The moment his lips touched mine, fireworks exploded in my head. Before I had time for a single thought, my arms were thrown around his neck, and I pulled him against me, hard. Parting my lips, I deepened the kiss, almost desperately. His lips tasted like pickled beaver tails. And I mean that in a good way.

Really, what was wrong with me?

I had no clue.

But right now, I didn't bloody care!

Sliding down from his neck, my hands fumbled blindly for a moment before finding the top button of his shirt. I tore the shirt off and threw it away with the distaste befitting unnecessary trash. Hm...how about treating the rest of his clothes the same way?

Smirking, I moved my hands once more.

What an excellent idea!

My fingers moved at lightning speed. Soon a white flag of a shirt flew into the air, signalling surrender. Not that Mr Rikkard Ambrose looked like a defeated enemy. Oh no. He looked like a conqueror, ready for a midnight ambush.

"You," he told me, his eyes fierce, "are beautiful."

Feeling my face flush, I reached up to caress his stone-hard pectorals. "I...I am not the only one."

"Not just here." A hand far more gentle than anything belonging to Mr Rikkard Ambrose had any right to be touched my face—then started sliding down. "Here." The hand settled just above my heart.

A place that, myself being female, happened to be a rather...intimate spot.

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Get the rest of your clothes off right now!"

"Demanding, are we not?" Gazing down at my still-dressed form spread out before him, his eyes sparkled darkly. "But you know, wife, I've been reliably informed a good marriage is based on equality."

My fingers moved so fast they blurred. Moments later, I lay there in nothing but my undershirt, while Mr Rikkard Ambrose...

Thud.

The sound of a pair of trousers hitting the floor was far louder in my ears than it should have been.

I swallowed, unable to look up at him.

Heck! What's the matter with you? You've been married for weeks, and now is the time you decide to grow shy?

"Lillian."

The sound of his name on my lips was like a hook sinking into my heart. Unable to resist, I looked up, and what I saw almost took my breath away. High cheekbones, intense, almost glowing eyes, sculpted muscles gleaming in the moonlight. Any moment now! Any moment now, he was going to pounce on me! Through the ephemeral cloth of the undershirt, I could almost feel his fingers digging into my flesh, ravaging my body. Any moment now! Any moment...

A thumb caressed my cheek.

Unbelievably gently.

I blinked. What?

This...this was Mr Rikkard Ambrose, right? Since when was he capable of not taking what he wanted without a second's hesitation? Since when did he do gentle?

Right then, his other hand, light as a feather, brushed aside my undershirt, caressing my stomach. A strange, unknown emotion rose within me.

W-what is this? I know I love the son of a bachelor! I love him to bloody bits! But...

This was so different. So much more. There was no need for professions of love to someone who was already inextricably joined with you.

"My little ifrit!"

The whispered words in the moonlit room should have been almost inaudible—but in my ears, they rang as loud as a bell. Like a feather on velvet, Mr Ambrose's hand travelled up my belly, towards where the other still rested above my heart. Then, with a rip and a flick of his finger, the scrap of cloth that separated us disappeared, leaving me bare. In every single sense of the word.

"Mine. Forever." His lip whispered against my heart and...other things around there. Shivers of heat and cold rushed over my skin, and I squirmed beneath him.

"P-please. I...please, Mr Ambrose, Sir..."

"Shh..." The tip of his finger came to rest against my lips. "Patience."

Patience? He was telling me to be patient?

Where was his bossy attitude? Where was his need to have everything instantly now without delay?

It was...gone.

In its place was a sudden tenderness shining in his cold eyes. A tenderness I didn't understand but found myself craving more of.

"W-what is happening?" My voice sounded like a shy song bird, trembling in the icy night. Nothing like it was supposed to sound like, dammit! I should be pissed about this! I should be. But...I couldn't. "I've never felt like this...I...I..."

"I know." The tenderness in his cold eyes was almost unbearable. "I know."

His hands once again started roaming across my body. Every single touch was like a fiery brand on my skin, times ten thousand. What the bloody hell...? I'd been with him before! I should be prepared for this! But I bloody hell wasn't! This was too much! This wasn't nearly enough!

"This..." By now, my voice was nearly inaudible. "This is so different."

Nearly inaudible.

But he heard every word.

He cocked his head. "Adequate different, or bad different?"

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Could he possibly know how those few little words warmed my heart?

"Adequate. Definitely adequate."

"Then..." Reaching for my thighs, he gently pulled them apart, moving closer. So close the heat of him nearly burned me. "How about I make it better?"

"Yes!"

And before I had time to say another word, he moved in.

That night, I decided that gentle was good. Very, very good. This honeymoon was definitely looking up.

***

"Bleeeargh!"

I really had to stop putting my foot in my mouth. Particularly right now, while it was busy with...other things.

"Bluurgh!"

"Take this bucket. The other is almost full."

Turning back, I sent a glare at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, something that was considerably more difficult than you might think when he was completely, gloriously naked.

"This is the point where you are supposed to ask 'Are you all right, Darling?'."

He cocked his head. "But you are clearly not."

"That's not the bloody poi—oh, just give me that darn bucket!"

Wordlessly, he handed me the empty container and, with the other hand, took the vomit-filled one. Which, reasonably speaking, was probably a lot more helpful than a sweet husbandly enquiry after my well-being.

But then again, who the heck said I felt like being reasonable?

"Gaargh! Rrrg! Blurgh!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the naked feet of my vomit express. Moments later, I heard a door open.

"Karim!"

"Yes, Ambrose Sahib?"

"I have a bucket here. Dispose of the contents for me, will you?"

"Certainly, Sahib. I'm at your command, Sahi—Naraka dē bhūta!"

"No. Demons from hell have horns. This is a bucket of vomit. Dispose of it."

Lifting my head just enough to watch the scene, I grinned. Mr Rikkard Ambrose—employer of the year. Then I quickly dived down again, stomach roiling.

Moments later, he returned and, setting the now empty bucket down next to me, held me in his arms, gently sliding my hair back.

And husband of the year, too, apparently.

After a while, my heaving subsided, and I felt myself being pulled back into a tight embrace. I stiffened momentarily—then relaxed.

"So...what now?" I murmured.

"Now I take care of matters," he said behind me, his voice firm. "While you stay here and relax."

"You mean until you come at evening and we can exercise?"

"Indeed. And then you rest and relax again."

"Why?" I demanded, yet not in the usual outraged tone. I knew him. I'd heard him order me around in the past, and...this wasn't like that. Whatever the reason was, he had a reason. One beyond wanting to be the big macho man in the house.

Not that that meant I was just going along with it!

"Why?" Taking hold of my hand, Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned my face until he was gazing down at me, his eyes filled with iron determination. "Because I'm going to protect my wife! Especially now that you're—"

Abruptly, he cut off.

My eyes narrowed. "Now that I'm what?"

"Landsick." He cleared his throat. "Yes, indeed. Now that you are landsick."

"You are keeping me under house arrest because I'm landsick?"

"Indeed."

"Don't you 'indeed' me, Mister!" I growled, turning around to face him.

"Or?" he enquired, head cocked in challenge.

I smiled, giving him a nice whiff of my luxurious digestive odour. "Or I'll give you a nice, long, deep, wet kiss."

There was a moment of silence. Then...

"Perhaps I shall use a different phrasing next time."

My grin widened in triumph. Yay! Marital disputes—Ambrose: 0, Lilly: 1.

"You know," I pointed out while I was already on a winning streak, "a honeymoon is just the right time for a loving husband to make his wife breakfast in bed."

My loving husband shot me a look that could give an iceberg the chills. "Do not push your luck."

I nodded obediently. "I prefer to pull it anyway."

He gave me another one of those looks—then, rising to his feet, started dressing and made his way out of the room. Five minutes later, I heard the sizzling of a pan from the room next door, and delicious smells floated into the bedroom. Grinning, I stretched and snuggled back into bed. Being married was great! Incredibly grea—

"Bluuurgh!"

Well, maybe not quite so great.

By the time I came up for air again, Mr Rikkard Ambrose was standing in the doorway, a steaming tray in his elegant hands.

"Breakfast is ready."

"Oh great," I groaned, clutching my stomach. "Just great."

I dove towards the bucket again. Over the splashing of liquid, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The bed beside me dipped, and, once again, Mr Ambrose was holding back my hair, steadying me.

"S-sorry," I mumbled.

Gently stroking a thumb across my cheek, Mr Ambrose tightened his grip around my shoulders. "Mrs Ambrose...I'm going to give you a piece of advice that has served me well in my life."

"Which is?"

"Don't. Ever. Apologize."

"Ah." I nodded wisely. "So that's why you're such an arse most of the time."

"Wife?"

"Yes?"

"You should perhaps remember who is holding your head up above a bucket of vomit."

"Good point."

It took a while for my stomach to stop rebelling. Mr Ambrose held me all the way through it, and a long while after that. Finally, when my mouth once again tasted moderately normal, I found a tray in front of me, gazing down at the breakfast he'd prepared.

"It's gone cold," he stated, coolly.

"Don't worry." A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Reaching out, I caressed my favourite iceberg. "I happen to like cold things."

"Indeed?"

"Oh yes, indeed, Sir."

Taking a spoon in hand, Mr Ambrose fished for some scrambled egg and held it in front of my mouth.

"Open up."

I felt a tug in my chest. And not the kind caused by vomit coming up my throat. "Feeding your wife, husband? How romantic."

"For efficiency only, I assure you."

My smile widened. "Of course. Of course."

"Cease smiling."

My smile widened again. "As you command, my lord and husband."

Mr Ambrose's response to that was to ram a spoonful of scrambled egg into my mouth. The next half hour or so was spent in peaceful and companionable silence. It was...nice. Ever since my parents had died when I was little, I had always sat with my dear aunt and twin sisters at breakfast. So the concept of spending breakfast in company I actually liked was rather novel. And I only puked two times! Yippee!

Finally, though, our happy little couple time came to an end and Mr Ambrose rose to his feet, looking around for his shirt which he had yet to put on.

He looked around for quite a while.

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"My shirt."

"Do I absolutely have to?" Lips quirking, I let my eyes wander over his chiselled chest. "I'm really quite enjoying the view."

"Shirt. Now!"

Reluctantly, I pulled the crumpled shirt out from under my derriere and handed it to him. He stared at the wrinkly thing and sent a long, long look my way, which prompted me to look out of the window and start whistling.

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"In your luggage...did you bring a flat iron?"

...aaaand that was my cue to leave.

With the instincts of a seasoned choreophobic, I fled the room. It was time to do a tour of this lovely little house. After all, my dear husband had built this abode just for me, right? It would be remiss of me if I didn't enjoy it to its fullest.

Pushing open the back door, I gazed out over the clearing bathed in the golden light of the sunrise.

And what a beautiful abode it is.

I remembered what my dear husband had said about this place. "I merely provided the necessary lodgings for our stay in the vicinity."

I smirked.

Yes. Merely necessary lodgings. That's why the little garden behind the cottage was filled with lilies and forget-me-nots.

Taking a last breath of the fresh forest air, I closed the door again and started exploring the house. Besides the big bedroom, there was a kitchen, a sitting room, a bathroom—yes! Baths available! Yes!—plus, on the upper storey, a gallery, a small study and...another bedroom? I frowned. For whom was that? Karim? I supposed it could have been. Only...the wallpaper featuring little lambs and dancing bunnies made me a little doubtful. Also the bed was about fifty sizes too small. What the heck?

Shrugging, I turned and started back downstairs. When I returned to the bedroom, I found a note on my pillow.

Mrs Ambrose,

Gone to work. When I return, I expect dinner on the table.

Mr Ambrose

My eyebrow twitched. Oh. He expected, did he?

He did make breakfast for you, remember?

Crap. Yes, he did, the sweet, manipulative bastard.

On the other hand...he just said he expected dinner to be on the table. He never mentioned he expected you to make it.

A grin spread across my face. Sophistry was such a useful hobby.

I glanced at the note again. Hm...so he had gone to work, had he? The mine or the town? No matter. What mattered was that he was out there, doing fun stuff, while I was still stuck in here. That was going to change. I was going to go out there one way or another.

I glanced down at my still mostly unclothed form.

Just...maybe not quite like this.

Making my way to the wardrobe, I pulled open the door and...

Oh my.

So that's how we're gonna play it, is it?

I gazed long and hard at the contents of the wardrobe. Namely, a lot of dust and a spider curiously blinking up at the hairless ape who had invaded her home. There was not a single piece of clothing. Not even the ones I'd been wearing earlier.

My fingers twitched.

So...Mr Rikkard Ambrose was really determined to keep me at home, was he?

And determined to keep you naked, apparently. Isn't he a wonderful man?

Shut up, stupid inner voice! I'm not running around naked simply because it's my honeymoon!

Even if he does the same?

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Taking a deep breath, I whirled around and grabbed my luggage. To be precise, the suitcase I had personally packed. Grabbing hold of the thing, I lifted the lid and...

Nothing.

Abso-frigging-lutely nothing!

Well, except for underwear. Apparently, he didn't mind my wearing skimpy bits of lace. Imagine that.

He'd even pinched the corsets! Heck! Why on earth would he bother stealing my corsets?

Well...that was not the main point of interest right now. Right now, the lack of decent clothes was more concerning.

So, this was his plan was it?

Step one—make me an infamous criminal so I couldn't take a single step into town.

Step two—steal all my clothes, just to be extra sure.

Step three—put me under house arrest as the good little wife I was supposed to be.

A brilliant plan. Truly brilliant. Oh, woe is me! What could I possibly do? I would be fated to sit at home like a good little wife and do embroidery.

Unless...

Unless, of course, I was a devious little witch with a backup plan.

Smirking, I opened the secret compartment of the suitcase, which contained trousers, a dress, a second revolver and some extra ammunition. How nice of Mr Ambrose to unknowingly have his bodyguard deliver my special supplies straight into my hands. For all his brilliant plans, he seemed to have forgotten one little fact:

It was only Mr Victor Linton who was a wanted man. The same did not apply to Lady Lillian Ambrose.

My grin widened. This was going to be fun.

-------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

The wild west trembles at the approach of Miss Lilly Linton ;)

By the way, I hope I'm doing a decent job of portraying pregnancy? I would appreciate feedback from any mothers who happen to be among my readership.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

--------------------------------------------

GLOSSARY:

Naraka dē bhūta!—Demons of hell!