'She's coming back! She's coming back!'

I could hear Adaira's excited cries even though the coach was still pretty far away from the manor house. When I had explained our little ruse to her, the youngest member of the Ambrose family had happily agreed to participate in a little playacting. By the sound of it, she was doing an excellent job.

Next to me, Karim scowled and gripped his sabre more tightly.

'Relax,' I told him. 'As long as I'm guarded around the clock, what can Dalgliesh do?'

He gave me a stare that could have made any man quake in his boots.

How lucky for me that I'm not a man, then.

'Dalgliesh is one man,' he told me. 'India is millions upon millions upon millions. And yet he rules with an iron fist. He is dangerous. He is ruthless. Do not let down your guard.'

I blinked. Was that...concern I had just heard in his voice? Surely not.

'I won't.'

Was that my voice, sounding so uncharacteristically soft? Christmas must be having a bad influence on me.

When the coach rolled to a stop in front of Battlewood Hall, Adaira wasn't the only one waiting for me. Mr Ambrose was there, as was his mother, smiling brightly, and–

Oh dear.

His father.

Who was not smiling brightly.

Before I could come up with an excuse to stay inside the coach, Karim jumped out, unfolded the steps and held the door open for me. Taking a deep breath, I started to descend.

'Miss Linton! I'm so glad you're back!' Adaira was the first to greet me – with a bone-crushing hug instead of a curtsy, which earned her an icy stare of disapproval from her father. He was altogether looking not very approving of the situation.

'Miss Linton?' Stepping forward, he sketched a brief bow. The kind of bow Alexander the Great might have given a lady. It said clearly I'm showing you respect, but only because I feel like it. If I wanted to, I could crush you in an instant.

I curtsied. It wasn't a very deep curtsy. 'Your Lordship.'

Icy, sea-coloured eyes raked me from top to bottom. If I had been unprepared, I might have been intimidated. But I'd had over a year of training. I didn't flinch, even when his gaze bored into mine. 'My wife has spoken very fondly of you, Miss Linton.'

'She has?'

'Oh yes, indeed. She has spoken of you a lot. So has my daughter.'

Oh? Did she mention the time she caught your son and me in bed together?

'How nice.'

'Interestingly enough, even Lord Dalgliesh speaks of you.'

'Oh?'

Less nice! A lot less nice!

Though right now I thought I might even prefer Lord Dalgliesh's company over that of this polished marble monolith of aristocracy. At least in Lord Dalgliesh's case I knew which kind of evil villain I was dealing with.

'So I thought it was time,' the marquess continued, 'for me to come out and personally meet this young lady who seems to have caught everyone's attention.'

I waited for more – in vain. He didn't say anything. He just stood there, scrutinising me in silence. It felt like being laid open with a fillet knife. Only instead of a knife, he was using his gaze. And instead of being prepared for roasting, I was being frozen.

To hell with him! I had survived much, much worse than this old man. Raising my chin, I met his gaze head-on and didn't blink. Not once. Finally, he narrowed his eyes and, whirling, marched off towards the house. I thought he would leave without a word. But then he stopped next to Mr Ambrose. Without touching or looking at his son, he said:

'Be careful whom you associate with. Even after what you've done in the last ten years, the Ambrose name still means something. Be very careful.'

And he swept off into the house.

'Oh, my dear!' Before I could even think of moving, Lady Samantha rushed forward, enveloping me in a fluffy hug. 'I'm so sorry about that! Sometimes he can be a bit...'

...of an arse?

'...grumpy.'

Well, that was certainly one way to put it. Sliding my arms around her, I gently patted the little lady's back.

'Don't worry. It would take a lot more than that to scare me away.'

Maybe it was just coincidence – but just at that moment, I happened to look up and, through one of the windows facing the courtyard, high up on the second floor, caught the glimpse of a figure standing half-hidden behind the curtains. A tall, blond figure with aquiline features.

Lord Dalgliesh smiled at me.

Quickly, I lowered my gaze and let go of Lady Samantha. Karim, I saw to my intense relief, was already beside me, looking dependably massive and dangerous.

As soon as her mother let go, Adaira decided that, apparently, she hadn't had quite enough of hugging yet and came back for seconds.

'He's watching you,' she whispered in my ear. 'Dalgliesh, I mean.'

'I know. Are you sure we shouldn't tell your parents–'

'No!' Her grip tightened. 'All those things you've told me about him...' I felt her give a light shudder. I had not spared her the nasty details of mine and Mr Ambrose's encounters with Lord Dalgliesh. At least one member of the household needed to know how dangerous he was. 'They'd never believe it! They've had a falling out, true, but still...He's a peer of the realm!'

I knew she spoke the truth. Lady Samantha was far too innocent to comprehend the truth. And her husband – he was one of those men who thought being 'nobility' really meant that you were noble, in the true sense of the word. There was no convincing him.

'Don't worry.' I patted her back before I let go. 'I'm well-protected, and so are you.' There were enough people in Mr Ambrose's employ on the estate to keep an eye on us both. Everything was going to be fine.

'Miss Linton?'

I would have known that voice anywhere. So cold, so hard – and yet there was no way I could ever confuse it with his father's. Smiling, I looked up at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. With the grace of a gazelle, I dipped into a curtsy.

'Mr Ambrose, Sir?'

Unfortunately, most gazelles weren't particularly good at curtsying. But that didn't seem to bother him. His icy gaze was devouring me from top to bottom.

'Why don't you come walk with me, Miss Linton? There is something I would like to discuss with you.'

In the background, I could see Lady Samantha stumble, and nearly swoon with happiness.

'Certainly, Mr Ambrose. Lead the way.'

He marched me off, and Adaira trailed behind, the dutiful chaperone (or nosy little minx, depending on your perspective). We were hardly out of hearing range before Mr Ambrose hissed: 'We have a problem!'

*~*~**~*~*

'When did this happen?' I whispered, aghast, as I stared down at the bandaged, bruised, unconscious figures of Hastings and the footman.

'Hardly an hour after Karim left to "fetch you",' Mr Ambrose retorted, the words like cold shards of ice. That muscle in his jaw was ticking like a time bomb. 'Dalgliesh must have known all along which of the servants are in my employ.'

'What about the maids?' I demanded, desperately trying to remember their names. Had I even bothered to ask?

'They're fine. But what use are they?' He glanced at me, and I knew what he really meant: How will they be able to protect you?

'They have two pairs of eyes, and two healthy sets of lungs on them. They can watch and, if necessary, bring the house down with their screams.'

Again, that ticking muscle. 'Better than nothing, I suppose, but...'

He glanced at me again. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

But it would be risky.

But I wouldn't be safe.

But Lord Dalgliesh might get me.

Or, worse, he might get Mr Ambrose. We held each other's gaze for a long, long moment.

'Holy hell!' Suddenly overcome with rage, I slammed a fist into the wall. Rage for him. Rage for me. But, most of all, rage for the two unfortunate souls lying bruised and bandaged in front of us. 'How was he able to do this? I don't understand...!'

'An "accident".' Mr Ambrose's voice was dispassionate, but still, used as I was to trying to read him, I could sense a touch of bitterness in it. 'A Christmas tree fell on top of them, or something like that. It always is with him.'

'And he gets away with it?'

'He's a peer of the realm,' Mr Ambrose answered simply.

'But surely your parents suspect...'

'Ha!' That muscle in Mr Ambrose's jaw twitched. 'You've met my mother, Mr Linton. She wouldn't be able to think badly of a rabid berserker, let alone a "respectable gentleman". And my father...well, as I said, Lord Dalgliesh is a peer of the realm. In my father's eyes, he can do no wrong.'

The bitterness in his voice made me burn with the desire to ask what had happened between them all those years ago. But I didn't. That was a discussion for another day. A day when no sword was hanging over our heads.

That night I slept in Mr Ambrose's arms, with Karim standing guard outside the door. Knowing that the huge bodyguard was alert outside was a relief – yet, somehow, it didn't bring half the comfort of the hard arms wrapped around me. Even in his deepest sleep, Mr Rikkard Ambrose felt like a rock. My rock, which I could always depend on.

'I should have stayed away.'

At the sound of his voice, I almost jumped out of my skin. Bloody hell!

'I thought you were sleeping!'

Ignoring my words, he repeated: 'I should have stayed away from here.'

I hesitated. 'Why?'

His arms tightened around me. 'If I had stayed away, none of this would be happening.'

'You're right.' Turning in his arms, I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. 'None of this would be happening.' Another featherlight kiss, this time on the lips. 'None of it.'

'Mr Linton?'

'Oh, I am "Mister" Linton right now?'

'Yes.'

'Why, Sir?' Another kiss, this one a little less gentle.

'Because you are misbehaving. Stop it!'

'Stop what?' I trailed kisses from the edge of his mouth, over his jaw and down his neck, until I was cuddling comfortably under his chin, against his chest. 'This?'

A rumble rose from his chest, threatening retribution. I smiled into him, ignoring the warning. Instead of retreating, I cuddled closer. In his arms, I felt safe beyond any rationally explicable manner.

Still, would it be enough? Step by step, Lord Dalgliesh was invading Mr Ambrose's ancestral home, taking control without its owners even realising it. There was real danger. To the both of us, and his family.

Maybe we should just leave! Run away and...

But no.

As soon as I thought that, I saw an image of the hopeful face of Mr Ambrose's mother before my inner eye. A mother who hadn't seen her son in over ten years. This was their first family Christmas in over a decade. If we left now, without being able to give any explanation...

I shuddered. I didn't even want to think about it.

We had to get through this. And we would. And then...

'Mr Ambrose?'

'Yes, Mr Linton?'

'Once this is all over...'

A moment of silence.

'Yes?'

'We're going to make Dalgliesh pay.'

Strong, smooth lips brushed against my cheek. It was pitch-black and I couldn't see a thing, but I thought I felt those lips curve into the tiniest smile against my skin.

'That sounds...acceptable.'

*~*~**~*~*

Next morning at breakfast, the threat from Lord Dalgliesh somehow seemed like nothing but a dark and distant dream. His Lordship was absent from the table. In fact, quite a lot of people, including Mr Ambrose's father and some of the guests, did not see fit to grace us with their presence that morning. It was just Mr Ambrose, his mother, his sister, me, and a few of the hyenas. And I didn't mind their presence as much as usual.

Why, you ask?

Well...

'A sheep's what?' Mr Ambrose slowly turned his head to direct his icy gaze at Lady Caroline and the dish she was holding out to him. 'Pardon, My Lady, what did you say?'

'Would you like a sheep's trotter, Mr Ambrose?' She pointed to the dish and gave an encouraging smile. 'I had them brought especially from Newcastle.'

Mr Ambrose's eyes glittered with ice. 'You don't say.'

'Yes. And they're so tasty...' Taking one of the sheep's feet, Lady Caroline raised it to her delicate lips and nibbled on it – then coughed and hurriedly reached for a handkerchief. I had to dive behind a vase of flowers to hide the expression on my face.

'Since they are such a delicacy,' Mr Ambrose told her, his face a mask of stone, 'I would hate to deprive you of them.' He shifted the plate towards her. 'Bon appétit.'

I ducked behind the vase again, stifling helpless giggles.

After that episode, I was almost in something resembling a good mood. Karim was getting a well-deserved day's rest after a long night of door-guarding, so Mr Ambrose, one of 'his' maids and I retired to a sitting room on the second floor that had only one entrance – just about the securest location that was available. We sat there, not speaking, not doing much of anything, really, just sitting there and being there for each other. Which, for Mr Ambrose, truly was something special. When had he last taken the time to quietly sit down with someone, doing nothing?

Probably not for over a decade.

Downstairs, the busy Christmas preparations continued. I could hear bells jingling, and Adaira yelling orders with a voice any sergeant major would have been proud of. It almost left one feeling...merry.

'Sir?'

I glanced up before I remembered that, due to my current lack of trousers, I was probably not the one being addressed. Drat! With all this clothes-changing, I was starting to lose track of who I was currently supposed to be.

'Yes?' Raising his gaze, Mr Ambrose turned to the servant who was standing in the doorway. The young man bowed.

'Your mother was wondering where you are, Sir. She asked me to fe– um, to enquire whether you could spare her a few moments.'

There was a moment of silence. Mr Ambrose glanced at me.

'Go!' Smiling, I waved him away. 'I'll be perfectly safe! Mabel – it is Mabel, right?'

'Yes, Miss,' the housemaid murmured.

'Mabel is going to keep me company. If anything happens, I'll scream the house down.'

Mr Ambrose's left little finger twitched. 'It's a large house.'

'And I'm good at screaming, as you should know from experience. Go!'

For another long moment, he hesitated – and then rose to his feet. 'I shall be only a minute. In the meantime...' He fixed a look on the housemaid that made the poor girl quiver. 'You are personally responsible for Miss Linton's safety. If anything happens to her in my absence, you will have me to answer to.'

The girl jumped to her feet as if stung by a swarm of bees and hurried to take up position behind me. All she was missing was a red uniform and a big pelt hat, and she would not have been out of place in front of Buckingham Palace.

With a last cold look at the maid, Mr Ambrose marched out of the room. The door closed behind him with a click. Shaking my head, I picked up the book I had been reading and smiled to myself. 'Don't worry about him.'

'No, Miss?'

'No. His bark is worse than his bite.'

'I'm glad to hear that, Miss.'

That was the last thing I heard before her arm slipped around me and the sweet smelling cloth pressed down over my face.

'Merry Christmas,' said a voice behind me as dark spots started appearing in front of my eyes.

Really? How nice of you. Ho, ho, ho...

Then the darkness took me.