"What, pray, were the two of you about to do?"

Not a question I wanted to face just after being interrupted canoodling with my husband in my male disguise. Especially not coming from this man.

"I, um...I..."

"We were just discussing some business matters," Mr Ambrose cut in, his icy gaze drilling into the vicomte. "As you can imagine, with the birth of my child, I have been somewhat distracted of late."

"Ah yes, your child." The Frenchman gifted us with a charming smile. "When will I be able to meet the little monsieur?"

"He is sleeping." Mr Ambrose's face didn't even twitch.

"Ah. Later then, peut être?"

"He will be sleeping for a long time. A very long time."

"What a shame. But that is not why I am here, Monsieur Ambrose. I heard another guest recently arrived at Battlewood. A Monsieur Victor Linton?" His eyes sparkled darkly. "I would like to have a few words with him."

Mr Ambrose's expression didn't change an iota. But Karim? He couldn't quite keep his eyes from twitching over to me.

"Oh? So it's you?" Turning to me, His Excellency the Vicomte showed even more teeth than before. A shark would have been proud. "You are Monsieur Linton?"

The way he said that...it was as if, as an echo of his words, I could hear my death knell.

"I would say it is a pleasure to meet you," the French nobleman continued, his voice turning steely, "but I don't take pleasure in meeting my enemies, Monsieur. Only in beating them."

I, for my part, was currently sweating bullets. Why, you may ask? Because a dangerous, powerful man was stalking towards me? Because my secret had nearly been revealed?

Why, no.

In fact, it was because...

Crap, crap, crap! How the hell does one play a jealous macho man? How the heck am I supposed to take part in a pissing contest if the equipment is missing? My uncle's socks sure as hell won't do the job!

All right, no need to panic, Lilly. You've seen how Mr Ambrose acts when other men get close to you. This is the same, right? You'll just have to emulate him. You're fighting for your woman, Lilly! Channel your inner Dick!

All trace of emotion slid off my face. My spine straightened, my eyes frosted over and my gaze pierced the approaching nobleman.

"You! You are the fool who wants to steal my woman!"

"Your woman?" The vicomte's eyes narrowed. "Last time I checked, Monsieur, I was here first."

I answered this in the best way possible: a dismissive wave of the hand. No words wasted, and no need to think of an actual answer that would make sense.

Heck, now I knew why Mr Ambrose did this all the time!

And speaking of Mr Rikkard Ambrose...

The man in question appeared right next to me, his face impassive, yet his eyes as arctic as the North Pole. He leaned towards me, and, out of the corner of his mouth, hissed, "What in Midas' name do you think you are doing?"

"My best impression of an overprotective man. Duh."

"And your inspiration was...."

My answering smile was reply enough.

As was the icy stare he sent me in return. "Practise. A lot."

That son of a bachelor! He just didn't appreciate my supreme acting talent. Well, I would simply have to show him. Resuming my best imitation of a marble bust, I turned back to the vicomte and sent him an arctic glare. Or at least a slightly chilly one. Dang, this macho man thing was hard!

"You were here first? Ha! I'm a man, Vicomte. If I like what I see, I take what I see. And I most definitely like Miss Adaira." Staring frosty daggers at him, I took a step towards my rival in love, doing my best to puff out my chest without drawing attention to its not-so-masculine shape. "On the other hand, if I don't like what I see..."

My eyes still fixed on him, I let the sentence trail off meaningfully.

"I understand." Not taking his eyes off me for a single instant, the vicomte performed the tiniest of bows. "What a coincidence. It seems we might be able to become friends."

That made me almost lose my stony façade. What the bloody hell was he talking about? "Friends?"

"Oh yes. After all, we seem to have quite a few things in common." His blue eyes, formerly like blue lakes glittering in the sunlight, suddenly turned hard as emeralds. "I also enjoy eliminating what I don't like. Crushing your enemies can be so satisfactory, n'est-ce pas?"

My answer to that was pretty much predestined. "Indeed."

Beside me, Mr Ambrose's little finger twitched. Both the vicomte and I ignored him.

"So...then shall we enjoy our favourite hobby together, Monsieur?"

Where the hell was he going with this?

Irrelevant. Remember, Lilly? You're a chauvinist now! A macho man! And macho men don't back down! Backing down is for cute little cats! Or is it pussies? Oh hell, who cares!

"Indeed." I answered the man's predatory look with one of my own. "But it would be rather boorish of us to disturb the peace of our host's home with a duel. Not when there are so many...interesting alternatives."

The vicomte peered at me suspiciously. "What do you propose?"

Yes, Lilly, enquired my inner voice, what do you propose? I'd like to know that as well.

Truth be told, I had no bloody clue! I only knew that I had recognized the ruthless sparkle in DeMerdaunt's eyes. No matter for what reason he was going after Adaira, it was important enough for him to kill. The bastard was about to duel me! And while I was willing to do many things to ensure the happiness of my dear sister-in-law, up to and including possibly starting a multi-gender harem, I was not willing to let myself be gunned down before I had heard Berty say "mama"!

Apparently, Mr Ambrose seemed to share the same opinion. Well, at least regarding my staying alive, probably not regarding the M-word. Because he chose this moment to intervene. Stepping forward, he interposed himself between myself and the vicomte.

"What he proposes? Is it not obvious?" My husband cocked his head. "It is my father's prerogative to give Adaira away, and thus, it is my father who should decide the matter."

Yes! Excellent idea! If you can't be bothered to do something yourself, unload it on somebody else!

Honestly, how could I have forgotten this classic tactic of dickish men? Ah, well, I guess you can never beat an expert.

"What he said." I jabbed a thumb in the direction of my combined husband and brother-in-law to be. "We are both clearly here in a contest for Miss Adaira's hand, Vicomte. Then why not have a true contest? The knights of old were fond of competing for a lady's favour. You are a nobleman, are you not? Why not follow your forefathers' example?"

And give me some much-needed time to think of a way to get out of this bloody situation in the process!

"A contest for Mademoiselle Adaira's hand, eh?" The vicomte regarded me for a long moment—then stepped back and inclined his head, this time the tiniest bit farther. "I accept, Monsieur."

Wait...he actually swallowed that codswallop?

"It seems I may have underestimated you, Monsieur Linton. Will the marquess be the one presiding over our contest?"

"Naturally," I answered automatically, still a little dazed by my own bullshitting skills.

"Very well then. I shall await you on the field of battle." Striding towards the door, the vicomte gestured at the two liveried servants waiting for him there. "Allons-y!"

A moment later, the door closed behind him, and he was gone.

I blinked.

"Did...did he actually just buy that contest nonsense?"

"For the moment." Stepping to my side, Mr Ambrose watched the closed door darkly. "Though I do not wish to find out what he plans to do if he loses this little competition of yours."

Those words sent a shiver down my back, and I realised that DeMordaunt was far, far more cunning than I gave him credit for. After all, why shouldn't he agree to this? It was very likely that he, a rich and accomplished nobleman, thought he could beat a nobody such as yours truly at whatever contest the Marquess Ambrose might decide to come up with. A judgement that was most likely correct. And if it turned out not to be...well, if by some miracle he lost, it still wasn't too late to employ other methods.

"What should we do?" I asked. I wasn't one to normally ask for advice from others. But my husband knew the vicomte far better than I did. No need to mention his better knowledge of his own father.

"For now?" His little finger twitched. "Wait."

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smirk at that. "That really pisses you off, doesn't it?"

His little finger twitched again. "Indeed, if crudely phrased. But there is nothing to be done about it. Until my father makes up his mind as to what challenges he wishes to present you with, there is nothing we can do. At least not regarding DeMordaunt."

It took a moment for the penny to drop. When it did, I couldn't help but grin again. "But regarding your father's secret plot..."

"You have read my mind, Mrs Ambrose."

"Naturally." Sidling up to him, I claimed his arm with mine. "That's a wife's job."

"Does it only work on husbands? Because I certainly could use an ability like that to help me figure out what my father is up to."

I frowned. "I thought you already knew?"

"I have my suspicions." His eyes darkened in a way that made my hair stand on end. "But I can't be sure."

"Well, then let's make sure, shall we?" I tightened my grip on his arm. "Any suggestions?"

"Hm..." Deep in thought, Mr Ambrose stroked his chin. "There is only one man who might know what my father has been up to recently. If he's still alive, that is."

"Still alive?" My eyebrows shot up. That sounded rather ominous. "Who are you talking about, exactly?"

"Follow me."

That was his only answer before he slipped out of my grip and strode towards the door. I was about to follow—when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Oh, and Mr Linton?"

"Yes?"

Whirling around, he captured my face with his hands, his dark, sea-coloured eyes boring into mine.

"If you ever dare impersonate me again, I shall punish you. Severely."

My heart sped up, and I felt a grin spread across my face.

"I look forward to it."

"That was supposed to be a threat, Mr Linton."

I grinned. "I know. I'll look forward to it anyway."

"Hm." He whirled around again, and stalked towards the door. "Let's go!"

"Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

Any other time, I might have objected to being ordered around. But right now? I was too interested in finding out exactly who he was taking me to. Not to mention my curiosity about his father's secret plans and plots. That was what had me truly concerned. Because I recognized the look in my husband's eyes when he spoke of those. A look I had never really seen in his eyes before.

What on earth could that chauvinistic old bugger do to make Mr Rikkard Ambrose feel actual fear?

I didn't really want to know, and yet...I had to. And thus, I followed him. Or at least I tried to. Mr Ambrose strode through the corridors of the manor at his typical speed, somehow managing to move faster than a runner while still appearing to walk, his long legs eating up the ground. Panting, I did my best to keep up with him.

Well, look at the bright side, Lilly. At least you'll get some exercise, right? You might need it. After all, you were putting on quite a bit of weight recently...

And I lost it just as quickly, after the baby was born! Shut up, stupid inner voice!

At the prodigious pace we were moving, we soon reached the exit of the manor. Not the main exit, mind you, but a side-exit that led out onto a narrow gravel path. Eyebrows raised, I continued to follow my husband along said path, until we reached a tiny, rather dilapidated cottage at the edge of the woods.

"Where are we?" I whispered.

"When my parents lost the manor to Dalgliesh, this cottage was the only place they managed to cling on to. Last time I checked, he still comes here to take care of the garden and clean the place."

"He?"

This was getting more and more curious.

However, before I could get my hands on my dear husband and squeeze some information out of him, a figure rounded the corner of the little house. I squinted in surprise. At first, I thought it was Leadfield, Uncle Bufford's ancient, hunch-backed butler. But after a moment or two, I revised my opinion. Even Leadfield was nowhere near as old and wrinkled as this fellow.

Nor as butlerish, added a little voice in my head as I scrutinised the old man's impeccably ironed butler uniform.

"Fernsby!"

Mr Ambrose's shout was enough to nearly make the old man keel over. Looking around, he caught sight of us and his eyes widened.

"Y-young Master Rikkard? You look so tall and grown-up!"

My jaw dropped. A moment later, a diabolical smile spread across my face as I turned towards my dear husband.

"Young Master Rikkard, eh?"

"Suddenly," Mr Ambrose stated under his breath, "I think coming here might have been a mistake."

"Why, Young Master Rikkard?" Sidling up to him, I batted my eyelashes at him. "Don't you want to hear all about how you're all grown up and ready to eat without a nappy?"

"Mr Linton?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Be. Silent."

"Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

"Young Master Rikkard!" Hobbling towards us at a speed an arthritic tortoise would have been proud of, the old man bowed deeply. Or nearly toppled over by accident, maybe. The difference was hard to tell. "It is such a pleasure to see you again after all these years. Do you still remember to eat your vegetables every day like I taught you?"

I slapped my hand in front of my mouth.

Do not laugh. Repeat, do not laugh. You're Mr Victor Linton right now, and good employees don't laugh about their bosses.

"Oh, he d-definitely does," I squeezed out between giggles. "I make s-sure of it."

"Ah, really?" Owlishly, the old man blinked up at me. "And who might you be, young sir? His caretaker? I remember, in the old days when I was still worked up at the big house, the young master got up to so much trouble we had three nannies take care of him, and—"

"Ehem. Yes, well." Pushing himself between me and the old butler, Mr Ambrose sent me a look that said Stop now, or else! I didn't know why, though. After all, I was having lots of fun. "Enough of that, you two!"

"Yes, I'm something like a nanny," I agreed, popping up over Mr Ambrose's shoulder. "It can be exhausting sometimes, but I just can't help myself. He'd be lost without me."

"I know what you mean, young sir," the delightful older gentleman agreed with a nod and an asthmatic cough. "I remember this one time when he was five and—"

"Ehem!" I don't know how Mr Rikkard Ambrose managed to make clearing his throat sound as threatening as approaching cannon fire, but somehow he did it. His stern gaze fell on the older man, halting our pleasant banter. "Now is not the time for anecdotes, Fernsby. We came here to ask you something."

The old man looked so thoroughly disappointed I almost wanted to disagree—until I felt the pressure of Mr Ambrose's foot on my toes.

"He's right," I admitted reluctantly—then brightened. "We can exchange anecdotes later!"

"Be that as it may," my spoilsport of a husband cut in, "we actually came here to ask you something important."

"Hm?" Fernsby cupped a wrinkled hand behind his ear. "You want to ask me something about impotence? Young master, at your age, you shouldn't have such problems! If you want my help, I could recommend a brew concocted by old Milly living over yonder that—"

"No need!" Mr Ambrose hurriedly cut off the old man with a gesture—then glanced back over his shoulder, to where I was currently busy having a coughing fit.

"Mr Linton?"

"Y-yaahahahaha...yes?"

"Stop. Laughing."

"C-c-cahahahan't!"

"You are not the only one who can attempt to acquire blackmail material, you know. I'm sure your aunt would love to share your baby pictures—for the right price."

That shut me up—until I remembered something. Grinning, I gave him a wink. "Oh, I'm sure she would—if Uncle Bufford had ever paid for any. So unfortunately, you're out of luck, Mr Ambrose, Sir."

A muscle in his cheek twitched.

"Pity." Before I could start giggling again, he re-focused on the old butler, who was watching the whole scene with bemusement. "As I was saying, Fernsby, we came here to ask you something important."

"Oh? Is that so, Young Master Rikkard?" The old man gave my dear husband an encouraging smile. "Don't you worry. Old Fernsby'll help you out of your little pickle. What do you need help with?"

"Information." My husband's eyes pinned the old man in place. And yet, for the first time in a very long time, there was no coldness in his gaze. No threat. Not even a hint of intimidation. Whoever this old man was, he was important. I would have to have a nice chat with him later. "We need to know what my father is up to."

"Hm..." Scratching his chin, the old butler put on an embarrassed expression. "This... Sorry, Young Master, but..."

I felt my heart drop. He was going to say no?

"Fernsby." Mr Ambrose's hand clasped the old man's shoulder, his voice intense. "We need this, and you are the only one who can help. You—"

"Apologies, Young Master Rikkard." Regretfully, the old butler shook his balding head. "As His Lordship's butler, it would not behoove me to disclose my master's secrets, even to his family."

Dammit!

"However..."

My head, already lowering in disappointment, snapped up to look at him. A small, cheeky smile was playing around the old man's wrinkled lips.

"However...I don't think it would do any harm to let you know that the master has been spending a lot of time in the east wing of the manor, lately."

Mr Ambrose stiffened. "The east wing?"

"Yes, Young Master." Fernsby nodded gravely. "The east wing."

"The east wing?" I also enquired.

"Yes, Sir. The east wing."

"Ah." I nodded wisely—then leaned over towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose and lowered my voice. "What's in the east wing?"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose very pointedly did not smile.

"It's been a long time since I've been here, but if things are still the same way they were during my childhood..." He swallowed. "Let's go check."

And before I could answer, he was on the move once more. With a last wave at the old butler, I hurried after him.

"You know...huff, huff...a lady is supposed to rest after pregnancy...huff, huff...right?"

"Pregnant?" Out of the corner of his eyes, he threw me his patented big boss glance. "How could you possibly have been pregnant, Mr Linton?"

I decided to find a nice cudgel to knock him over the head with at the earliest opportunity. After all, I had to reciprocate my dear husband's show of love and care, didn't I?

"Besides, latest medical studies have shown exercise to be healthy for new mothers."

"Indeed? And who...huff, huff...commissioned those studies?"

"Irrelevant. Chop chop!"

Considering that rather suspicious answer, I might have decided to probe further if, at that very moment, we had not arrived at the manor entrance. Sweeping past the lackey at the door, who greeted us with a bow, we made our way into the entrance hall, and from there towards what I assumed was the east wing. The closer we got, the more the tension inside me rose. What would we find there? What had Mr Ambrose's father been up to?

That look in my husband's eyes...

He had always been so strong. So implacable. How could he, of all people, feel fear?

I was half-expecting to find some gold-eating monster there, or a secret community of bank-robbing pixies. Now that was something Mr Ambrose would be afraid of. But nothing could have prepared me for what we actually found when we finally reached the double-doors to the east wing. With a forceful push, Mr Ambrose sent the doors flying open and, side-by-side, we came to a stop right in front of...

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Seems that most of you guessed correctly regarding the villain behind the scenes. As a reward from Mr Ambrose you shall receive...a chilly stare! ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob