"He's a truly delightful fellow, that Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh."

The words fell on my ears like heavy rocks. No, like mountains. I almost staggered under the weight. It couldn't really be true, right? It couldn't.

With that man? It can. It definitely can.

"¡Bastardo!" a curse erupted from my mouth. "¡Maldito hijo de puta intrigante! ¡Encontraré a esa serpiente y haré que se ahogue con su propio veneno!"

The vicomte cleared his throat. "Um, Monsieur Linton? Could you translate, please? You do remember me mentioning that I only speak English and French, non?"

I completely ignored him in favour of continuing my cursing rant. "Jadōṁ maiṁ usanū labha lavāṅgā, maiṁ usadē jigara nū pāṛa di'āṅgā atē usadē hakadāra gadhē nū bhara di'āṅgā! Maiṁ usadē jhūṭhē mūha dē sārē dada tōṛa di'āṅgā atē usadī ataṛī'āṁ nū sūrāṁ dē cārē vajōṁ varata di'āṅgā!"

"I can't help but agree with the sentiment, Mr Linton." Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent me a chilly look. "But I suggest refraining from that sort of language when we are in the company of a certain someone, understood?"

I nodded obediently and made a mental note to teach Berty my repertoire of curses at the earliest opportunity. As a good mother, it was my duty to educate the next generation.

But...not now.

Not till I had gotten to the bottom of this matter.

But before I could open my mouth, Mr Ambrose spoke up. Which, considering his usual lack of loquaciousness, told me a lot about how very, very furious he was at this moment.

"Monsieur Vicomte...did you just say 'Dalgliesh'?"

"Yes, I did. Why?"

My husband muttered something under his breath too low for me to hear. Did Mr Rikkard Ambrose actually just curse? "DeMordaunt, tell me—do you have any business in the Caribbean?"

"No, the weather does not agree with me." Saint-Celeste frowned. "Why?"

"No shipping lines? No trade at all?"

"The French have not had significant colonies in the Americas since the sale of Louisiana in 1803. Why would I bother sending ships to foreign parts when I can make business within the French Empire without paying tariffs?"

That...was a good point, actually.

He had made a lot of good points recently. Far too many for my liking. It was looking more and more like he wasn't actually the despicable villain we had thought him to be—just incredibly dense when it came to women. And considering all the men I had met during my life, that wasn't exactly something I could punch him in the face for, even if I really, really wanted to. It was starting to appear more and more likely that everything that had befallen me and my family recently wasn't, in fact, the vicomte's fault.

And if it wasn't...

I exchanged a look with Mr Ambrose. "Dalgliesh?"

"Yes. Dalgliesh!" The word was spit from his mouth like a curse.

Truth be told, I felt like adding some actual curses of my own. But now wasn't the time. The realisation we just had come to...it was more important than anything else.

"A double-bluff!" I snarled. "Back when we were attacked in the Caribbean, that bastard Dalgliesh played us with a double-bluff! Remember how, at first, everything pointed to him being the culprit? Only, later we discovered clues that pointed to another figure manipulating everything from the shadows, and we thought Dalgliesh had simply been used as a scapegoat! Now it turns out the bastard had us dancing by his strings every step of the way!"

"Apparently." Mr Rikkard Ambrose's response was as curt as it was cold. "But now we have cut those strings. I told Dalgliesh what would happen if he dared to try and touch you, to touch my family. Now that he has seen fit to ignore that order, I will make him rue the day he was born!"

"We," I corrected. "We will make him rue the day he was born."

"Indeed."

While our discussion was going on, I hadn't failed to notice the vicomte's eyes flicking back and forth between the two of us. I could practically see the wheels in his head turning. Clearly, no matter how dense he might be in regard to women's hearts, he was smart enough to realise what was going on. And, from the looks of it, he was not very pleased with it.

"Dalgliesh!" Eyes narrowed, DeMordaunt took a step towards us. "You mean to say that blaireau actually dared to use my name to shield himself? He used the name of Armand Odilon DeMordaunt, Vicomte de Saint-Celeste, for his dirty dealings?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Mr Ambrose spared him a glance. "Yes."

"And from your words, I surmise you are his enemies?"

I snorted. "You can say that again."

"Indeed," my dear husband confirmed.

"Then..." The vicomte narrowed his eyes even further—and then did the very last thing I expected. He extended his hands. "Friends?"

My jaw dropped.

Mine wasn't the only one, either. Adaira looked like she would have to collect her jaw from the floor later. Or maybe from the earth's core? The aforementioned jaw certainly seemed to be doing its best to travel downwards without stopping.

"Are...are you bloody serious?!" she demanded. "Friends? I spent most of the last few weeks fantasising about choking you!"

He shrugged. "We all have our little kinks, mademoiselle. I do not judge."

It was quite impressive, I had to admit, how he managed to make her jaw drop even farther.

"I'm going to strangle you!"

"As I said, Mademoiselle, I don't judge. We Frenchmen are not quite as...conservative in these matters as you Englishmen, n'est-ce pas? Personally, my interest lies in—"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear what perversions you indulge in!"

"Ah, oui. You are right." He nodded, thoughtfully. "Maybe that should wait till after the wedding."

Adaira looked like she was about to eviscerate him—until she noticed the expression on my face. "Mr Linton?"

"Yes?"

"Stop smirking!"

"Me? Smirking? I would never!" I patted her shoulder. "I am a gentleman. Why would I ever make fun of your kinks, my dear? If you enjoy that kind of thing, you should embrace it. It's not like you have to pretend to be a proper, virtuous young lady here. After all, we all already know how much you look forward to having a reverse harem."

And the winner of the Make-Adaira's-Jaw-Drop-The-Farthest Award goes to...Lillian Ambrose!

"Oh, so you are interested in that kind of thing?" The vicomte cocked his head, thoughtfully. "I have to admit, it is not something I would usually do. But I have a few friends back in Paris who might be interested in helping, if that is what my lady love wishes."

"Your lady love wishes for you to take your own head and stuff it up your arse!"

"Now, that is going a bit far, n'est-ce pas? If your predilections lie in that direction, I can recommend some toys. But my head? The contortions that would require, mademoiselle—"

I moved just in time to prevent Adaira from throwing herself at the vicomte. Oh my. Had he really won her heart, and she was going to embrace him?

"Let go of me! Let go of me now! I'm going to tear that bastard apart!"

Yep, this was definitely love.

"Ah, this takes me back," sighed Eve, who apparently agreed with me. "Remember, Flora, when we first met the other girls? It was just like this."

"Yes!" Flora had a happy smile on her face. "Seems like we can really all be friends."

Hearing that, Adaira immediately stopped trying to get at Saint-Celeste and switched to trying to murder Flora instead. She wasn't the only one in the room who was contemplating homicide, either. My friends and I, now that we had discovered the true culprit behind the scenes, seemed to be rather open to the idea of peaceful coexistence with the vicomte. Mr Rikkard Ambrose however, who'd just had to listen to the Frenchman exchange sexual banter with his little sister for several minutes, was considerably less lenient.

"Mr Linton?"

"Yes, Sir?" I enquired while dragging Adaira back a step to keep her away from Flora's neck.

"Do you still have your duelling pistol with you?"

"I think so. But right now, I have my hands full."

"Pity. Then I will have to take care of this myself." Eyes flashing, Mr Ambrose cracked his knuckles.

Uh-oh...

Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed him by the back of his tailcoat.

"Focus!" I ordered. "Dalgliesh, remember? He is our enemy, not this fellow."

"Are you sure, Mr Linton?" he enquired. "He could be lying."

"Don't sound so hopeful."

"He's right," Adaira piped up while doing her best to free herself from my hold. "That Frog bastard is bound to be lying!"

"You wound me, mon amour!"

"Shut your gob, Frenchie!"

Was it just my impression, or were the two made for each other after all?

It took a while but, with the help of my sister and friends, I was eventually able to pull both Mr Ambrose and Adaira to a safe distance. From opposite ends of the room, Frenchman and Englishman eyed each other cautiously. The only thing that was missing was a channel in the middle, and someone might launch an invasion any moment.

Such an outcome wasn't totally out of the question. Because even after everything had happened, I still had some doubts. Was DeMordaunt truly telling the truth, or was he lying? Was he just trying to shift the blame to Dalgliesh? Not that I would put anything past Dalgliesh, but...I had seen the vicomte as the villain for so long, it was difficult to change my views.

Well, Lilly, if you still have doubts, let's resolve them, shall we?

"So..." I tapped a finger against my chin. "You never meant to force Adaira into marriage, did you? Does that mean that, now that you know she doesn't want to marry you, you will leave her alone?"

"Well, I would certainly never force her to do anything she does not want to—"

I let out a sigh of relief.

"—but if you want to know whether I will leave, then the answer is non."

Too early, it seemed.

"What?!" Only just in time, I managed to tighten my grip on Adaira. If I'd been a second later, her hands would already have been clamped around the vicomte's throat.

"You...!" She growled, stabbing a finger at the DeMordaunt. "You...!"

"If I may ask," I enquired in as calm and polite a manner I could manage while wrestling with a rabid tigress, "why?"

The Frenchman gave me his most charming smile. "Why, l'amour, of course, Mademoiselle. Originally, I came here simply due to a recommendation and curiosity. But then I saw Mademoiselle Adaira, and, well..." He gave a soulful sigh, and looked in Adaira's direction with a longing look that was reciprocated with a homicidal glare. "That was it for me. Love at first sight. I must convince Mademoiselle Adaira of the sincerity of my feelings, for I have lost my heart. And the only way to get it back is to win hers."

"Oh, you think you have lost your heart, do you?" From within my clutches, Adaira sent him a smile that would have sent lions running in fear. "If you want, I could fetch a knife and check. Maybe it's still in your chest after all."

"Sadly, I must decline, mademoiselle. I appreciate a wide variety of implements in the bedroom, but knives are taking it a little too far."

"I'm going to tear your dick off!"

"That, mon amour, would be counterproductive to our burgeoning romance."

"Eat crap and die!"

Tuning out the murder-banter of the two pseudo-lovebirds, I exchanged looks with Mr Ambrose. "What do you think? Was he telling the truth?"

A muscle in Mr Ambrose cheek twitched. It was clear he so very, very much wanted to say "no". Almost as much as he wanted to break the vicomte's teeth and use his face to polish the floor. But in the end, he stiffened his spine and bit the bullet.

"Most likely, yes."

"So...what now?"

"Now?" He took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on me. "Now we take care of the real culprit. But before that..."

"Before that?" I frowned. Right now, was there anything more important than dealing with Dalgliesh?

"Before that, we deal with a drowned rat."

I blinked, uncomprehending. "Huh?"

"The marquess."

"Ah." I nodded, a grin spreading over my face. "So glad to see you are showing the appropriate amount of respect for your dear father."

"Indeed. He might have been distracted by your friends before, but we still need to have a little talk with him. Especially now that he is the only obstacle to my sister's freedom. Let's explain the current situation to him until it is painstakingly clear." He cracked his knuckles. "Emphasis on 'pain'."

"That sounds like an excellent plan, darling."

"What about Adaira?" Eve enquired.

I glanced over at where Adaira and the vicomte were trading death-threats for declarations of undying love. "Let's leave them to it. They seem to be having fun."

That muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched again, and I heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded like: "That is what I am afraid of." Raising a finger, he pointed at Karim. "Stay. If he gets out of line..." Mr Ambrose's finger made a swift movement across his throat.

"Understood, Sahib."

"You know what?" I told him as we made our way out of the room, "I am suddenly really glad that I am not a contender for your sister's hand anymore."

"So am I, Mr Linton. I have always hoped that, one day, my sister will marry a respectable man."

"Oy! I take umbrage to that!"

"Why? Because you are so very male?"

I opened my mouth—and then closed it again. Dammit! He had me there.

While I was busy working on a suitable comeback, we strode down the corridor and made our way downstairs. We had just stepped into the entrance hall when we encountered the most amazingly amusing sight I had ever had the pleasure to behold. To be precise, we encountered a dripping-wet Marquess Ambrose, his shirt a mess and algae stuck in his hair.

"Why, hello Your Lordship." I performed the most respectful bow in my repertoire. "Fancy meeting you here."

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My dear readers,

The Louisiana mentioned in the above chapter is not the modern US state of Louisiana, although the US state's name originates from it. Originally, Louisiana was the name for the French holdings in America, named after the French King Louis. The area changed hands numerous times over the centuries, but the name remained, at least for a part of it. It was sold by the French Republic to the USA in 1803 for the (somewhat hilarious) price of fifteen million dollars.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

P.S.: Two chapters left in this book! :)

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GLOSSARY:

"¡Bastardo! ¡Maldito hijo de puta intrigante! ¡Encontraré a esa serpiente y haré que se ahogue con su propio veneno!"—Spanish for "Bastard! Damn conniving son of a bitch! I will find that snake and make him choke on his own poison!"

"Jadōṁ maiṁ usanū labha lavāṅgā, maiṁ usadē jigara nū pāṛa di'āṅgā atē usadē hakadāra gadhē nū bhara di'āṅgā! Maiṁ usadē jhūṭhē mūha dē sārē dada tōṛa di'āṅgā atē usadī ataṛī'āṁ nū sūrāṁ dē cārē vajōṁ varata di'āṅgā!"—Punjabi for "When I find him, I will rip out his liver and stuff it up his entitled arse! I will smash all the teeth in his lying mouth and use his intestines as pig fodder!"

Blaireau—French for "badger". However, it also doubles as an insult meaning everything from arsehole to idiot. Apparently, French people don't like badgers very much.