I showed admirable self-restraint. I actually managed not to kill him right there in the hotel lobby.
Be strong, I told myself, while a jabbering boy in hotel livery lead us through the hallways of the Luxor. Brutus planned and schemed for months before finally killing Julius Caesar. If some measly Roman general can wait that long, you can keep a grip on yourself until we reach the hotel room and the door is shut.
We reached a door made from the same dark wood as the front desk. A large and ornate number 79 shone on the polished surface. With more jabbering, the nervous boy opened the door for us and showed us in. I hardly glanced at the magnificent hallway of the suite. My focus was all on the man who had entered before me and was now turning to face me.
The boy said something else in Arabic. I didn't listen, but instead kept my full focus on Mr Ambrose.
'Send him away!' I growled at him. Maybe it wasn't the wisest thing to try and give Rikkard Ambrose orders, but right now I didn't give a penny about wise.
Mr Ambrose nodded to the boy and jerked his head, coolly. The youth didn't need any more encouragement. He was out of the door without even trying to get a tip.
For two or three seconds, there was a heavy silence in the room – at least ten tons and seven hundred and sixty-two pounds worth of silence. I stared at Mr Ambrose. Mr Ambrose stared at me.
'Wife?' I repeated.
He cocked his head, and shrugged.
Shrugged!
'I,' I repeated very slowly and clearly, 'am your wife?'
I do not believe I had ever managed to make my voice sound this deadly dangerous before. I was like a female tiger with fire in my belly! He didn't seem to notice or care, but simply looked at me with those cool, dark eyes of his.
'I told you, we have to be inconspicuous.'
'Inconspi–!' My voice failed me for just a moment. 'If I murder you and hang your body from the balcony, will that be inconspicuous?'
'You will do nothing of the kind. You are much too happy to murder anyone.'
'Happy?'
Was he delusional? Or on drugs?
'Of course you are,' he informed me in a tone as if he were explaining that one plus one made two. 'Deliriously happy. After all, you are on your honeymoon with the man of your dreams, my dear.'
'Honeymoon?'
I didn't seem able to do anything but incredulously repeat his last words. I should have thrown something at him, or slapped him, but all I could do was stare open-mouthed.
On your honeymoon... you're on your honeymoon with Rikkard Ambrose...
'Yes,' he told me, his face about as emotional as a slab of granite. 'We had what I believe is commonly referred to as a "whirlwind romance". Losing much of our sanity in the process, we fell passionately in love and got married in a small village near London not a week ago. We are a wasteful and completely irresponsible couple who actually went so far as to spend money on a frivolous pleasure trip called a "honeymoon". Although our marriage has already lasted more than a week, we are somehow, miraculously, still filled with love, tenderness, passion and similar superfluous emotions.'
'You've been planning this all along,' I whispered. 'If I decided to come along, you were going to use me like this from the very start!'
'Oh yes.'
'Why? Why this damn charade?'
He fixed me with his ice-cold eyes. 'Simple. You and I both know that the agents of Lord Dalgliesh are watching the port. They probably have been given my description, and yours, too. No matter how I disguise myself – as a tradesman, an army officer, a beggar – my disguise will be penetrated, and we will be hunted down. Even if I arrive as an oriental pasha with an elephant, ten peacocks and a horde of servants in tow, Dalgliesh will find out who I am sooner or later. He knows me too well. And precisely because he knows me well, there is only one thing he will never ever expect: me arriving in the company of a girl.'
He took a step towards me, his eyes boring into me.
'Especially,' he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, 'a girl I am in love with.' Raising his hand, he stroked a finger down my cheek, once.
My heart stopped beating. Really, honestly, it did! Then it started up again, at twice its usual pace, doing its best to jump right out of my chest.
Love?
Suddenly, I realized how very, very close he was standing. His dark eyes were wide and stormy as the open sea. It felt as if I could fall right into them, and this time, I would not escape drowning. I would not want to.
Dark eyes. Deep eyes. Loving eyes?
Could it really be? My skin was suddenly tingling all over, the air crackling with expectation.
A girl I am in love with...
'So,' he told me, stepping back, his tone suddenly businesslike again. 'You see why we have to pretend to feel this ridiculous emotion towards each other, don't you?'
My heart screeched to an abrupt halt.
Pretend?
Of course, Lilly! This is all part of his scheme! Why the hell would you think that Rikkard Ambrose would ever be interested in marrying you? And, more to the point, why would you feel disappointed that he isn't?
Maybe because, as a wife, I would have prime murder opportunities? Yes, that had to be it! I could smother him with a pillow, or slip a little something into his nightcap, or... or... the possibilities were endless! If looks alone could kill, Mr Rikkard Ambrose would certainly have been nothing but a smouldering pile of ashes right now.
'Tell me,' I ground out between clenched teeth, 'that you aren't serious!'
He cocked his head. 'This continued insistence on your part that I am prone to jesting is getting out of hand. So far, have I displayed a tendency to pleasantry of any kind?'
'No.'
'There you are. I have explained my plan to you, and the reasons behind it. We have to hide from Dalgliesh's agents. So for now, to anyone who asks, we are Mr and Mrs Thompson, a happy couple of newlyweds from Hazlemere.'
'Hazlemere?'
'A picturesque little village in Buckinghamshire. Just the sort of place newlyweds come from.'
'But... but...' I spluttered. 'I can't pretend to be your wife!'
He seemed surprised by this. 'Why not? All you need to do is wear a ring.'
'That's not what I meant, blast you! I meant I can't pretend to be in love with you!'
'Why?'
I stared at him in disbelief. Was he serious? God, why was I asking myself that? He was Rikkard Ambrose! Of course he was serious! He was also completely and utterly nuts if he thought I was going along with this!
'Apart from the fact that it was a dastardly trick of yours to force me into this without asking my permission first?'
He nodded, clearly impatient. 'Yes, apart from that, of course.'
My hands twitched, itching to reach for his neck.
Breathe, Lilly! Breathe deeply and slowly! Murder is probably against the law in Egypt!
'Well?' Mr Ambrose demanded, his gold gaze raking over me as if we were back in his office in London and I was taking too long with sorting through a couple of files. 'Why can't you pretend to be utterly and deliriously in love with me? It shouldn't be hard. I am me, after all, and you are female.'
My mouth dropped open. The arrogant son of a...! 'Why? Simple! Because... because...'
I hesitated.
Bloody hell, it wasn't so simple, after all. Why exactly couldn't I pretend to be in love with him? It wouldn't exactly be the first time I had pretended or acted a role. I had pretended to be a secretary in male costume for months now. After that, a bride on her honeymoon shouldn't be that difficult, should it?
There was only one problem.
I wasn't just going to be a bride. I was going to be his bride. The bride of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Assumed name or not, he was still he. And I was I.
His eyes narrowed a fraction. 'Why?' he demanded for the third and, I could tell from his tone, very last time. There was thunder threatening in his voice.
'Because... because I can't stand you!'
He shrugged. 'Irrelevant.'
'Because I'm a feminist!'
'Also irrelevant. I pay you to work for me, not to hold absurd political opinions.' Taking a sudden step towards me, he forced me to retreat, his dark form towering above me. The aura of power radiating off his hard body was almost palpable. 'You will be my wife, Miss Linton – for the next few months. After that, you can feminise and frolic wherever and whenever you want. But for the next few months, you are mine!'
'No!'
'Yes!' I wasn't fast enough. He was already close enough for me to feel his breath on my face, the force of his dark, sea-coloured eyes pulling at my soul. 'You will.'
'N–'
Before I could finish my denial, his finger was at my lip, cool, hard, implacable.
'Think very carefully before you speak, Miss Linton.' There was a distinct note of threat in his voice. A shiver of mingled fear and excitement travelled down my spine. 'Remember your agreement, when you took my money. Do whatever I say, go wherever I command... Do you remember?'
Good God! Had he been planning all this even then?
What a stupid question. Of course he had.
I swallowed. 'I remember.'
'Well then?' He bent down from his towering height, until I could feel the hard muscles of his chest against mine, and his mouth almost brushed my lips. I could barely breathe, so thick with delicious tension was the air around me. 'What is your answer? Miss Linton, will you be my wife?'
'Yes.'
The word was out of my mouth before I even had begun to think. I stood there, dazed, uncomprehending.
Bloody hell, bloody stinking hell! How did that just come out of my mouth? And more importantly, why?
Maybe, suggested a nasty little voice in my head, because he had phrased it just in that way – a way that almost sounded like a real proposal.
No! That couldn't be the reason! Definitely not! Because that would mean I really wanted to ... that I would have said yes if he asked–
No, no, no! Absolutely not!
'Adequate.' With a cool nod, Mr Ambrose stepped back again, the pseudo-romantic tension in the air bursting like a bubble, leaving me reeling. 'Then we can get to the details of our disguise.'
'D-details?'
'Yes.'
Blast him! How did he manage to keep his voice so businesslike when mine felt like breaking any moment?
I cleared my throat. 'Details like what, Sir?'
'Like names and forms of address, of course. It is extremely unlikely, for instance, that a married couple would have enough sense to address one another by their surnames. And I doubt very much the female could be so well mannered as to address her husband as "Sir".' Reaching up, he stroked his chin for a moment – a gesture of contemplation I had never seen before. Was there a slight crease between his eyebrows? But... he never moved his facial muscles! What titanic struggle had to be taking place inside him?
I waited, my anticipation rising. Finally, he growled and jerked his head in annoyance. He looked as if he had just received news that he had to part with a thousand pounds on the spot.
'There seems to be no way around it. For the duration of our stay in Egypt, I give you temporary leave to address me by my first name, Miss Linton.'
I blinked at him. This was what had been causing his emotional turmoil? 'How... how very gracious of you.'
'Yes, I know. Married people really ought to have better manners. First names. Bah!'
'Yes – terrible! You might get the idea that they actually liked each other.' No reaction. Not for the first time I noticed that Mr Rikkard Ambrose was impervious to sarcasm.
'Probably using my first name won't even be enough,' he added sourly. 'Newlyweds are notoriously uncourteous and informal. You had better use an abbreviated form to give an appropriate impression of conjugal familiarity.' He considered the matter for a moment. '"Rick" would be an acceptable choice.'
I thought about it for a moment, rolling the name around my tongue. Then, suddenly, an idea came to me, and a grin spread over my face. 'I'm sure there are other abbreviations for your lovely name. How about "Dick"?'
He gave me a glare that sent shivers down my back. But my smile only widened. Inside, I was rolling on the floor with laughter, gasping for air. Ha! Payback time!
'It's "Rick", Miss Linton! No discussion!'
'Just as you say, ... Dick.'
His glare cooled another dozen degrees. 'I'm your employer, Miss Linton! You are obligated to follow my orders!'
In return for his ferocious glare, I gave him back a cheerful smile. 'Apparently, you're not my employer. You're my husband now, Dick. Haven't you heard?' My eyes were dancing. Good God, why had I been worried about this just a moment ago? This was brilliant! 'Wives lovingly tease their husbands all the time. It's their job. They also complain, argue and never shut up when they're supposed to. It's all part of the wonderful tapestry of married life.'
He took a deep breath. For a moment, I saw his little finger twitching – but then, in a movement so imperceptible you'd need a microscope to be sure it was there, one corner of his mouth lifted.
Dear God... What... That couldn't be a sm—
He moved before I could finish the thought. Suddenly, he was right in front of me, his ice-heart energy crackling in the air around me. His dark eyes were burning. 'Glad to see you're embracing your role so thoroughly, Wife.'
'Th-thank you.'
Damn the stutter! That didn't come out nearly as sarcastically as it was supposed to! I stared up into his eyes, and he stared back, implacable, cold and very, very determined.
'Do you know,' he murmured, slowly leaning towards me, 'what else is part of married life?' I started to back away, but he moved with me, coming ever closer.
'No. What are you talking about?'
He ignored my question, moving closer still. Blast, he was just a few inches away now – close enough for me to feel the heat of his skin and the freezing, calculating ice of his gaze, mingling in one irresistible maelstrom. Too close! Far too close!
'Do you know,' he breathed 'what a married couple does all the time? Especially newlyweds, who have just found each other and are still discovering all the enticing possibilities?'
'No!' I snapped. 'I have no clue what you–'
He went for me.
I didn't have a hope of avoiding him. His arms were around me in a millisecond, caging me in, and then...
Then his lips came crashing down on mine.
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My dear Lords, Ladies & Gentlemen,
I have marvelous news! I'm now well on my way back to health, and if all goes as planned, I'll soon be a completely functioning writer once more! :-) Thanks so much, everyone, for your fantastic support & encouragement!
Oh, and by the way: the official winners of Radish Fiction Coin giveaway haven't been determined yet with absolute certainty. I haven't had time yet to find out the winners' names yet, since lying asleep in my sickbed below a great pile of blankets has taken up a lot of my time recently. But do not fear, the winners will be announced in my next author's note! :)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob