Silence No More

21. The Proof of True Love

I lay there in my bed as Mr Rikkard Ambrose stalked towards me. Suddenly, I understood how the poor, big, bad wolf must have felt when the woodcutter came into grandma's hut.

What now? How to get out of this? What to say?

Ah, I've got it!

"Um...excuse me. I just remembered something very important."

And with that, I slipped out of bed and ran for my life. Ah, the nostalgia! It had been so long since I'd last used the strategy I had employed back when I was five and used to stuff frogs into my aunt's shoes: when in doubt, run!

In a few seconds, I was already out the door and halfway down the corridor, my arms and legs pumping hard. Yes! Yes, I'd done it! I'd gotten away!

Unfortunately, I had forgotten one little detail: Mr Rikkard Ambrose was a teensy weensy bit faster than my sixty-year-old aunt.

"You." A granite-hard hand closed around my upper arm, halting me in my tracks. "Stop."

I glanced over my shoulder, up at the tall figure of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. The day was coming to an end now, and, against the fiery light of the setting sun streaming in through the hallway windows, the towering black form of my husband was outlined in red and gold. His figure seemed like a fallen angel of vengeance, ready to devour me.

I swallowed.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. I don't think—"

"That was not a request."

Tightening his grip on my arm, he whirled me around and pushed me into an alcove to my left, his icy eyes blazing with fury. His free hand reached out and, grabbing hold of the curtains on both ends of the alcove, jerked them shut, plunging us into darkness. Now I could see nothing but a faint glitter from his arctic eyes.

"Mrs. Lillian. Ambrose! Have you gone insane?"

"Mrs Ambrose?" Innocently, I blinked up at him. "You must have me confused with my sister, Sir. My name is Mr Victor Linton, or so my employer informed me. If you have some issue with my sister, I could help you look for her and—"

"Stop playing around!"

"Playing?" All mirth draining from my face, I reached up to cup his cheek and draw him close until his face was only inches away from mine. "Does it look like I'm playing to you?"

"Then what, pray, are you doing?" A small tremor went through his body. I was betting it wasn't because he was cold. "Going hunting in the wilderness? Alone? A week after giving birth? Alongside an enemy? Who already tried to kill you once?"

"What am I doing?" I tightened my grip on him and stared straight into those fathomless, icy eyes of his. Can't you see it? I'm trying to help you! "I'm trying to save your sister! I'm trying to help Adaira get out of this sham of an engagement! Just like you wan—"

A finger on my lips silenced me.

"Not like this." His voice was firm as bedrock, unwilling to brook any argument. And yet...somehow, it was unbelievably soft at the same time. "I want to save my sister, yes. I want it more than you could possibly imagine." Leaning forward, he gently pressed his forehead against mine. "But not at the expense of risking you."

I felt a surge of warmth inside me.

This is him. The man I love more than anything else in the world, and vice versa.

Swallowing, I stroked his cheek with my thumb. "Then don't. Don't risk me. Make sure it's the French bastard who'll be risking his neck instead!"

He considered that for a moment.