New Storm Rising

05. Committee for the Romantic Rights of Crossdressing Secretaries

"Not to my knowledge, no," came Mr Ambrose's infuriatingly calm and non-nauseous voice from inside the coach.

"Then what the hell is this? Did I catch some sort of bug? Maybe we shouldn't sleep in the same room tonight. I don't want to infect you..."

Suddenly, I felt a strong hand grip my shoulders.

"I do not think that will be necessary."

"But if I make you sick—"

Before I could get another word out, the hand that held me suddenly became a pair of hands and turned me around. Coming face-to-face with Mr Ambrose, I glanced down and away, avoiding his gaze. Not because I was feeling shy, of course! No, definitely not! This had nothing to do with the fact that I was a brand-new bride on her honeymoon.

"Hey!" I mumbled. "Don't pull me so close. What if I'm really ill and—"

"I know the perfect cure," he cut me off and, a moment later, his lips pressed onto my forehead, sending a surge of warmth through me. Warmth that rapidly turned into heat as his mouth wandered down my temple, leaving a searing trail in its wake. Slowly but surely, he approached my mouth, causing the flames inside me to grow into an inferno that—

Wait just a minute! My mouth?!

But I just...well...!

"Don't!" I squeaked. "My mouth, I...I just..."

"I know," Mr Ambrose said, capturing my chin in his hand, forcing me to look straight at him. "I don't care."

Then his lips descended.

That was the thing about Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He could give his own wife a pay cut without blinking an eye. But he could also do things like this, and really mean it.

As his rock-hard arms came around me, I felt my body relax and the queasy feeling in my stomach recede. The corners of my mouth curling up, I leaned into him.

"You know," I whispered, giggling, "I'm aware you don't like to spend a lot on food and drink, but I didn't think you had become that desperate."

"Mr Linton?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"If you dare to start regurgitating right now, your pay shall be halved for the next six months."

Suddenly, the urge to puke had completely vanished. Will you look at that? He really did have a cure!

Didn't I have an amazing husband?

***

"Blaaargh!"

It was confirmed. Landsickness was a thing. As the coach rolled to a stop, I managed to leap out just in time to avoid decorating the inside of the carriage in lovely vomit-beige.

"Can you threaten to cut my salary again?" I enquired weakly, clutching the side of the coach for support.

"Gladly. But I very much doubt it will have the desired effect."

Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, for the sake of my wallet—I had to agree.

"Could you maybe support your dear wife a little?"

Mr Ambrose cast a glance around at the workers and stable hands scattered through the courtyard. "You mean the dear wife that is walking around in men's trousers and a tailcoat?"

I groaned. "Never mind."

"I thought as much."

Taking a few deep breaths to settle my stomach, I glanced around. A shoddy wooden house built in a U-shape surrounded a muddy courtyard with wheel tracks criss-crossing in the dirt. Panting horses that looked like they'd just come back from a nice little express trip to Timbuktu stood here and there. People with bags of fodder and suitcases were hurrying around.