‘What is it, Lord Dalgliesh?’ I enquired, letting myself be steered into a small niche, where we were cut off from the view of all others in the room, including my aunt - to her severe disappointment, I was sure. Lord Dalgliesh placed himself between me and the rest of the room so I could not leave without his stepping aside. Suddenly, I felt a tiny twinge of unease. I would have felt more unease if not for the fact that the nobleman’s smile was so very reassuring.
‘I wish to ask you something, Miss Linton.’
‘Again?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘You are getting brazen, My Lord. This time you are not even offering to dance with me.’
He smiled brightly, seemingly pleased by my reply.
‘Indeed I am. Yet I have an excuse: the music has stopped, the musicians are gone. Will you still grant me my heart’s desire and assuage my curiosity?’
‘That depends on what your question is. Ask, My Lord, and we shall see about the answer.’
‘Very well.’ He leant forward. His steel-blue eyes bored into mine with a hypnotic intensity. ‘Whenever I looked up earlier this evening, I knew I was being watched. Watched closely. The name of the one who watched me should be familiar to you, I think. It was one Rikkard Ambrose.’
I almost felt like laughing. He wasn’t watching you, I wanted to say. He was watching his dear darling Miss Hamilton.
But then my thoughts screeched to a sudden halt. Had he been watching Miss Hamilton? Whenever I saw them, Lord Dalgliesh and Miss Hamilton had been standing right next to each other. Could it be that Mr Ambrose had been watching the former and not the latter? But why? He couldn’t very well be in love with Lord Dalgliesh, now, could he?[40]
A maelstrom of confused thoughts roared in my mind. I tried not to let any of them show, though. Instead I asked: ‘And what has that got to do with me?’
‘Simply this: Whenever Mr Ambrose happened not to watch me, his gaze was drawn to you.’
What?
‘A- are you sure? In such a large room as this ballroom…’
‘Trust me, I am sure.’ His Lordship stared at me, keeping his face carefully clean of any emotions. But I could see them in his eyes: mingled curiosity and incredulity. ‘He looked at you more than at any other person in the room, myself excepted.’
I felt a surge of triumph rise inside me and beat it down with everything I had. As nonchalantly as I could, I shrugged.
‘That may well be. I didn’t notice.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Most young ladies notice when Mr Ambrose looks at them.’
‘Perhaps I’m short-sighted.’ I stepped to the side, seeking to go past him. But there wasn’t enough room. ‘Your question, Lord Dalgliesh? My coach will be leaving soon.’
‘Ah yes, my question.’ He nodded. ‘I wish to know: What is Mr Ambrose’s interest in you?’
I wet my lips and, forcing my voice to be calm, said: ‘I was not aware that he had an interest in me.’
‘Let me assure you, he does. And I wish to know what it is.’ He concealed it well, but I could still read it in his eyes: the part of his sentence he would not speak aloud. Why on earth would one of the richest men of London be interested in somebody like you?
I felt my spine stiffen, and instinctively crossed my arms in front of my chest. ‘Should you not direct that question at Mr Ambrose?’
Ignoring my counterquestion, Lord Dalgliesh stated:
‘He danced with you tonight. He singled you out, in fact. All the other young ladies he danced with were ladies introduced by his host or ladies he could not help dancing with without giving offence. You on the other hand… You danced with him without being introduced. You had to have met before. Where was that? What happened?’
‘I do not recall. I think I might have met him at some other party or in the street, maybe.’
Damn! Why couldn’t I keep my voice steady? Maybe it was the way he was blocking my way out of the niche. It was bloody annoying! More than annoying, actually. It started to be slightly worrying.
‘Most young ladies,’ Lord Dalgliesh observed, leaning a little closer, ‘would remember their first meeting with Mr Rikkard Ambrose.’
He still wore his charming smile, and to anyone listening, his questions might have sounded like nothing but idle curiosity. Yet I didn’t think that anything about this man was idle. Still he was blocking my way.
‘Well, I have a very bad memory,’ I snapped. ‘Especially for people I don't care to remember! Now step aside, please! My aunt will be leaving, and I have to join her.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Miss Linton…’
‘Step aside, I said!’
For one moment he hesitated - then stepped back, giving me just enough room to pass.
‘You’re an intriguing young lady, Miss Linton.’ His eyes were sparkling like moonlight on cold steel. ‘I will look forward to meeting you again.’
Ha! When hell freezes over!
‘Until then, My Lord.’
Keeping my back ramrod-straight so I could always look him in the eye, I gave a quick curtsy. Then I marched away at a measured pace and, using the fact that Lady Metcalf was just saying goodbye to a large group of burly army officers, ducked past her and out of the ball room.
Only when I was in the hallway and he couldn’t see me anymore did I start to run. The slaps of my shoes sounded harsh on the marble floor, and servants stared at me as I rushed by, but I didn’t care. Some instinct told me to get out of there as quickly as possible.
I stumbled out into the cool night air. Fog from the river Thames was wafting towards me. Yet neither the clammy moisture nor the cold air did anything to clear my mind. A thousand questions where whirling around inside my head. Only they weren’t the same ones as a few hours ago, when Mr Ambrose had entered the ballroom, that hag on his arm.
Had Mr Ambrose really been interested in Lord Dalgliesh, not his beautiful partner? What did the lock in the envelope mean? Where did it come from? And why, of all people in the ballroom, should Mr Ambrose have been looking at me?
I hurried over to the coach, which had already been brought to the door by the driver, and hurriedly climbed up the steps. I needed a quiet place, shut off from all the noise of the ballroom. A place where I could think.
I sank onto the seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Alone, finally!
Then I looked up - and saw Wilkins sitting on the opposite bench. A rose and an enormous sunflower were sticking out of his tortured buttonhole, and he had a dreamy expression on his face which I immediately mistrusted.
