Silence No More

11. A Friendly Chat between Spouses

With a reluctant industrialist in tow, I marched down the corridors of Battlewood. The few servants we encountered quickly ducked away into alcoves and around corners for some reason. This was just a guess, of course, but maybe it had something to do with the horrifyingly murderous expression I probably had on my face at that moment.

Well, all the better. You need to have a little private chat with your husband, don't you, Lilly?

Indeed, I did. Without delay.

Which was why I abruptly stopped in front of the first convenient door and shoved it open.

Mr Ambrose cleared his throat. "Is it too much to hope that you are currently dragging me off to a private room to express your conjugal affections?"

"Ha! You wish!"

With strength I didn't quite know I had, I dragged the devious, stony son of a bachelor into the room. Slamming the door shut behind the both of us, I marched in front of the flickering fireplace so my shadow would be cast across the room in a sufficiently menacing manner and then whirled around to give Rikkard Ambrose the mother of all glares.

"Really?" I demanded, arms crossed, foot tapping the ground in that way that rightfully struck terror into all husbands' hearts. "Really? Mr Victor Linton? An exemplary employee? A capable young man? A staunch defender of the fairer sex?"

"Well," Mr Ambrose pointed out, his stony face perfectly immovable. Somehow, he didn't seem to be very afraid of my dangerously tapping foot. "You do defend yourself rather staunchly on a regular basis."

"That is not the bloody point!"

"Language, Mr Linton!"

For a moment, nothing could be heard in the room but the crackling of the fire.

"You...!" I took a step forward. The dangerous glint in my eyes was practically lighting up the room. "What did you just call me, your wife?"

Mr Ambrose shifted, clearing his throat. "Force of habit?"

"Pull the other one!"

Stalking towards him, I raised a threatening finger. I was not going to let him get away with this. I was not! Especially since, somewhere in a secret little corner of my mind, hearing him call me "Mr Linton" brought back certain...memories. Memories of stolen moments in the dark, hot and passionate and...

Ehem.

Oy, Lilly! You're angry, remember? Angry!

Right. Not the time for nostalgia. No, it was time to give my dear husband a good talking to for trying to marry me off!

"You...!" I stabbed my finger into his rock-solid chest, and nearly didn't notice the pain from almost breaking it. That was how bloody pissed off I was! "What on earth were you thinking?"

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "How to keep my sister out of a nightmare of a marriage?"

"And your best solution was to marry her off to your wife?"

This time, his eyes softened ever so slightly. Reaching up, he caressed my face before I could slap his hand away. "I could think of worse spouses."

I felt heat rush up to my face and swallowed as—

"No! No, no, no, Mister! You're not getting out of this by buttering me up! You're going to stay right where you are, and you're going to tell me what on earth possessed you to come up with such an idiotic ruse! What are you going to tell your father when you send a telegram south, and no Mr Victor Linton appears in response?"