I tried everything to find out who it was. Everything. Questioning. Cajoling. Blackmail. Pleading. Death threats. Beard-removal threats. Nothing worked. Not even the latter on Karim. Nobody seemed to know who this mysterious lady was who had conquered Mr Ambrose's affections in one swoop, or if they knew, they weren't telling me.

The little witch certainly knew how to be sneaky! How could she do this, whoever she was, without me hearing a single word about it? Not a whisper even! I had no suspects. None of the hyenas had behaved out of the ordinary. In vain did I look for a smug smile or self-satisfied strut. Whoever she was, she knew how to keep a secret.

Well, she would have to, Lilly, wouldn't she? After all, she managed to steal the heart of the man you love right under your nose.

I just couldn't understand! How could he? Only this morning he had proposed marriage to me, for heaven's sake! And now he was already after somebody else? Weren't rejected romantic heroes supposed to brood and stew and pine for their one true love? But he probably considered that a waste of time. The Rikkard Ambrose new efficient romance method: one proposal per day until an accepting target is found. Ha!

'Worthless, faithless, fickle son of a bloody bachelor!' I growled, punctuating each word with a gunshot – not at him, mind you, but unfortunately only at the shooting targets in the range behind the house. Thick snow covered the targets and, with the sun setting, there was hardly enough light left to shoot properly, but right now I didn't care. I just needed something to shoot at. Whether I actually hit the intended target was secondary.

'Blasted, block-headed bastard! Feeble-headed flapdoodle! How could he? This isn't how it's supposed to go! He's supposed to love me!'

Which might have been a little easier if you'd accepted his offer of marriage, don't you think?

'Shut up!'

Sometimes, an inner voice of reason was really, really annoying. Especially when she had a point. I could have accepted his offer of marriage, and I could have been happy. But...could I have been me?

I didn't think so.

'Damn him! He's supposed to understand this! He's supposed to love me!'

Bam! Bam!

Two shots went off, and two holes appeared in the snow-covered target to the left of the one I'd been aiming at.

Damn him! Now he was even affecting my aim. Was there no part of me he would leave untouched?

A bit redundant, that question, Lilly, don't you think? If there were any part of you untouched by him, would you be standing out here in the snow while everyone's inside preparing for the big dance? Would you be shooting at targets you can't even properly see? And would that little bit of moisture that you're not prepared to call a tear be running down your cheek?

Swiftly, I reached up, wiping the moisture from my face. Then, as if drawn by seductive magic, I turned my head to glance back at the house. Lights were starting to appear in all the windows. Music began playing. I wanted to stay out here in the cold, stay alone and safe, away from Mr Rikkard Ambrose – but I couldn't. I couldn't resist his pull, and I couldn't resist seeing the girl he had chosen instead of me.

Damn my curiosity! And double-damn my love!

Firing a last shot, I whirled away from the targets and started towards the house. Within minutes, I had changed into my new ball gown – what a waste of money! – and collected my dance card. The gloves I had worn against the cold outside I discarded. The revolver I kept. Just in case I'd come face-to-face with her. Plus, I was not so overtaken by mindless jealousy as to forget that Lord Dalgliesh might still have spies among the staff. Safe was better than sorry.

I glanced at myself in the mirror just once. It was bittersweet. I'd chosen the gown with hope in my heart. Now that there was only despair there, the sight hurt. But I had never been the sort to shy away from pain. Particularly not the kind for which I had only myself to blame. Straightening my spine, I stepped out of my room and started down the corridor. The sweet, discordant sound of musicians tuning their instruments drifted up the hallway towards me, and I let it lead me to my destination.

Lady Samantha was waiting at the entrance to the ballroom, officially greeting a few lady friends. When she looked up and saw me, her eyes widened slightly. I knew why, but I resisted the temptation to hug myself and hide as much of my dress from the world as I could. I would not be ashamed of myself or my choices.

'Hello, dear.' Lady Samantha's voice was softer even than usual. She reached out and grasped my hand. 'I'm so glad you came. You look...beautiful.'

Her eyes slid up and down, taking me and my dress in once again – but she said nothing more. In that moment, I loved the little old lady.

'Thank you.' If only your opinion were the one that really mattered. I gave her a sad smile. 'But not beautiful enough, I think.'

'Whatever do you mean, my dear?'

'Didn't you hear?' One corner of my mouth curled up in a sad little smile. 'He picked someone else for the first dance.'

The marchioness gave me an odd look. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say she was amused. But that couldn't be, surely.

'Um...why don't you go in, dear? The ball will start soon, and I am quite certain that you shouldn't miss a minute of it.'

With that strange statement, she gave me a gentle push towards the door. Shaking my head in confusion, I entered. What had all that been about?

The moment I stepped into the ballroom, Lady Samantha's odd behaviour was driven out of my mind. The place was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Magnificent. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles on majestic chandeliers illuminated the gigantic hall, casting it into a golden light that really wasn't even necessary, because the place was already golden. Golden and white and silver and every other pure and precious colour you could think of. Exquisite paintings covered the walls and ceiling where they weren't gilded, depicting gods and titans and ancient heroes. Images which should have clashed with the occasion – but somehow they didn't. Somehow, that mystical scenery of ages past dancing in the shadows created the perfect contrast to the giant tree rising in the middle of the room, in the centre of the light.

The tree he had put there.

The thought was like a dagger through my heart. Except that a dagger would have ended all of this. The blasted thought just hurt like hell. Damn!

But if I was still alive, at least that meant I would still get a look at her. My curiosity was stronger even than my desire to crawl away into a corner and die.

Quickly, I let my gaze drift around the room – but he wasn't here yet. And if he wasn't, she wouldn't be either. Ladies almost always entered the ballroom on the arm of their escort – if they had one. And whoever this girl was, she would most certainly be walking in on the arm of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. None would be stupid enough to miss that chance. Quickly, I let my gaze slide over the faces of the ladies who were already here. I spotted Lady Caroline, Lady Dorothea and Lady Eveline and felt a surge of satisfaction.

So...they're here without him tonight, are they?

My satisfaction disappeared abruptly when I remembered that so was I.

'My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen?'

All eyes snapped to a liveried servant who had appeared at the entrance of the ballroom, holding a staff. With his instrument of authority, he pounded the polished floor three times, making clear what his duty was tonight.

'It is my great honour and pleasure to welcome you to the Christmas ball at Battlewood. Please greet the man who will be your host for tonight. Lord–'

A hand shot out, wrapping mercilessly around the man's wrist and squeezing. A few cold, whispered words floated through the air, too low to be understood.

'...um, Mister Rikkard Ambrose.'

And there he was. Rikkard Ambrose, as he lived (and maybe even breathed if he wasn't made of stone). He towered in the doorway, more perfect and beautiful than he ever had been. And on his arm, walking proudly beside him with a broad smile on her face was...

I blinked.

Then I looked again, just to be sure. But I hadn't made a mistake. If there was one young lady in this house that I'd recognise even with a bag over my head, it was Lady Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose.

His sister.

He had come to the ball with his little sister!

I remembered what he'd told me about his dance partner at lunch. Suddenly, his words appeared in a slightly different light.

I'm quite fascinated by her. I've known her for quite a while, but since arriving here at Battlewood she has impressed me with her charm, her fiery spirit and her intelligence. She's going to play a big role in my future life.

I was going to kill him.

Slowly.

Painfully.

And then I was going to resurrect him and kiss him till he suffocated.

Wait...maybe you should rethink that, Lilly.

Indeed?

Yes. Perhaps you should kill her, first.

What a wonderful idea! I searched my treasure trove of Spanish and Arabic swear words for a word that was bad enough for my dear friend Lady Adaira, the traitorous little witch, but found nothing. The little vixen had known all along! And she had let me stew in my own over-romantic juices for the fun of it! Oh, when I got my hands on her...!

Maybe I should team up with Karim. He probably knew lots more torture methods than sweet little me, and would be more than willing to help avenge himself on the creator of Prince Fragrant Yellow Flower in the Happy Moonlight, Heir to the Principality of Rubbish. Maybe he'd even lend me his sabre.

In just that moment, Lady Adaira glanced up and spotted me. Smiling, she dipped into a perfect curtsy – and then winked at me.

She winked at me.

Oh, that was too much! She was...she was...

...impressive? Admirable?

No! No, horrible! Outrageous! A disrespectful, mad little imp!

The difference to you being?

I'm sure I would have found a satisfactory answer to that question if not at that very moment, the musicians had started playing, and Mr Ambrose had swept his sister off onto the dancefloor.

Oh my God.

He could dance.

I mean really dance.

The other guests were just as stunned as I. They drew back in hushed silence as he and Adaira whirled across the parquet, dancing with the grace and elegance of two professional dancers. They were like fire and ice, like water and stone. She moved with a fae-like fluidity, he with a precision that calculated every step, every twitch of every muscle. And I?

For just one moment, I didn't feel envy or anger or anything like that. I saw the light in her eyes, and the intensity with which Mr Ambrose looked at her. He might not have always been the big brother she wanted or needed. He might have been far away for years upon years. But Rikkard Ambrose always paid his debts. This was his apology. His way of saying sorry without uttering a word. Tonight, he made her shine, for all the world to see.

Dammit! Where had my blasted anger gone? Where was my desire to strangle her?

Things weren't any better than they had been ten minutes ago. All right, so he wasn't dancing with a mercenary little witch who wanted to snatch him away from me, but so what? He wasn't dancing with me, either, and by the looks of it, he had no desire to do so. There was only one thing left for me to do. Only one thing that would soothe my wounded heart and make me feel marginally better.

Slowly, the other couples began to join them on the dancefloor. As the ballroom started to fill with music, the sound of dancing feet and flowing silk, I retreated into a corner. Inconspicuously, I slid my hand into my dress and pulled out my salvation.

'I knew it,' I sighed. 'I knew I was going to need this.'

And I took a big bite from my emergency solid chocolate ration.

*~*~**~*~*

In general, balls were just about the most sophisticated form of torture you could have devised for me. They inflicted a maximum of suffering with a minimum of screaming and broken bones. This ball was a little different. Usually, I was in the company of my aunt, who insisted on towing me onto the dancefloor and thrusting me into the arms of partners she considered suitable. This time, I was without such a lovely, helpful companion. Plus, due to Lady Samantha's matchmaking preparations, there were plenty of young ladies present who were much more eligible than me, and the fact that most of them were also eligible for the hag-of-the-year award didn't seem to deter most of the gentlemen present. Many of the young officers especially, all younger sons who had gone into the army because of a lack of inheritance, were looking for an heiress to catch – which I was most definitely not.

So, for once, I was being left alone. I could sit peacefully in my corner and munch my solid chocolate. Nobody even approached to ask me to dance. How great! I was being left in peace for once in my life. Wonderful. Fantastic. Stupendously, remarkably marvellous. I was so lucky tonight.

Nnng! Lilly, who are you trying to fool?

Without my being able to prevent it, my eyes slid to the dancefloor, searching. But in vain. If Mr Ambrose was still there, he was hidden by the whirling figures of dozens of other guests, having the time of their life. Smiles shone everywhere. Here and there, a happy laugh rose over the crowd. Everything seemed to sparkle with that very special golden shine that only a happy gathering at Christmas could produce.

A gathering I wasn't part of.

Merry Christmas, Lilly. Very merry Christmas.

Sighing in misery, I took another bite of solid chocolate.

The night dragged on. Once in a while, the dance music ceased and the dancers could rest their feet while the musicians struck up a popular carol. Some people were so merry, they actually sang along. Personally, I didn't particularly feel like singing about joy and good cheer. If there were a carol about misery, murder and mayhem...now that would have been a different thing.

I thought the night had reached its all-time low – and then my solid chocolate ran out. It was like a dagger through my battered heart. For a moment, I considered leaving. But then I caught a glance of Lady Samantha through the press of people. I couldn't run out on her! Whatever might be said about her son, The Marchioness Ambrose had been nothing but kind to me during my stay at Battlewood. Leaving her Christmas party after my male alter ego had specifically asked for me to be invited and she had agreed against all odds, would be unaccountably rude. And while I had no problems with being rude to most of the world's population, she was a definite exception.

Finally, the candles started to burn low, and a liveried servant stepped in front of the musicians to announce the last dance. I sighed. In relief? In pain? I didn't really know. Either way, it was good that all this would soon be over. Maybe in sleep, I would be able to forget how much my heart was aching.

I was just about to rise and make my way to the door when a hand suddenly came down to rest on my shoulder. A strong, hard, familiar hand.

'Miss Linton?'

That voice...

I swallowed, my heart giving another agonising pang.

'Mr Ambrose.'

Slowly, I turned to face him. I thought I had prepared myself for the sight of him – but I'd been wrong. He was magnificent. The flickering light of the candles accentuated every hard line of his chiselled face, giving him a golden shine that somehow made him look like an angel descended from heaven. Only...the guardian or the avenging kind?

'What do you want?'

Taking a step towards me, he leaned forward and pinned me with his arctic eyes. Those unfathomable eyes, pools of dark, stormy water, drew me in, destroying any chance I had at resistance before I'd even begun to try.

'This is a ball, is it not?' Bowing just deep enough for our eyes to be on one level, he hit me with the full force of his commanding gaze. 'Miss Lillian Linton, will you grant me the honour of your hand for the last dance?'

Once upon a time, there lived a king and a queen who said every day, "Oh, if only we had a child!" but they never received one. Then, one day, a kind friend told them about this wonderful new invention called "having sex". They tried it, and—lo and behold—a magical frog appeared in their bed...