Rage. Complete and utter rage radiated off my husband. Without him twitching so much as a single facial muscle, he conveyed more wrath than a rampaging dragon.
Cautiously, I stepped towards the door and gazed downstairs.
"So, let me guess..." I cocked my head. "It's from your family?"
All I got in reply was an incomprehensible growl.
Well...it's not silence. Yay! Progress!
Slinging a sheet around me like a toga, I stepped out of the bedroom and made my way downstairs. When I reached his side and placed a gentle hand on his back, I could feel the tension in his muscles. They were hard as steel ropes. He jerked when I touched him, only just then seeming to realize I was there. His hands clenched around the letter. Quickly, I peeked over his shoulder—but the piece of paper was visible just long enough for me to catch sight of the words "heir", "duty" and "marriage". Then my husband's hand crumpled it up into a tiny ball.
I squeezed his shoulder.
"Something the matter?" I asked, cautiously.
Silence. Icy, everlasting silence.
I opened my mouth—but before I could say a word, he abruptly turned away and, marching up the stairs, grabbed hold of his tailcoat, shirt and trousers. I followed, obviously. I mean, watching a naked Mr Rikkard Ambrose dress? The only thing that could possibly be better was the reverse. But it didn't look like I was going to get that any time soon.
"So...not in the mood for another round anymore?" I enquired, one corner of my mouth quirking up as I watched him getting dressed—far too fast, in my humble opinion.
He gave a curt jerk of the head. "I have to go make arrangements with some of my international agents and send a few telegrams abroad. Can you clear my schedule for the next few months and pack my things? It has come to my attention that a tour of my overseas businesses is long overdue. The sooner my ship departs, the better."
I nodded seriously. "You're right. You're absolutely right. It's high time you take care of your businesses outside Britain."
"Hm."
"Especially since, you know, we only just returned from inspecting one of your overseas businesses a few days ago."
Silence.
"And I'm sure it has nothing to do with your father sending you another invitation."
Silence.
"After all, it's not like you could possibly want to avoid him, right?"
"Mrs Ambrose?"
I gave him my most innocent smile. "Yes, dear?"
"Be. Silent."
Like a good little wife, I lowered my head. After all, Amy had explained to me the joys of roleplaying. Why not try pretending to be the exact opposite of what I was for a while? Might be fun. "Yes, dear."
"Any objections to my previously stated plans?"
"No, dear."
"Adequate."
"Well..." Clapping my head, I gave his back a beaming smile. "I suppose I'll be off then."
He didn't react, just continuing to button up his shirt.
With three soundless steps, I moved up behind him and slid my hand around his waist, tightening my grip around a certain something. "After all, I am your devoted wife, aren't I? I wouldn't want to make things hard for you."
"Nng!"
"What's that?" I cocked my head. "Did you say something?"
"Grk!"
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay after all?" I squeezed, ever so gently. "Are you sure you don't want to indulge a little longer?"
"Go...attend...your duties!"
Dang it!
Whatever his father wanted, it must really have gotten his dander up. A small part of me started to get worried. So, instead of continuing to play around, I let go and stepped back with a muttered curse. Sometimes I wished my husband had just a little less self-control.
I guess I've got to go back to work now, eh?
Oh well...
I grinned. Planning a cruise around the world for me and my scrumptious husband, where we would be alone on a luxurious yacht for months on end...
There were probably worse things in the world, right?
"I see." Stepping back, I nodded demurely. "Well then, I shall go and attend to everything like a dutiful wife should. See you later."
And I bustled out of there before he could notice the sparkle in my eyes. I had lots of preparations to make.
***
Over the next few days, I duly attended to my wifely/secretarial duties. To the very best of my ability, I made every necessary arrangement for mine and my husband's approaching business trip. Although, judging by the expression on Mr Pearson's face when I ordered him to obtain bathing oil, sandals, straw hats and the most skimpy male swimwear available, you'd think I was asking for something unreasonable.
The shipping companies I talked to about chartering a cruise yacht were a lot more reasonable than dear Mr Sallow-Face. More than reasonable, in fact, they were delighted. After all, why wouldn't they be ecstatic about the richest business mogul in the British Empire wanting to rent a ship from them? Surely, he'd pay a premium, right?
Looking at the blissful expression on the ship owners' faces, it was really difficult not to burst out laughing. How very convenient that by the time the payment would be due, I'd be halfway around the world.
Suddenly, I heard a knock. Glancing up from my papers, I looked over at my office door.
"Yes?"
The door creaked open and Mr Stone stuck his head into the room.
"Mr Lin...um, Miss...Mrs..." He opened and closed his mouth, clearly not quite sure how to address me. "Um...Lady Secretary?"
The corner of my mouth quirked up. "Yes, Mr Receptionist?"
"A, um, messenger in livery arrived a few minutes ago. He informed Mr Pearson that Lord William Alexander Ambrose, Fifteenth Marquess Ambrose, would be arriving in the city on the fifteenth."
"Oh, he will, will he?" I tapped my chin. "How unfortunate we'll miss him. If only Mr Ambrose and I wouldn't be leaving on our world tour on the twelfth."
He blinked. "I thought it was the twentieth?"
"No, no." I shook my head. "The twelfth, definitely."
"Oh, I see." Nodding, he shifted. "Should I return to my post then?"
"By all means do. I still have duties to attend to." After all, now I would have to push forward our departure date from the twentieth to the twelfth, and speed up the packing. Damn interfering fathers and their schemes for their sons!
I sped up my preparations. Over the next few days, I was hustling and bustling everywhere, doing a thousand different tasks. By the time the twelfth had finally arrived, I was dead on my feet. And the only reason I wasn't dead on my back was the dirty ground at the dock stank to high heaven of rotten fish.
"So," Mr Rikkard Ambrose enquired, surveying the harbour. "Where is the ship?"
"Oh, it's that one." I pointed. "Over there."
Mr Ambrose turned...
And stared.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Except for the mewing of the gull circling overhead, who was currently contemplating whether Mr Ambrose's top hat would make a good nest.
"Mrs Ambrose?" he enquired, his eyes still firmly fixed on the ship.
Above, the seagull flicked its wings and turned away.
"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?" I asked sweetly.
"Remind me to never ever let you make travel arrangements for me again."
"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir."
"Now...would you mind telling me..." Extending his arm, he pointed at the vessel I had chartered. "What. Is. That?"
"A yacht," I explained, helpfully. After all, educating the ignorant was the duty of the wise, wasn't it? "In fact, a luxury yacht, which is called that because it's really luxurious."
"I know what a luxury yacht is!" His icy eyes bored into me. I'm sure it would have been more effective if he hadn't given me a similar glare last night while we were shaking the sheets together. "What I want to know is what possessed you to rent a leisure yacht for a business trip around the world!"
"Why..." Smiling, I sidled forward and placed a hand on his chest. "So we can attend to our 'business' of course. Private, repeatedly and often."
"We?" His eyes hardened slightly. "What do you mean 'we'?"
I froze.
That was not the answer I had been expecting.
Slowly, my brain rewound, until I recalled his earlier words.
"Remind me to never ever let you make travel arrangements for me again."
Me.
Me, not us.
My fists clenched. Oh no. No, this had better not be what I was thinking! He was not pulling this kind of stunt again!
"Mr Ambrose?" I enquired sweetly. Though not the same kind of sweet as before. More the sweet-embrace-of-death kind. "You wouldn't happen to be thinking of leaving me behind, would you?"
"No."
"Oh, good. Because—"
"One does not need to think about things that are already decided."
Did I mention before that, on occasion, Mr Rikkard Ambrose could be the most infuriating man in the world?
"You..." Stalking towards him, I stabbed a finger into his chest, trying to ignore the stab of pain in my digit. It felt like stabbing a bloody slab of rock! "You are going on a cruise, and you're planning on leaving me behind?"
A muscle in his cheek twitched. "It is not a cruise, Mrs Ambrose! It is a business trip. And you know what my 'business trips' are like. If there are fewer than a dozen casualties, it would be most surprising!"
"Even more reason for me to come along! I'm your wife, dammit! I've been with you everywhere, come hell or high water!"
"Yes, you have been." His eyes shifted. They were still as intense as always, but just for a moment, they slid downward and any hint of coldness vanished, replaced by an unshakable determination. Stepping forward, he placed a gentle hand on my belly. "But back then, you weren't carrying our child."
"Well, I am now." I glared right back at him. "And I'm still going with you!"
"You cannot go! You are pregnant!"
I raised an eyebrow. "As I was on our honeymoon."
"That was not quite the same," came his frosty retort. "It wasn't exactly very evident when we set out. I only deduced the fact when you started vomiting your guts out! But now..."
He fell silent. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his fists clench.
"I...I can't." Grabbing hold of my shoulders, he forced me to look straight into his eyes. I was close enough to see every detail of his perfect face, every emotion in his dark, sea-coloured orbs. "I can't let you go."
I cocked my head. "And what, Mr Ambrose, gives you the idea that I would need you to 'let' me?"
"You are my wife!"
"And you are my husband. At least if I remember that scene at the altar correctly. Doesn't change the fact that I. Do. Not. Need. Your. Permission."
He stepped forward. Now he was so close I could feel the heat that was somehow radiating off him while his eyes tried to freeze me in place. "Yes. You do."
I also took a step forward. And it totally wasn't because I wanted to get closer to his scrumptious self. Nope, not at all. "No. I don't."
He moved another step forward. "Yes. You. Do."
Another step for me. "No. I. Don'—mmmmph!"
Apparently, his patience had run out, and he had decided to shut me up. Something I might have objected to, had his chosen method of shutting up not been kissing me senseless.
"Stubborn woman!" he growled against my lips as his mouth devoured mine.
"Chauvinistic son of a bachelor!" I hissed, trying my best to win our tongue-wrestling match. I would never give up! Never! And that wasn't because I was enjoying his kiss so god darn much! Definitely not because it was sending spikes of heat throughout my body with every twist of his tongue!
Hm...could you win a tongue-wrestling match by suplex?
This bears investigating.
Plunging his tongue into my mouth again, he did his best to kiss me into unconsciousness. And I started...investigating.
And continued investigating.
And continued.
And continued.
When he finally broke the kiss, allowing me to gasp for breath, we stared at each other for a long, long moment.
Really long. As in, neither one was willing to give in.
"I'm still pissed off at you!" I growled.
"A mutual feeling, Mrs Ambrose, I assure you."
"Come here and let me kiss you again!"
He obliged. Now only if he were this accommodating in regard to other subjects. Such as my not being parted from him under any circumstances!
"I'm not letting you go, do you hear?" I whispered against his lips. "Not without me!"
His face hardened. An impressive feat, considering it had been chiselled from granite before. His gaze flicked between my face and my abdomen, and his arm tightened around me.
"And I am telling you: you are not coming with me! Not to where I'm going!"
I saw it in his eyes then. I saw the true reason behind this. It wasn't chauvinism. It wasn't stubbornness. It wasn't even the unwillingness to spend money on a second ticket.
It was fear.
Pure, unadulterated fear. For me, and for my child. My heart softened ever so slightly.
My eyes didn't.
"I'm coming with you, Sir."
"No. You are not."
"Yes, I am."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes. I can do this all day, you know?"
His little finger twitched at the idea of the outrageous waste of time. His teeth clenched. "So. Can. I."
I grinned. "Let me rephrase that. I can do this for three whole days. Till the fifteenth, to be exact."
Which just so happens to be the day your father arrives, went unsaid.
His little finger twitched again. "That, Mrs Ambrose, was a low blow."
Smirking, I glanced down at his lumbar region. "Those are the best kind."
"Don't think you can change the subject, my lady wife." His grip on my shoulders tightened. "For the final time: you are not coming with me."
I gazed into his eyes, full of iron, ice-cold determination.
Guess it was time to take out the big guns.
"Oh, well..." I swallowed, doing my best to squeeze out some fake tears at the corners of my eyes. "I...I suppose I could stay here. I'd be all alone, of course, and during my pregnancy, too, but...ah!" I snapped my fingers and a smile spread across my face. "But I don't have to be, do I? I can just go visit your mother and sister. I'm sure they'd be happy to take care of me and keep me company. And it probably won't matter at all if I happen to mention that my husband abandoned me a week after the honeymoon to go gallivanting around the world on his own, right?"
I had to admit, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's control over his facial muscles was really impressive. There wasn't a single twitch on his face, or a single flicker of unadulterated terror in his eyes.
"You wouldn't!"
I grinned. "I so absolutely would!"
Then I added the important bit.
"Unless..."
And I glanced meaningfully towards the yacht. It took a lot out of me not to let out a wicked cackle when his shoulders sagged.
--------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
When I wrote this chapter, I had to look up what the sound that gulls make is usually referred to. Turns out the sound that gulls make is apparently called mewing. Though I cannot for the life of me perceive any resemblance between the sounds of a kitten and a seagull. But then, who says language has to make sense? ;)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob