Silence No More

13. Mashed Chocolates with Bear Hair

I froze in place. Beside me, I could feel Mr Ambrose stiffen, his eyes zeroing in on the man in front of us. Even standing in the shadow of the manor as he was, I could see he was a tall man, his sleek black hair tied back into a ponytail, and his form was clad in sumptuous attire that looked as if it had been plucked straight from a Paris fashion show. Except...

Models at a fashion show didn't come with a rifle over their shoulder. Or an armed escort of half a dozen men, for that matter.

"Vicomte."

The single word from Mr Ambrose's lips was not a query. It was a statement. I wasn't sure if he had ever met the Vicomte de Saint-Celeste before. I certainly hadn't. But there was no question in my mind as to who this was. That aura the man gave off...

"Ah, such a loquaciousness! Such a courteous greeting. Just like I would have expected from a man of your reputation." With a light clap of applause, the man in the shadows stepped out into the light—and I stared. I stared right into two piercing blue eyes set into a stunningly handsome, aristocratic face. The second-most handsome face I had ever seen on a man.

Leaning over to Adaira, I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, "Are you sure you don't want to marry him?"

"Yes!"

That was a rather firm answer. As was her foot coming down on my toes.

"Good."

I turned my eyes back on the vicomte, resuming my study of his face. After all, if you wanted to kill a man, you had better commit his face to memory, no?

So...that's him, whispered a little voice at the back of my mind. That's the man who tried to kill you, Lilly. To kill your husband. To kill Berty.

And now he was standing here in front of me. Smirking.

"Can I shoot him?" I whispered to Mr Ambrose.

"He has six armed guards with him."

"And I have six bullets in my revolver."

"That still leaves one."

"Not if I manage to shoot through two with one bullet."

Before he could come up with a response to that argument of impeccable logic, the dead man walking, also known as the Vicomte de Saint-Celeste, started towards us. Instantly, our whispered conversation ceased. Seeing the confident smirk on his face, I seriously considered forgetting about my revolver and just punching him in the face.

"It is such a pleasant surprise to see you here, Monsieur." Spreading his arms, the tall Frenchman stopped a few feet away from us, his guards spreading out behind him. Only now did I notice that they were all carrying bloody animal carcasses. I swallowed. "Here I was, enjoying an innocent little hunt in the forest with a few friends of mine, and when I return to present the trophies of my hunt to my lovely wife-to-be, I find her brother has arrived to celebrate with us!" He swept into an elegant bow, coincidentally pointing his rifle our way for the briefest of moments. "What an honour that you would personally come to celebrate my engagement to your sister. I have always respected you greatly and would love nothing more than to share this special moment with you."

"What a coincidence," Mr Rikkard Ambrose answered, his voice dropping to absolute zero temperature while his hand moved towards the place he kept his gun full of bullets. "I have some things I would like to share with you as well."

"How splendid! And, if I may ask..." His gaze landed on me, and I had to force myself not to shudder. "...who is this lovely lady?"

I was still holding onto Mr Ambrose. Thus, I felt the jerk go through his body, followed by perfect, deadly stillness. Deep in the marrow of my bones, I knew that he was only a hair's breadth away from hurling himself at DeMerdaunt and wrapping his hands round the man's throat.