Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,257

this tragedy of Ella’s had taught me anything, it was that men brought nothing but trouble. Trouble, and too many bouquets of flowers.

‘Ah! Miss Ella! There you are.’

Blast!

My head whipped around. There he was - Sir Philip Wilkins, the evil one. Why had I let my guard down? Why had I let my thoughts wander? Now he had discovered us.

I started forward, to place myself before my sister. But then, something else started, quicker than I was: the music.

With a few steps, Wilkins was in front of my sister, and bowed.

‘My dear Miss Ella. May I ask for the honour of your hand for the first dance?’

Was it only I who thought there had been a slight pause before the words ‘for the first dance?’

Ella shivered like an aspen.

‘Y-yes, Sir Philip. Of course.’

There was a thump and a muttered curse from the left. If I was not very mistaken, Edmund had just tried to punch through the wall.

Wilkins, oblivious to both him and me, took Ella’s shivering hand and led her off onto the dance floor, as the first notes of a quadrille floated through the ballroom. Ella threw a look over her shoulder, a last, long, desperate look, in answer to which I could do nothing but look back, helplessly.

Then Wilkins spoke to her, and she looked away from me.

Rage thundering within me, I stared after the fiend as he led my poor little sister off to her doom. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I could protect her while we just standing around, put myself as a barrier between him and her - but as soon as the dancing started, that was over. I couldn’t interfere on the dance floor, not without making a scandal that would ruin my little sister’s reputation.

Was he going to propose now? Could you propose while dancing with a lady? You had to kneel down to propose, didn’t you? I had to admit, I had little experience in the matter. Any man who had ever dared to fancy me had been chased away long before he got that far. Could you kneel down while dancing, or would the other dancers trip over you?

Such questions and a million more assaulted me as I tried to burn a hole into blasted Wilkins’ back with the sheer force of my gaze. This man was going to ruin the life of my beloved sister! Oh, if only this weren’t a ballroom. If only I were alone with him, and had a parasol with a nicely sharpened tip in my hands, I would…!

‘Excuse me?’ I heard a man’s voice from behind me. ‘Are you intending to murder him in a dark alley later on? If so, I’m afraid I will have to stop you.’

A Waist of Tigers

I whirled around, my heart pounding.

‘What? Who said that?’

Behind me, or rather in front of me now that I was facing him, stood a tall young man with long, curly dark brown hair. He wore an easy smile on his face and a triangular patch of beard on his chin that wasn’t really a beard, just a statement: look, I can grow hair here, if I want to.

‘W-what did you mean? Who… who do you think I was looking at?’

‘Old Flip over there.’ He nodded towards where Sir Philip and Ella were dancing. Did he mean Sir Philip? But I could have sworn that wasn’t what he said.

‘Who?’

‘Flip. Well, Sir Philip to you, probably. Are you planning to assassinate him? You looked like you were. So I thought I’d ask. I’m his friend, you see, and friends usually try to prevent that sort of thing - their friends getting assassinated, that is. Always such a messy business, and funeral costs are steep these days.’

I shook my head, having no clue what to say to that - particularly considering I wasn’t even supposed to talk to this man. You weren’t supposed to talk to anybody unless you knew them, and had been introduced to them. That’s how society worked.

‘Who… who are you?’ I finally managed.

‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ His smile widened and he gave a snappy bow that made his mahogany locks fly. ‘My name is Carter, Captain James Carter to be precise. I apologize for accosting you thus without being formerly introduced, but when there is something important at stake, like the impending violent slaughter of a close friend, I tend to forget social niceties.’

I looked back and forth between Wilkins on the dance floor and this fine specimen of