‘Name, Sir?’

Now here was a rare specimen - someone who dared to step in my way. I regarded the royal guard before me and wondered if he knew he wasn’t going to keep his post for long.

Karim, ever the efficient employee, spoke a few curt words to the man and, for the first time, he took a good look at my face. His visage under the ridiculous pelt hat paled. Ah. Recognition. Too late.

Quickly, the unfortunate guard took a step back. Wise decision.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir. So you could come after all.’ He gave a salute, more snappy than a thousand snapped fingers. ‘We are honoured, Sir.’

‘Yes, you are.’ I strode past the guard without giving him a glance. Right now, I had more important things on my mind. Like the opportunity this ridiculous ceremony afforded me to advance the New Zealand project. There was no time to lose. Sliding out of my coat, I thrust it at the nearest walking hallstand in butler uniform. ‘Let’s get this over with. Where is the Queen?’

‘Um…Her Majesty is preparing herself, I believe, Sir.’

‘What does she need to prepare herself for? She’s had three months of engagement time for that.’

The butler cleared his throat delicately. ‘I couldn’t say, Sir.’

My patience, already strictly rationed for the last few years, was rapidly running out. ‘Well, where is this whole thing going to happen?’

‘In the Chapel Royal, Sir, but - Wait! Wait, Sir! You can’t go in there yet!’

I can’t, can I?

Behind me, I heard her snicker at the poor butler. She knew me well.

Too damn well.

Quickly, I banished that thought from my mind. Without paying any attention to the lackey’s protests, I marched into the palace.

The place was predictably pretentious. Colour and glitter everywhere. Portraits of self-important people on the walls. I didn’t give them a glance. I had a purpose here.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind me, catching up. ‘Where are we going?’

Ah. She apparently had a purpose, too. Distracting me.

‘The Chapel Royal, Mr Linton.’

‘Um…are we allowed to simply go in there?’

‘I don’t believe so, no.’

‘But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?’

She knew me well indeed. For some reason, it didn’t irk me as much as it probably should have. Why would I not object to someone seeing through me this easily? Why didn’t it make me feel suspicious and distrustful? I had always reserved a healthy portion of distrust for everybody.

‘Yes,’ I told her briskly.

I didn’t glance at her, keeping my eyes straight ahead. The corridor in front of me, the paintings, the sparkling chandelier, those were all just slight distractions, easy to ignore. But her in that dress…

I squashed that thought before it could fully form and hastened my steps. We were heading down a long corridor now. At the end of it, a set of double doors awaited us. Pushing them open, I strode inside and surveyed the Chapel Royal - the place where, since time immemorial, the kings and queens of England had married, if they didn’t want to bother with Westminster Abbey.

For a moment, I stood still, gazing up at the high, arched windows and dark, wood-panelled walls - then I shook myself. Why would I care where some self-important royal tied the knot?

Get a grip, or this deal might slip through your fingers!

‘Ah. Welcome, welcome!’ My head snapped around, and I saw some cleric in robes coming towards us. I didn’t keep track of the clergy, focusing more on keeping them at arm’s length. They had the annoying habit of asking for alms for the poor. ‘Come in, Sir, Miss. What a joyous occasion! Such a happy day deserves to be celebrated, does it not?’

‘No, it does not.’ Snatching my top hat off my head, I clamped it under my arm and gave the priest a cool look. ‘But I presume it is going to happen anyway.’

‘Err…well…’

And that was about the extent of my conversation for the next half hour. People came over to get an introduction, get a loan, or get me to marry their daughter, but I was highly skilled in rebuffing the first two kinds of overtures, and in regard to the last, Miss Linton proved to be a convenient buffer. I would have to remember that for the future.

Still, I had to admit as I glanced over at her and caught her vigorously rubbing her wet hair, after which she turned to offer the wet towel to the Comtesse de Gramont, she couldn’t just be an asset. She could be a disaster, if she wanted to.

‘What’s wrong with the towel?’ She demanded when the comtesse raised her nose and stomped off. ‘It still has some dry patches! And my hair doesn’t smell that bad.’

‘I presume it is not the towel of which she disapproves,’ I informed her coolly. ‘But the idea of rubbing her hair into haystack style in the middle of the Chapel Royal.’

‘Haystack st…! You really know how to compliment a lady, you know.’

‘Yes, I know. Do you have a comb with you?’

The question had slipped out before I really knew why or how. Why the heck would I care what she looked like in front of these people?

Well…it only made sense, didn’t it? She was my escort tonight. I couldn’t let her run around looking like that. Her appearance would reflect directly on me. That’s why I had asked. Yes.

‘Why on earth would I bring a comb to a royal wedding?’

‘I thought so. Well, no matter. Hold still.’

Almost instinctively, I reached up. The familiar movements came easy. Memories flashed in my mind, memories of being dirty, drenched and cold, long, matted clumps of hair clinging to my scalp, sometimes even freezing in the icy air. The mountains had been rough. I’d had no one to help me then. But she had someone now. Gently, I took hold of her hair.

‘Hold still? Why…’ Her words cut off as I started combing through her hair, squeezing out the last remnants of water with a practised hand, straightening rebellious curls with ease. It was all so familiar - and yet all totally new. My gut tightened as I felt a strange feeling grow inside me. It felt…warm?

What was wrong with me? It was just hair! And damn clammy hair, to boot!

My insides didn’t seem to agree. Something tugged at my very core. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to go on sliding my fingers through her soft hair even when it was completely dry. That made no sense! It was just normal, average hair. I had never had the urge to extensively tickle Karim’s beard, had I? So why now? Why her? Was I losing my mind?

Knowledge is Power is Time is Money, I reminded myself. And hair is just hair. Get a grip, and not on her! Remember who and where you are.

‘There you go.’ With a swipe of my forefinger I slid a final stray lock of hair behind her ear, completing the image. ‘Much less faeneumerial.’

‘Faenewhat?’

‘Haystackish,’ I told her, my tone colder and more brusk than usual.

‘Ha!’

The little sound of laughter that escaped her took me off guard. Instinctively, I took a step closer and-

‘Attention please!’

I froze. What was I doing? Shaking myself, I turned towards the voice that had called. The Royal Herald. Of course. We were in the Chapel Royal. Wedding. Prince. Queen. Business deal. Concentrate! ‘Attention, everybody. The Royal Couple is approaching. Please take your places.’

For a moment I hesitated, not knowing whether it would be a huge mistake - then I offered my arm to Miss Lillian Linton. ‘Come.’

And she did. She slipped her arm into mine without the slightest hesitation and walked beside me, taking me aback. I was used to women wanting me, to them being eager to catch my attention - but if and when they had it, they were always overcome by shyness, or even fear. They knew who I was and what I was capable of. Miss Linton moved so easily beside me…almost as if she…as if she trusted me?

Then she’s a fool. And you’re a fool for wasting time on thoughts like this one right here.

Abruptly, I realised we had reached our row of chairs - and she was trying to sit down. By Mammon and Midas! I grabbed hold of her arm.

‘No!’

‘But…that man said for us to take our places.’

‘Yes. Standing. You don’t sit in the presence of royalty.’

‘But…that’s stupid!’

‘Yes, it is. But until and unless someone successfully explains this to the reigning monarch, we stay upright.’ With my free hand, I reached up and, gently, with the back of my knuckles, caressed her hair. Hair that was, for some reason, so much more interesting than my own hair, or Karim’s beard, or the fur of a stray cat. ‘Understood, Miss Linton?’

She gazed up into my eyes, and once again, I felt that warm tug deep inside. Warm like her eyes.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Adequate.’

The Royal Herald pounded the floor with his staff, tearing me from my paralysis. Royals. Wedding. Business. Remember! ‘His Highness, Prince Francis Albert Augustus Charles Emmanuel of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Duke of Saxony!’

Miss Linton leaned towards me, so close I could almost feel the warmth of her through my tailcoat. ‘Is that two people he just announced, or three?’

Don’t look at her! Don’t look into her eyes! ‘One! Be quiet, Mr Linton!’

‘Miss Linton to you, Sir.’

As if I could ever forget. ‘Be quiet!’

The prince entered the room. Beside me, Miss Linton gave him a thorough once-over, then leaned over towards me again.

‘Why would anyone want to marry that?’

Be. Quiet. Two words. Not a command that should be difficult to follow, correct? In this case, apparently, it was. And why, by all that was valuable in this world, didn’t that annoy me?

‘Miss Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Shut up!’

‘Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir.’

She fell silent. Just in time, too. The prince was moving towards us, and however affable he was, I doubted he would be open to business offers after being referred to as ‘that’.

‘Follow my lead,’ I hissed into Miss Linton’s ear. ‘Do exactly what I am going to do!’

‘What? Stare at him icily?’

That woman…!

‘Just do what I do!’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Taking a deep breath in preparation for the approaching ordeal, I pulled her towards the Prince - and smiled at him.

Or at least I showed him my teeth. I hadn’t smiled - really smiled - for longer than I could remember.

But sometimes you want to. When you look at her.

Business. Prince. Concentrate!

‘Your Highness!’ I inclined my head in a bow. ‘I am so delighted that you were so kind as to invite me to your special day.’

The silly smile on the Prince’s face broadened. ‘You are welcome, Herr…’

I waved my hand, humbly. For some reason, monarchs seemed to like it when you pretended that you weren’t more important than they were. ‘We’ve only met once before. I doubt Your Highness would see fit to remember me.’

‘But of course I do! Herr Rikkard Ambrose, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. You honour me, Your Highness.’ Now, if you’ll only honour me a little more by helping me to seal this deal, we can all go home and spend the rest of the day on sensible matters.

‘Not at all!’ Reaching out, Prince Albert grasped my hand and shook it energetically. Unlike with most of my other business partners, I didn’t try and see how hard I would have to squeeze to break his fingers. He’d need at least one of them, after all, for his bride to stick a ring on. ‘After your generous contribution to the orphanages in my home city, how could I not remember? Thank you, Herr Ambrose. Ich danke Ihnen von ganzem Herzen. You are a truly good and generous man.’

At that insult, I truly had to control myself not to break his fingers.

Queen, I reminded myself. Wedding. Finger required.

‘It was my pleasure, Your Highness,’ I lied. ‘How could I stand idly by and let little children suffer when it was in my power to help?’ After all, I can just as well work while they suffer.

A strangled noise came from the lady beside me. Part of me was tempted to glance at her, just to see the expression on her face in her reaction to my heartwarming kindness to poor little street brats - but I resisted. Instead, I kept spouting meaningless platitudes, making the prince beam like a beam of wood. When I came to mention the sum I had donated, Miss Linton made another strangled noise.

I just couldn’t resist. Glancing sideways, I smiled - at her. Somehow, it took a lot less effort than smiling at His Royal Highness. ‘Something wrong, my darling?’

She blinked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. ‘N-no. Nothing at all.’

‘Wonderful.’ Taking her by the arm, I steered her a step closer towards the Prince - and she actually let me. She really had to be in shock. ‘Your Highness, please allow me to introduce my lovely companion for today,’ - and general bane of my existence - ‘Miss Lillian Linton.’

The Prince’s gaze took in Miss Linton for a long moment, and for an instant I wondered whether I would have to break his fingers after all. But his eyes didn’t wander. Lucky prince. ‘How do you do, Fräulein Linton?’

Sher curtsied - and smiled. I felt something twist in my stomach.

Fingers must remain intact. Fingers must remain intact!

‘When I invited you, I had no idea that you would appear in such charming company,’ the Prince added, turning to me.

‘Neither had I.’ My grip on Miss Linton tightened. If I had, I would have tied up my charming company and stored her in my cellar. ‘But the Fates play with the string of one’s life as they please, sometimes.’

She grinned. The little vixen grinned.

Concentrate! Focus on the matter at hand. Prince. Business. Marriage.

My face twitched. All right…maybe not the last one. Refreshing my mask of a smile, I once again grasped the prince’s hand and shook it in congratulation.

‘But not even Miss Linton can hope to outshine your bride on her big day. May I congratulate you, Your Highness, on your good fortune, and wish you perfect happiness in marriage? There is nothing as important in life as finding a good woman to love, and you have found the best of noble blood in the whole wide world.’

‘Thank you!’ The Prince looked deeply touched. Fine by me, as long as he didn’t try to touch me for some money in return. ‘You don’t know what this means to me, Herr Ambrose, coming from a man like you. I truly hope that once the bustle of the wedding is over, you will come visit me and my bride at Buckingham Palace?’

There we go.

The first return on my investment. The first of many to come.

‘I should like nothing better.’

‘Attention, please!’ I glanced around. It was the herald again. All eyes focused on him, and there was a prickle in the air. ‘I have just received word that Her Majesty is approaching. Would everyone return to their places, please?’

I squeezed the Prince’s hand once more - but not too hard. How fortunate I had resisted the temptation. Giving him a last bright smile, I started to steer my ‘charming company’ away, back towards our seats.

‘What is this?’ she whispered, staring suspiciously up at me. ‘What’s wrong with your face?’

‘Miss Linton?’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut up!’

‘I won’t shut up! I want to know what - Hey!’

Ignoring her protest, I manoeuvred her into a corner and only stopped when we were firmly situated at the left end of the front row of guests, well out of hearing distance of the prince.

‘What is the matter with you?’ she demanded. ‘Three thousand pounds sterling? You gave three thousand pounds sterling to an orphanage? Did someone knock you over the head with an iron bar?’

For a moment, I considered knocking her over the head an iron bar. But then, knowing her head, that would probably only destroy an expensive piece of ironwork. So instead, I did something far more dangerous. I smiled at her.

Was that…?

Was she blushing?

It was just a hint under her sunny tan, but yes. It was definitely there. A slight, almost imperceptible blush. I felt a tug in my chest.

Heartburn. Ignore.

‘Is it so unbelievable that I would do a generous deed out of the goodness of my heart?’

‘Frankly - yes!’

‘I see you’ve come to know me well, Mr Linton.’

‘I have, unfortunately. And that’s Miss Linton to you, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’

Don’t remind me. I was already having a hard enough time concentrating. The way she looked in that dress… Ignore, dammit! Ignore! ‘Miss. As you wish.’

‘Why did you give away three thousand pounds?’

‘You cannot catch fish without bait on the hook, Miss Linton.’

She gave me a sceptical look. ‘Three thousand pounds is a pretty big bait.’

I flashed her another smile, this one as hard and dangerous as a shark’s.

‘Oh, the three thousand pounds aren’t the bait, Miss Linton.’ Half-turning, I nodded towards Prince Albert. ‘He is.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Then you have to be catching a fish with pretty strange tastes!’

‘Indeed. There she is.’

I pointed discreetly to the door, just as a figure in white appeared in the archway. Miss Linton’s eyes went to the figure - then shot to mine, incredulous.

I nodded.

Her eyes flicked back to the door, just as the herald pounded his staff onto the floor. ‘Her Majesty Alexandrina Victoria, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland!’

The Queen gave a supercilious smile and honoured her subjects with a royal nod, in answer to which the crowd bowed deeply. Hm. She didn’t really look worth three thousand pounds. Hopefully, I hadn’t paid too much. Maybe I should demand a refund.

‘Tell me why you think of the Queen of England as a fish?’ a persistent voice beside me enquired.

‘Later, Miss Linton.’

‘But-’

‘Later!’

Finally, she was silent. Like the loyal subject I was, I fixed my eyes on the centre of the chapel, where the Queen was slowly advancing towards the altar. Still…out of the corner of my eye, I could still see Miss Linton. The silence around us began to expand, and as it did, for the first time in my life, it wasn’t my refuge. It wasn’t the place I could flee to. The longer she was silent, the more I wished she would speak.

The Queen reached the altar. Music had started to play in the background. The reverend pulled out his bible.

Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her glance at me. Stonily, I stared ahead, not acknowledging her in the least.

And what did she do?

She smiled. Smiled at me, glowering into empty air.

Why the heck would she-?

The priest cleared his throat.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’

A muscle in my jaw twitched. This man? This woman? Why in Mammon’s name couldn’t they use labels, serial numbers or at least names in that little speech? I shifted uncomfortably. Only when my feet were done shifting did I realise they had deposited me several inches closer to Miss Lillian Linton.

This man. This woman.

Stop. Stop now. Irrational. Cease this!

I shifted again.

Damnation! What was the matter with me? Did I have the fidgets?

No. I didn’t. Because the fidgets only affected the legs. But now, my hand was moving, too, shifting slowly towards hers.

Stop!

I waited. It shifted again, towards that small, soft hand that was so close to mine.

Stop! That is an order.

But my hand seemed to have spent too much time in contact with Miss Lillian Linton already. It stubbornly refused to do what it was told.

But…she seemed to have the same problem. My breath caught as I noticed her small hand inch towards mine, seeming unable to resist. What was this?

‘…which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union…’

My hand moved another inch closer. By King Midas’ throne! Why couldn’t that infernal priest shut up?

‘…that is betwixt Christ and his Church…’

My hand moved another fraction of an inch closer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at my face. I was sure it was cold and hard as ice. All my heat was in my fingertips, burning to move, to close the distance.

Control! Control! Ignore her!

‘…which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee; and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts…’

Wild images flashed past my inner eye. Images that had no place in a chapel - and most certainly not in my mind!

Don’t move! That is an order!

But my hand jumped two whole inches forward, and I could be thankful it was only my hand. I trembled, fighting to control the rest of me.

‘…and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained. First, it was ordained for the procreation of children…’

So much for control. My eyes flew to her. Her face. Her eyes. Images swept past my inner eye that were far more dangerous than the ones I had to endure a moment ago. She and I, and we together with our…

Stop! There will never be an ‘our’! There will never be a ‘we’!

Except maybe as in We are extremely sorry to inform you that, due to budget cuts, your position has been terminated forthwith. We wish you the best of luck with your future career. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Because she was bad. Bad for my peace of mind. Bad for my composure. Bad for my control over my infernal extremities!

‘…to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of His holy Name. Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication…’

Very bad for my control. Very bad indeed.

‘…that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry, and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ's body. Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort…’

Comfort? Comfort? Ha! She had been nothing but a pain in my rear!

‘…that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity…’

Plus, I had to pay her for it!

‘…and adversity…’

And why, pray, was I thinking about marriage in combination with Miss Lillian Linton? The concepts were about as related as tin plates and elephant turds! What was I still doing here, anyway? My business was concluded. I should sneak out through the back door, get back to work, and-

‘…Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined.’

-and my hand moved another inch or two closer to hers. Now our fingers were only fractions of an inch away from touching. My heart beat against my chest like that burglar I had trapped in my bank vault and left to suffocate. What a shame the peelers had gotten him out. My heart, for some reason, seemed just as determined to escape my chest as he had been to escape the vault, in spite of my indisputable rights of ownership. This was intolerable!

‘Therefore if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forevermore be silent.’

Now here, finally, was something easy. Something I could do. Just stand here, be silent and don’t move. That I could do, right?

Incorrect.

My hand moved to close the last bit of distance. As tumultuous cheers exploded all around us, and a choir started singing, my fingers interlaced with hers. I didn’t need to speak. With silence, my hand said more than my lips ever could with words. For one moment, one blissful moment, it all made sense.

‘Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?’ The priest enquired. ‘Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’

‘I will!’ rang out a voice over all the cheers in the chapel - and instinctively, my hand squeezed hers.