Under normal circumstances, Mr Rikkard Ambrose was in charge. Of everything. Always. So when, that evening, I took hold of his hand and started pulling him towards the parlour door, slipping another hand over his eyes, he was not very pleased.
'Miss Linton? What are you doing?'
'It's a surprise,' I whispered into his ear, pressing a gentle kiss against his earlobe.
He stiffened.
'Miss Linton, I have just wasted three hours, forty-two minutes and twenty-seven seconds in the company of a village vicar and three old crones, being pelted with questions I did not wish to answer and compliments on my non-existent generosity. After, I might add, you already brought me three dozen surprises, most of which are currently employed by me and are sweeping this house clean and cooking in the kitchens. Do you really think that after all that, I would desire a surprise?'
I considered his question for a moment—then nodded. 'Yes.'
'You,' Mr Ambrose said from behind my hand, still covering his face, 'are delusional.'
'And you love me just the way I am.'
A moment of silence. Then—
'I have stated as much, yes.'
I grinned up at him. Even knowing he couldn't see it, I bet he could feel it. 'So if I'm delusional, and you love me anyway, what does that make you?'
Silence.
A very long, very non-committal silence.
'Careful,' I warned.
'Why? Wh—aaah! Nnf!'
'Because there are steps in front of you,' I helpfully explained.
'Thank you so much for the early warning, Miss Linton.'
'You are most welcome, Sir.'
'Will you remove your hand from my eyes?'
'I don't think so, no.'
'Miss Linton?'
'Yes, Sir?'
'Move your hand! Now!'
'What's the hurry? Would you like it back on your derrière?'
'Miss Linton...!'
'Careful! Another staircase.'
'Where in Mammon's name are you leading me?'
'You'll see.'
'So you plan to graciously remove your hand from my eyes at some point, do you?'
'If you ask nicely.'
'I. Do. Not. Ask.'
You asked for me.
But I didn't say that out loud—because I didn't need to. He knew. I knew. That was all that was necessary.
'It won't be long now...just around one more corner, and...voilà! We're here.'
I stopped, but still didn't remove my hand from his face.
'And where is "here", exactly, Miss Linton?'
There was a soft click.
'What was that?' he demanded.
'Me. I just opened the door.'
'The door to what?'
For a moment, I answered with nothing but silence—just for the fun of it. Then I started to slowly lead him forward. 'The door to your room.'
'This isn't my room! Even with no eyes, my room is on the ground floor, and this place is not—'
'Pardon,' I apologised, pressing a soft kiss onto his cheek. 'I shouldn't have said your room. I meant our room.'
And I let my hand drop from his eyes.
Beneath my fingers, I felt him stiffen.
'What the...!'
In front of us was spread the most beautiful, welcoming room in existence. It wasn't too small, and it wasn't too enormous, but large enough to accommodate a big, plush carpet spread through the entire room, a beautiful wrought iron chandelier with a single frugal little candle casting the evening scene into warm, shadowy light, and...
The bed.
It was a massive four-poster, fashioned from dark mahogany. Have you heard the expression 'king-sized-bed'? Well, this one was king-and-queen sized. The covers were a dark, sea-coloured blue-grey, the cushions a nice, warm, chocolate brown. It should have been a horrible combination. It should have been gruesomely clashing—but somehow, it wasn't. Somehow, it fit perfectly together.
'How...?' Turning from left to right, Mr Ambrose suspiciously inspected all corners of the room as if expecting a troop of helpful brownies to pop up out of nowhere. Then he turned towards me, his eyes fierce. 'I know what this room is supposed to look like, Miss Linton. It's a store room, with crates piled all the way up to the ceiling! The last time it was used as a master suite was before I bought this place!'
'Dear me.' I cocked my head. 'Seems you're not entirely up to date, doesn't it, Sir?'
'How?' Stepping forward, he grabbed me by the shoulder. Yet there was no accusation in his eyes. In fact, just the opposite. 'You didn't leave the room downstairs for one minute! You were there the whole time that vicar kept us prisoners with his blabbering!'
'I gave precise instructions to the servants. I'm very good at giving instructions.' I smiled up at him. 'I learned from the master.'
In an instant, I was in his arms and was being swept into the room. The backs of my legs hit the bed and I fell over, landing among the downy cushions with a gasp. Two fists slammed into the bed on either side of me. Mr Rikkard Ambrose towered over me, caging me in.
'Did you learn?' His eyes sparkled with frost. With a challenge. 'Or are you the one trying to teach?'
Both. We've got to learn from each other if we want to become what we're meant to be.
'Maybe.' An impudent grin flashed over my face. 'After all, after two years I've probably learned all there is to learn from you.'
Now his eyes didn't just sparkle. They gleamed. With terrible danger.
'Indeed, Miss Linton?'
'Indeed, Sir.'
'So, you think there's nothing I can do to surprise you anymore?'
'No. I—'
His hand shot out.
My heart leapt, expecting him to go for me—but his hand moved behind his back, holding something small I couldn't see. He let the object fly, and a moment later, the single candle extinguished, plunging the room into utter darkness. His fingers gently brushed over my eyes.
I sucked in a breath.
'As they say,' came Mr Rikkard Ambrose's cool voice out of the darkness, 'turnabout is fair play.'
Then he was on me. Literally. His heavy weight pressing me into the mattress, robbing me of my breath in the best, worst, most wonderful way imaginable. His lips, hot and cold, hard and soft, wild and precise, made their way up my neck, leaving burning kisses in their wake.
'What were you saying about having nothing to learn from me anymore, Miss Linton?' The whisper was soft, cool, like a winter breeze.
How does he manage to talk like that when all I want to do is scream and burst aflame? To scream for him to stop. To give me more. To do...something!
'A-all right,' I rasped. 'That might have been a slight exaggeration.'
His lips found a certain spot right below my ear, soft and needy and...
'Slight, Miss Linton?'
Oh...
'A-all right. A m-moderate exaggeration.'
'Moderate?' he hissed. Suddenly, he was no longer next to my face. I knew that even in the dark because I felt him working his way through the folds of my gown. 'I think you are misusing the entries in your lexicon, Miss Linton.'
'I don't—aah...!'
'You were saying?'
'I...I...'
Suddenly, he was at my ear again. 'Would you like me to teach you another lesson?' Burning a path across my cheek, his lips found their way to my mouth and silenced me. Which was a good thing, because right then his hand found another part of me and...well, how should I put this delicately...
Crap.
I bloody can't.
'Nnnnnnnnng!'
'Silence!' came the icy order out of the darkness. 'You don't want to attract the attention of all the new staff you hired, do you?'
'Nn nn...'
'I thought as much.' Fingers appeared at the topmost button of my gown. 'Ready for another lesson?'
Another lesson? At this point, I was ready for anything as long as it meant I didn't have to get out of this bed in the foreseeable future. Real life was so boring. This was so much better.
'Well? Ready?' he demanded, freeing my lips for just a moment. Even in complete and utter darkness, I could feel his icy eyes burning into mine.
'With you?' I whispered. 'I'm ready for anything.'
'Adequate.'
Suddenly, his weight was gone. Startled, I blinked up in the darkness.
'Mr Ambrose?'
No answer.
'Mr Ambrose? What is going on?'
Silence—until, a moment later, a heavy belt buckle hit the floor with a thud.
Oh.
Oh boy. So this was how he thought he could 'teach' me?
Well...perhaps someone should teach him a lesson.
'So that's it?' I asked, trying to make my voice sound throaty. Alluring. For some reason, I didn't have to work very hard. 'You want to show me what I'm missing?'
'Yes,' came his voice out of the darkness above me, and I took the opportunity to roll a little to the side. Just a little bit. Just enough.
'Then come and get me.'
'That, Miss Linton, is the plan.' I heard him step forward, and tried to keep from grinning—but then, what was the point? It was pitch black. A state which had certain advantages, and as Mr Rikkard Ambrose was about to discover, certain disadvantages as well.
I heard him step forward and reach out to take hold of me. 'Let me show you. I cannot wait to touch your sof-mmmmpf!'
There was a soft thud as he face-planted in the cushions beside me.
'And?' I enquired from beside him. Even in the dark, I could make out the faint outline of his face sunken in the pillows. 'How do you like my soffmpf, Sir?'
'You,' he told me, voice ice-cold and slightly muffled, 'will pay for that.'
'Dear me. I seem to be accumulating quite a debt these days. Perhaps I should—'
His arm shot out. Squeaking, I leapt out of the way, scrambling away across the bed.
'Come here!'
'I'm sorry? Did I hear right?' Cocking my head, I smiled into the dark. 'Was that a command, Mr Ambrose? I thought, as per the terms of our compromise, you will no longer give me any of those.'
'Quite correct.' Oh, how cold his voice was. How ruthless. How determined. He was coming for me. I could just feel it. Shivers started racing up and down my whole body. 'I swore you would no longer have to obey any of my commands—after we are married.' Suddenly, a hand closed around my ankle. 'We aren't married yet.'
I tugged at my ankle, trying to tear free—but I might as well have tried to break free from iron shackles! Reaching out, I tried to grab him instead, to get some leverage, and my hand found something far more interesting than an ankle. A big grin spread across my face.
'Miss Linton!'
'Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir?'
'Remove. Your. Hand.'
'Do you really want me to, Mr Ambrose, Sir?'
Growling, he started towards me—and I squeezed.
'Nnnng!'
Suddenly, for some reason, he let go of my ankle. Apparently he abruptly needed his hands for something else. Sliding back, I let go and slipped off the bed. With swift fingers, I started buttoning up my dress.
'Miss Linton?'
In answer, I followed the example of the man I loved most in this world. I stayed silent.
'Miss Linton, where are you going?'
Tiptoeing away from the bed, I reached out my hand and felt around. Wall panelling, wall panelling, painting...yes! There it was!
My fingers grasped and turned the doorknob. A moment later, a shaft of candlelight from the hallway fell into the room, illuminating a truly magnificent sight. I paused in the doorway for just a moment to appreciate it—long enough for Mr Ambrose to notice the sudden light and whirl around.
My, my...
The view was getting better and better.
'Miss Linton! What in Mammon's name are you doing?'
'I believe it's called "opening a door", Sir. I'll fully explain to you how it works sometime, if you'd like me to.'
He leapt up from the bed, which caused some interesting motion in his nether regions. My eyes went up and down and up and down...
'Miss Linton!'
'Pardon me. It's rather noticeable.'
His eyes blazing, he took a step forward. 'Why are you leaving?'
'Oh. Didn't I explain that?'
'You. Did. Not.'
He took another step closer. Dangerously close.
'Oh. Well...' I smiled at him. The biggest, brightest, most innocent smile I had ever smiled. 'It's because we aren't married yet.'
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. 'Are you trying to tell me that you, the woman who wanted to seduce me and tried to convince me to live in sin with her forever, have suddenly developed moral scruples?'
I flashed him a grin.
'Of course not, silly! It'll just be fun to watch you squirm. Plus, it'll be really useful to have something to manipulate you with.'
Something glittered in his eyes. Something that was not ice, nor was it lust. No, it was far better: a tiny hint of admiration. 'You would make an excellent negotiator, Miss Linton.'
'I'm glad you think so, Sir.'
'But even a good negotiator can be convinced.' He took a third step towards me. 'With enough determination.'
'Ricky? Ricky, where are you?'
My grin widened. 'Oh really? Do you have enough determination to face your mother in your current state of dress?'
The sound that issued from the throat of Mr Rikkard Ambrose was difficult to describe. Something between the growl of a lion and the squawk of penguin suddenly finding himself stranded in the Sahara.
'Ricky? Are you in there?'
Abruptly, he leapt towards the bed and dived under the covers, until only the top of his head peeked out from beneath the blanket. It was completely impossible to apply certain words to Mr Rikkard Ambrose. But if it had been, if I hadn't been sure he would enact swift revenge, I would have said he looked...cute.
Love really does make you blind.
'Toodeloo.' Waving at him, I flashed him a last smile—then slipped out the door.
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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
If this chapter arrives a little late today, I'm sorry. I overslept, even though, as a Victorian with high morales, I should be hard-working and industrious! Shame upon me! ;)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob