My jaw tensed. Taking a step forward, I forced myself to look straight ahead. Prying open my mouth, I said the words that I thought I would never utter in my life... 

— Just a small taste of the Ambrose POV you'll be getting if we win the 2nd Round! More info in the author's note at the bottom.

And now... the chapter!

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I felt the floor sway under my feet. Her words rocked me to the very core of my being.

Mother?

She was his mother?

Apparently she was. And do you know what was the only thought that my extraordinary, profound and intelligent mind could come up with as a reaction to this profound revelation?

NothiswifenothiswifenothiswifeYesYesYesYes! Andnothismisstresseither! Yesyesyesyipee!

I am really profound, right?

'Your...son?' It was more of a croak than a question.

The woman nodded, slightly bending in the knees. It was not quite a curtsy – it was a far more regal gesture of greeting.

'My name is Samantha Genevieve Ambrose.'

'Linton,' I mumbled, automatically bowing my head in return. My eyes were fastened on the little woman in front of me, while I tried desperately to imagine Mr Ambrose having fit inside her once. It was quite absolutely impossible. 'Mr Victor Linton. Delighted to make your acquaintance.'

'How do you do, Mr Linton. And may I ask what position you occupy under my son?'

Immediately, my mind flashed back several months, to a dark hotel room in Egypt, the messy double bed, and all the positions I had occupied under Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Thank God that my face was too tanned to really blush. Still, I could feel my ears burning.

'I, err, am Mr Ambrose's private secretary.'

Very private, on occasion.

'I see.'

'And you...' I still couldn't stop staring. 'You really are his mother? Are you sure?'

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. 'I was there at the birth, you know. Yes, I'm quite sure.'

If my ears had been burning before, they felt about ready to explode now. 'Sorry! I didn't mean...! It's just, Mr Ambrose always seems as if he were chiselled out of some mountain, not made out of flesh and bone.'

'Yes.' The proud light shining in her eyes undeniably confirmed her words. She really was his mother. Or she was crazy enough to think she was. I still wasn't sure which was more likely. 'He has grown into a strapping young man, hasn't he?'

That's putting it mildly.

'That's not the only reason why I was surprised,' I dared to say. 'I've been with Mr Ambrose for quite a while now, and he has never mentioned a mother. Now that I think about it, he's never mentioned any family.'

Pain shot across her face like a bolt of lightning. She concealed it fast, but it was there, and it was real. This was no imposter or madwoman. This was a mother in agony.

Oh crap! What am I going to do?

'Never?' she asked in a whisper.

'Never.'

She closed her eyes for a moment. 'Well...no. I imagine he wouldn't.'

When she opened her eyes again, they were moist. But she had not let the threatening tears spill over. And, to judge by the stubborn set of her chin, she wasn't going to.

'I still want to see him.'

Blast, blast, blast! This isn't fair!

No secretary should have to deal with something like this! Blustering bankers? No problem. Stinking beggars? Send them my way! Striking employees? I'm your girl! But nearly weeping mothers? He didn't pay me nearly enough for this!

I cleared my throat.

'I am afraid Mr Ambrose doesn't want to be disturbed.'

There! Problem solved. Now she has to go away, right?

'I still want to see him, Mr Linton.'

Damn!

'He really, really doesn't want to be disturbed,' I hedged.

'I really, really want to see him. P–'

Don'tSayItDon'tSayItDon'tSayIt!

'–lease.'

Bloody hell!

'Please, Mr Linton!'

Why does she have to sound so damn desperate? And those big, sea-coloured eyes of hers! They look so helpless, and at the same time, so much like his.

'Please.' She took a step towards me.

I sank down in my chair, as if my desk would be enough to protect me from her desperate motherly feelings.

'Mr Linton, I can see that you're a man of feeling– '

You're wrong about that, Lady!

'–and surely you can sympathize with me.'

Not if I want to keep my job, I can't!

'Why don't you come back some other time?' I suggested desperately. 'He might not be so busy then.'

A sound escaped her throat. It was half-laugh, half-sob. 'Another time? You have no idea of what you speak! Do you know how many times I've tried to see him since the catas– since he left home? That was after I found out he was still alive, of course! God! Mr Linton, I haven't seen him in ten years! Please! Just please...'

Damn you Rikkard Ambrose! Damn you!

I swallowed, hard. 'I'm sorry, my Lady, but he left explicit instructions. No one is to disturb him. And I believe that includes you.'

Her shoulders sagged.

'Does my son hate me this much, then?' she wanted to know, the pain evident in her voice. 'What did he tell you to do with all my letters? Destroy them?'

Yes. He did.

'No! No, he didn't.'

Wait! What did you just say, Lilly?

'He wouldn't have any of them destroyed! He told me to keep them all safe.'

Stop lying! Stop lying right now! Tell her right now that you've been stockpiling them against his express orders!

But I had to give the poor woman something to cling on to, hadn't I? I couldn't just destroy every last bit of hope she had!

'Here, you see?' Bending down, I ripped open the lowest drawer of my desk and held up a whole pile of pink letters as evidence.

'They're unopened.' Her voice was trembling. 'He hasn't read them?'

'I think it's too painful for him.'

Poppycock! Stop lying, Lilly!

'The expression on his face when he looks at the letters is so tender and painful–'

...or maybe rather cold and disdainful? Stop lying right this minute!

'–I can't imagine the feelings that must be tearing through him.'

She closed her eyes again for a moment. Opening them once more, she stepped forward, and placed a hand over mine, lightly squeezing.

'Thank you, Mr Linton. You are a good man.'

Not really. Trust me. I checked last time I took a bath.

'And as a good man–'

Oh God! Here it comes...

'...I ask you to hear a mother's plea. Please. I've tried to stay away. I've tried to respect his wishes. But I can't let him do this to himself and his family any longer. I have to see my son.' Her eyes bored into mine. Bloody hell, if they just didn't look so much like his! I felt my defences crumble. And then came her last cannon shot: 'Please.'

That's it. I'm fired.

I took a deep breath. 'You know...'

'Yes?'

'I think I've been mistaken. I just remembered that Mr Ambrose didn't say he doesn't want to be disturbed. He said he wants to be disturbed. As much as possible, at every opportunity. Especially by mothers, and any other relatives that happen to pass by. So, by all means, go in.'

The smile that spread across her face was reward enough. I just hoped I'd still think so in three weeks when I had to fend for myself, out of work and without a penny in my pocket.

'Thank you, Mr Linton! Thank you so much!' She squeezed my hand again, then let go and slowly moved towards the door of Mr Ambrose's office. 'I won't forget this.'

Oh, neither will I. He won't let me.

Turning to face the office door, she raised her hand and knocked.

'I said I didn't want to be disturbed, Mr Linton!' came a familiar, cutting and cold voice from inside. 'What is it?'

She opened the door.

'Hello, son.'

There was deafening silence.

She stepped inside, and the door fell shut behind her.

Half an hour had passed before the door opened again. She hurried out, a gleam in her eyes that I had only ever seen on the faces of mothers and deranged opium addicts. Nodding to me in passing, she left my office.

Silence reigned.

Long silence.

Then, Mr Ambrose stepped out of his office, his face as cold as the Antarctic in winter after an invasion by Nordic frost giants. His eyes snapped to me.

'Tell me, Mr Linton,' he demanded, his voice deceptively calm. 'Did you listen in at the keyhole?'

My eyes widened innocently. 'Me? Of course not!'

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. 'You had better not be lying to me, Mr Linton!'

'I'm not! I swear on women's right to vote!'

'Women don't have the right to vote.'

'But they will have, soon!'

In a flash, Mr Ambrose had crossed the distance between us. His hands slammed down on my desk, and he leaned forward until my nose was only inches away from his clenched, rock-hard jaw.

'If I ever find out that you have listened at the keyhole,' he breathed, a thunderstorm roiling in his dark eyes, 'you will be very, very sorry. Understood, Mr Linton?'

'Yes, Sir!'

And I did understand. Completely. Absolutely. Why would I listen at the keyhole, when there were so many better options available?

*~*~**~*~*

The door closed behind her. With ravenous curiosity, my eyes fastened on the closed door. Suddenly, I knew exactly how Pandora must have felt when she rattled that box, trying to find out what was inside. Mr Ambrose's mother! Good God! What secrets I could discover here! She must have known him before he turned into a block of stone – back when he had actually been a human being!

In front of my inner eye passed the seal on the pink envelopes that I had seen so many, many times: undoubtedly the coat of arms of a noble family. And yet, Mr Ambrose used no title. Not duke, not baronet, not lord, not even 'the right honourable so-and-so'. He was just 'Mister'. Cold. Hard. Short. Efficient. And strangely, a hundred times more alluring and powerful than any noble title would have been.

Where had he come from? Why would he deny his noble roots? Especially if there was money to inherit? Why had he spent years and years in the Colonies? Why was there enmity between him and Lord Dalgliesh? A thousand questions – and the woman behind that door probably held the answers to all of them!

And the best thing was: I wouldn't even have to ask her!

Quickly, I jumped to my feet and rushed over to the door. All right, I admit it! I hadn't let her in out of the goodness of my heart! I had completely selfish motives! That didn't mean my heart wasn't still good, a tiny little bit. But 'g' came after 'c' in the alphabet, just like goodness came after curiosity.

Falling to my knees in front of the door, I was about to press my ear to the keyhole, when I hesitated.

What was I doing?

Why listen at the keyhole? After all, Mr Ambrose had kindly provided me with my own surveillance equipment. Rushing back to my desk, I snatched up a horn that was connected by a tube to the wall. Ordinarily, it was used by Mr Ambrose to bark orders at me or any of his other employees that happened to be unlucky enough to catch his attention. Today, it would be used for a different purpose.

Taking a deep breath to calm my breathing, I lifted the horn to my ear. For a few moments, there was absolute silence. Then –

'Mother?'

I hardly recognized Mr Ambrose's voice. For one moment, it almost sounded as if there were actual emotion in it.

I shook my head. It probably was just the distorting effect of the long rubber tube. The first time I had listened to him speaking through it, he'd sounded like a deranged nightingale with a severe speech problem.

'Ricky.'

I nearly bit my tongue off. Ricky? Ricky?!

The thought of anyone referring to my employer by that name made me feel faint. I suppose, on some level, I knew that his mother probably hadn't referred to him as 'Mr Ambrose' or 'Sir' while he'd been growing up, but it was still a shock.

'W-what are you doing here?'

Had I heard right? Had he just stuttered? Mr Rikkard 'don't-use-unnecessary-time-wasting- syllables' Ambrose?

It had to be a trick of the bad connection.

'I came to see you, son.'

'How did you get in here?'

Oh, bugger!

'That nice young secretary of yours let me in.'

'Did he, now?'

Blast, blast, blast and double blast!

There was a rustle of papers from the other end of the tube. I could just imagine Mr Ambrose building up a wall of important documents between himself and the unwanted visitor.

'Why did you wish to see me?' His voice was suddenly back to the cold, calculated tone I knew and lo– Well, the tone I knew and had gotten really used to, anyway. 'I am a busy man, Mother.'

'I know, Ricky. I just...I had to see you, son. It's been so long...'

'Not long enough.'

There was a noise – it sounded like an anteater blowing its nose. Or maybe it was a mother in pain.

'Is that really how you feel, son?'

'I don't feel. I know.'

'But after all those years...can't you forgive? Even a little bit?'

'Do you know what happened to me during those years, Mother?'

'No.'

'I thought not. If you did, you wouldn't have dared to ask that question.'

The soft clicking of her heels sounded through the tube. She had taken two uncertain steps forwards.

'Won't you return home, Ricky? Please?'

'Why should I return to someone who did not stand by me?'

'I tried! I really did! I – '

'Don't lie to me! You know what happened! You were there. And you never said a word!'

Silence.

Silence more deadly than any I had heard before.

Finally, Mr Ambrose spoke again, his voice as cold as an arctic grave: 'No. I will not come back for your sake.'

'Then don't do it for me. Do it for Adaira.'

I stiffened. Adaira  ? Who the hell was Adaira?

'Don't you dare bring her into this!' There was a threat in Mr Ambrose's voice now – real danger, maybe even for his mother.

She didn't seem to care.

'Oh yes, I will bring her into this! She misses you, Ricky! She has missed you ever since you left!'

Bloody hell! Mention who she is already, will you?

But nobody seemed inclined to grant my silent wishes.

'She loves you, son. If you don't believe that I love you after what has happened, believe in her.'

Love him? Love him? Who the heck was this little witch?

'Is there anything else you wanted to say, Mother?' I could feel the ice crystals growing on Mr Ambrose's voice all the way through the tube. 'I have important business to attend to.'

'More important than your family?'

'Undoubtedly.'

'Even Adaira?'

Silence.

But I didn't mind. I had gotten my answer: family! She was family!

'Your father is holding a celebration next week at–'

'I do not care!' He cut her off like an executioner the head of a condemned man. 'I will not attend any celebration of his!'

'It is Adaira's birthday.'

Silence.

This time, it wasn't cold, though. I could feel a definite atmospheric thawing from the other end of the tube.

'She'll be introduced into society, Ricky. I want you to be there.'

'I don't care what you want!'

A pause. Then:

'She wants you to be there, too.'

Another pause.

'Ricky?'

Silence.

'Ricky? Will you do this for her?'

More silence. Quite extraordinarily silent silence. Original, inimitable Ambrose Silence.

'Ricky, please, I...'

'Where?'

His voice was like a freshly sharpened blade of ice.

'At the hall.'

'Of course!' The ice-blade flashed with dark danger. 'Of course, it would have to be there!'

'Thanks to you, it can be. Without you, we–'

'Don't!' Now, the ice-blade lay at her throat, ready to strike. 'Don't thank me! Don't you dare!'

'But I have to! Without your generosity–'

I took my ear away from the tube, stuck a finger inside, turned it in the hope to remove dirt, and reapplied the ear. Had I heard right just now? Generosity?

'–without your kindness, we would never have–'

Apparently, my ears still weren't working properly. Kindness? Mr Masterfully Merciless Ambrose?

'Silence, woman!'

And there was silence. I didn't know many men who could silence their mothers with a single command. In fact, I probably didn't know any. But Rikkard Ambrose managed without the slightest problem. The silence that echoed on the other end of the tube was absolute. It was the silence of unspoken secrets, deep hurts and dark deeds in a long-buried past.

It was she who finally broke it.

'Please.' Just that one word. 'Please, Rikky.'

'Don't! Don't ask this of me!'

'If Adaira hears you didn't want to come, she will be heartbroken.'

'Heartbroken? She will be spitting fire!'

'True.' For the first time since the conversation had begun, there was the tiniest smile in Lady Samantha's voice. 'But she will also be heartbroken. Please – don't make me tell her you didn't want to come.'

Silence. And then:

'I'll come–'

'Oh, thank you! Thank – '

'–if there is no important business detaining me! I will not put everything on hold merely to gratify the foolish wishes of a silly young girl, mother! I will come only if I have no reason to be elsewhere! More than likely, something will come up. If I don't appear, don't be surprised.'

I could feel Lady Samantha wanting to argue, but she and I both knew that this was the best offer she was going to get.

'All right. If that is how you wish it...'

'It is. And now get out, woman! I have work to do.'

'Yes, of course. I shall tell Adaira to expect you.'

'Only if nothing important comes up, Mother. Only then!'

*~*~**~*~*

'Oh no,' I confirmed once more, smiling up at Mr Ambrose. 'I definitely didn't listen at the keyhole.'

He stared at me for a few moments more, his dark, sea-coloured eyes boring into me with an intensity that made me shiver. Finally, he righted himself and nodded.

'I see.'

Whirling around, he marched towards the window and planted himself there, tall and erect, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared out over the City of London. The light of the slowly sinking sun that flooded in through the windows cast a fiery halo around him, and he almost looked like an avenging angel.

Which was ridiculous, of course. Mr Ambrose would never work for anyone – not even for God. And most certainly not for free.

I don't know how long he stood there. I didn't dare move or make a sound. There was a tension in the air that went far beyond the normal deadly hostility radiating from him. Finally, when I had started to believe that he would continue standing like this until kingdom come, he said:

'Mr Linton?'

'Yes, Sir?'

'Pack your things! I shall await you ready to depart at St Katherine's Docks at 6 am tomorrow morning.'

I stared at his broad, rock-hard back. Maybe my ears still weren't working correctly?

'E-excuse me, Sir?'

'I don't excuse anything or anyone, Mr Linton. Most especially not you.'

'But I don't understand, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Why St Katherine's Docks? Why tomorrow at six? Are we leaving?'

He turned around then, fixing me with his ice-cold gaze.

'Don't you remember, Mr Linton? We have an urgent business trip to go on.'

'We have?'

'Oh yes. Or, to be more precise, a treasure hunt. You had better pack thoroughly. We won't be able to get anything we need in the jungle. South America awaits!'

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I would like to take this opportunity to extend a great big "thank you" to all those of you who've already created an account on Goodreads.com in order to vote for "Storm & Silence", the first book in this this fabulously Victorian series, during the Goodreads Choice Awards! But we still have a big boatload full of work to do before we can win this!

Did you enjoy your first look at Mr Rikkard Ambrose's perspective? ;-)

My jaw tensed. Taking a step forward, I forced myself to look straight ahead. Prying open my mouth, I said the words that I thought I would never utter in my life...

Any idea what those might be?

In case you want to read more of Mr Ambrose's point of view right here on Wattpad, my fabulous Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, then please vote, threaten, blackmail or use any other fabulously ruthless method that Mr Ambrose would approve of to ensure that we emerge victorious from this round! ;-) We still have some time available: the first round will officially come to an end on Monday, November fourteenth, nine am UCT!

Your Victorian Writer (busily thinking up Ambrose's POV)

Sir Rob

P.S.:

And now...Here's how to vote, if you want to support your favorite Victorian heroine:

1. Voting will be going on on a website called Goodreads.com. In order to support "Storm and Silence" with your vote, you'll need to be logged into Goodreads. If you already are, great! Just skip points two and three and go straight on to point four. Otherwise:

If you don't have an account on Goodreads yet and have never been logged in, please go to point two.

If you've already created an account on Goodreads at some point during the past, but are not currently logged in, please go right to point 3.

2. CREATING an ACCOUNT ON GOODREADS: In case you have never used Goodreads before this point and don't have an account there yet, you'll have to sign up. The sign-up page is located at this link:

 https://www.goodreads.com/user/sign_up

Or you can find it by doing a google search for "Goodreads Sign Up" and chosing the topmost result from the list of search results that appears on the screen. Once you've reached the sign-up page, you can either sign up with your facebook login data, or you can create an entirely new, seperate goodreads account by entering your name, your email and a password. Next, you'll be in! Since you've just signed up, you are already signed in and can forget about point three. Please go straight to point four - the Voting! :-)

3. LOGGING INTO GOODREADS: If you've signed up for Goodreads at some time during the past, but aren't logged in at the moment, you must proceed to the login website. Either go there by going to this web address https://www.goodreads.com/user/sign_in or by searching with your favorite search engine for "log in goodreads" and choosing the topmost search result from the list that pops up.

Depending on what option you decide on when signing up, you can sign in with either your Goodreads account or your Facebook account. When you are signed in, please go to point 4, the voting.

4. VOTING: Once you're logged in and ready to go, you'll have to navigate to the voting page. You can easily reach it by following this link:

https://www.goodreads.com/choiceawards/best-romance-books-2016

Or you can simply open up your favorite search engine and look for "Goodreads Choice Awards 2016 Romance" and click on the topmost result from the list of search results that'll appear on your screen.

Once you have gotten to the voting page, you will see a whole lot of book covers with a "Vote" button right beneath every cover. In order to cast your vote for Lilly & Mr Ambrose, please click on the "Vote" button right beneath the "Storm and Silence" cover - and will be it! :-)

Congratulations! By following above instructions, you've just voted for "Storm and Silence" in the Goodreads Choice Awards 2016. And just in case you might want to make one hundred and ten percent sure that Lilly and Mr Ambrose come out on top in this competition, and our hero's secret thoughts shall be revealed as promised - go ask your friends & family to vote, too! The more the merrier, and to make certain we're going to win, we need every morcel of support we can get! :-)