She nodded at those words in total agreement, even as the thought of never having him kiss her again made her sad.
“We will speak on it no more,” she said, turning to meet his eyes. He replied with a solemn nod.
“Tell me you have stayed out of that room below the stairs,” Ambrose then whispered as she faced the musicians once more.
“Have you?”
“Yes, but I can defend myself should I need to, and you cannot.”
“What are you two discussing?” Violet hissed.
“The music,” Tilly replied.
“I think it is some kind of cult,” she said to Ambrose. “Something sinister.”
“You could be right, but I’m unsure we will ever know if no one returns. It could have disbanded.”
Tilly didn’t think so. She believed that whoever had been congregating down there still did and that whatever they got up to was dangerous and evil. But she kept that thought to herself.
“Do not go back down there, Tilly. I must have your promise on this,” Ambrose whispered.
She didn’t reply, and he could do little in a room full of people to make her promise.
“I’m watching you, Miss Wilson,” he warned.
Why those words made her shiver, she had no idea, as she’d been threatened before many times.
“I fail to see how you can,” she said in a tight voice, “seeing as you can’t even keep up with your sisters.”
She refused to speak to him again, even when he whispered, “This is not a game,” into her ear.
CHAPTER 12
The performance was not as terrible as he’d first thought it would be, but Ambrose was more than ready for it to stop when it did.
Looking at the slender, pale length of Tilly’s neck had him wanting to stroke a finger down it to test the texture of her skin. Then he’d wondered what it would taste like if he placed his lips there. Ambrose had made himself look away and focused on the stage. He’d willed his eyes to stay there until the last note had fallen silent.
He’d apologized to Tilly about what happened at Crabbett Close and said it would never happen again. She’d agreed.
So that was done with… and yet, Ambrose knew she was becoming a problem, and it had to stop. When he’d seen her walk in through those terrace doors with Howard, the stab of jealousy had been instant.
Bloody woman.
“Well now, that wasn’t so bad,” Cissa said as she joined Ambrose and Tavi where they stood after the performance.
“Baddish, but not really bad,” Tavi agreed.
“Baddish has never been a word, and I see no reason for to become one now,” he said in his most pompous and annoying elder-brother voice.
“I thought Miss Hayes was goodish,” Cissa then said to annoy him.
“I agreeish with that,” Tavi added.
“Desist,” he hissed, and his sisters giggled at his annoyance. “When is your fiancé back in London, Cissa, at least then you can annoy him instead of me?”
“Another few weeks I believe. His grandfather is extremely ill.”
“Well, I’m sorry for that, but I shall be glad of his return,” Ambrose muttered.
