got anything to say to that? No, of course you don't, because you never ever talk! And when you do you don't – talk – sense!'

'Ha! Right through the middle! Keep going, girl! Keep going, you're nearly done!'

'There! And there! Take that you...you...foozler!'

'You're welcome.'

The snow man Ambrose – unsurprisingly – was proving remarkably stubborn. But he was only hanging on by a thread. Panting, I raised the parasol for one final blow. 'Take that, you...you...flapdoodle!'

The parasol came down. Snow exploded in a silver-white cloud all around me. Adaira let out a burst of laughter, dancing in the glittering confetti. I joined in, and soon we were both dancing around in the snow, laughing like little girls. Good God, this had been fun! This had been just what I needed.

When my laughter had subsided enough for me to speak, I demanded: 'What...what in God's name is a flapdoodle?'

Adaira gave another giggle. 'How should I know? The coachmen don't often explain their language to young ladies.'

'A pity.' I wound my tongue around the word. 'Flapdoodle...I kind of like the sound of it. I'll have to find out.'

'I can save you the trouble, Miss Linton,' came a very familiar cold voice from behind me. We froze. 'That particular expression describes a man whose reproductive organs are no longer in working order.'

Oh crap...