My heartbeat picked up, and I hardly dared to look up. I felt like an elephant who had been ordered to dance with the ringmaster. Would I squash his feet? Would I fall over? And what would happen when this madness was over and we returned to our normal routine of work, if that ever happened?
The music began. The four-four time lent itself to Mr Ambrose’s way of moving. He went towards and away from me as the music required, grasped me when the music demanded, and let go when the music said so. Not once did he look at me or speak to me.
We turned. And turned again. And again. And again.
Blast, this is maddening! Isn’t he going to say anything at all?
Apparently not. Nobody could be silent like Mr Ambrose. Not even a grave, or a whole graveyard for that matter, could compete with him. And as for looking at me, he didn’t seem to have any intention of doing that either. Oh no. He was staring fixedly at something in the distance. When we turned again, in time with the music, I saw where his gaze led.
Of course. Her! He is looking at her!
The crow was standing near a window in the east wall, an infuriating smile on her face, chatting with Lord Dalgliesh, who stood right beside her. Rage, mixed with an infuriating curiosity, rose up in me.
Who the devil is she? The writer of the pink letters?
The possibility gripped my heart like a claw of ice. And Mr Ambrose still wasn’t saying a single word! God, the silence was killing me! Somebody would have to say something. And if it wasn’t going to be him, it would have to be me.
‘I thought you didn’t like social functions,’ I blurted out.
There was a momentary pause.
‘I don't,’ came his curt reply, finally. Still he was staring into the same darn direction. ‘But this one was special. I had to come. I needed to spend some time with an old acquaintance whom I had not seen for some time.’
I sniffed. ‘So you’ve known the lady long?’
Is it she? Is it she who wrote you those letters? What did she say? What does she mean to him? And why the heck are you asking yourself that question?
‘The lady?’ His voice was absent and a little confused. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me at all. Gritting my teeth, I nodded in her direction.
‘What? Oh, Miss Hamilton?’
Hamilton. So finally, I had a name to put to the evil temptress! I relaxed infinitesimally as I realized that her name was not that of the writer of the pink letters. However, that relaxation vanished the instant I saw again the way he looked at the crow beside Lord Dalgliesh: so intently you might have thought there existed nothing else in the world for him but her.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Miss Hamilton. You’ve known her long?’
He actually deigned to glance down at me then. If his face hadn’t been carved from stone, I was sure there would have been a frown on it. His eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘No. Whatever gave you that idea? I’ve only known her for a couple of days.’
Why the heck did you call her an old acquaintance then?
‘Well, she must have made quite an impression on you.’ Considering you came out of your fortress for her sake and subjected yourself to the nameless horrors of a ball.
He shrugged and looked away from me again, resuming his staring.
‘So,’ I continued doggedly, ‘I assume you’ll see more of her in the future, attend more balls than before, now that the situation has changed?’
His left little finger twitched. I had noticed this was his way of demonstrating extreme annoyance - the way someone else might scowl or curse at you. ‘Hmm. I suppose. It will be unavoidable for what I have in mind.’
Oh yes, I’m sure it’s very inconvenient to one as mighty as yourself that you can’t just order a woman to marry you. You actually have to spend time with her first! How terrible!
Really, I should be feeling pity for this poor creature who would fall into the trap of marrying this man. A great deal of pity.
So why the bloody hell did I feel so angry instead?
He looked down at me sharply, the first time during the dance he had given me his full, undivided attention.
‘How do you know I will be spending more time at social events?’ His finger twitched again. ‘You cannot have… No, you simply cannot have guessed my plans!’
Oh dear. He was just as self-centred as all other men. He couldn’t hope to rival a woman’s intuition.
‘Actually, I think I have,’ I said as sweetly as possible.
He looked up again, staring at Miss Hamilton and Lord Dalgliesh, who were still engaged in conversation.
‘I must say I’m surprised, Miss Linton. I didn’t think you would figure it out so quickly. In fact, I didn’t think anybody could figure it out on their own.’
I had to work hard to conceal a snort.
Please! With your staring at her the entire time? What sort of silly guffin do you take me for?
‘I think it is pretty obvious,’ I retorted, my tone not a bit sarcastic. Honest, maybe, but not a bit sarcastic,
‘Indeed? Well, if I were you, Miss Linton, I’d keep what you know to yourself. If it comes out that you know, you will be in terrible danger. You might end up with a knife between your ribs.’
My eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s going a bit far, don't you think?’ A derisive snort escaped me. ‘She can’t be that jealous.’
‘She?’ Abruptly, he stopped turning. The neighbouring couples almost crashed into us, and only because I stirred him into motion again was a collision avoided. ‘She? What are you talking about, Miss Linton?’
‘Your…’ I swallowed. For some reason it was hard to say out loud. Avoiding his eyes helped, so I looked down. ‘Your romantic interest in Miss Hamilton, of course.’ A frown crept onto my face. ‘What were you talking about?’
He didn’t answer me at first. Looking up, I saw that his beautiful statue’s face was even more emotionless than usual. Whereas normally it just looked stony, now it looked completely vacant. He looked as if he was readjusting the gears of his brain.
‘Well…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was talking of my interest in Miss Hamilton, of course. You’re right. I am very romantically interested. Indeed you could say, pining with love for her. That would be a very accurate description of the situation.’
‘I see,’ I mumbled, looking down again, so I didn’t have to look at his chiselled face anymore. For some reason my eyes started stinging. ‘What was it that caught your fancy? Her figure? Her eyes?’
‘Her eyes. And her figure, too. And her dress, her manners, and her… well, she does not have anything more to catch fancies with, but all that she does have is very fancy-catching. You could say that I have passionately fallen in love with the entirety of her, not just the individual components.’
‘But you like her eyes.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘What is so special about them?’ I demanded to know, still not daring to look up. I had a suspicion why my eyes were stinging, and if it was correct I wanted nothing less than for him to see my face right now. ‘I saw nothing extraordinary about them!’
He cleared his throat again. ‘Well… they look very… very ocular, for one thing.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Pardon?’
‘This word, “ocular”. What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It is Latin. It is a word denoting everything that refers to eyes.’
‘So… what you’re in fact saying is that what’s special about her eyes is that they look very much like eyes.’
Now I simply had to stare up at him suspiciously. He wouldn’t see my face anyway. He would still be staring at her.
I was right. He was. His gaze was still firmly fixed on the lady and Lord Dalgliesh.
‘Her nose is very lovely, too,’ he added, sounding more like a salesman at the London market praising a fish of whose freshness he wasn’t convinced than like a passionate lover. Maybe he always sounded like that when he was in love. If so, God have mercy on any poor creature who ever developed real, deep feelings for him! Not that something like that was ever likely to happen.
‘Does it, Sir?’