I yawned and blinked the sleep out of my eyes. Taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air that was drifting in through the draughty window, I pushed myself to my feet, wandered over to where my luggage had been placed, and stashed away the crispy, fresh bank notes that I'd nicked from Mr Ambrose's pocket last night while he was...otherwise occupied.

Whistling, I rubbed my hands. This had been fun. I should really do this more often.

I was about to close the case again—then hesitated. Reaching down, I gave the stack of banknotes a quick count, and a grin spread over my face.

Much more often.

Just then, a pair of strong arms encircled me from behind. "What are you doing?"

"Me?" With a totally convincing innocent smile on my face, I turned around. "Nothing. I was just wondering how I turned out to be so lucky to find such an amazing husband."

"Yes." His ice-cold eyes bored into me. "I've also been wondering what I've done to deserve such a...talented wife as well."

Almost instinctively, he reached down, as if to massage his nether regions. Noticing it, he quickly drew his hand back.

A grin spread over my face. "Ah, yes. I'm very 'talented', am I not?"

"Indeed." Mr Rikkard shifted. "A little too talented."

My grin widened. "Shall we go down to breakfast? I feel a craving for...sausage."

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "You are insatiable."

"I know. I might even go for some spotted dick."

"This is America, Mrs Ambrose. I don't think they have English specialties here."

"Oh, I don't know." I glanced down to where his tailcoat met his trousers. "I can certainly think of one way to get it."

Mr Ambrose pointed to the door. "Breakfast. Now."

"Oh my. Is my dear spouse still sore from last night?" I gave him the concerned look of a strong man who had just deflowered a virgin. "Don't worry. I'll be more gentle with you next time."

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes, Mr Ambrose?"

"Be silent!"

"You know, I'd have to be quiet if I had something in my mouth that—"

The icy glare Mr Ambrose shot my way quickly made me shut up.

"Ehem. All right, breakfast." Sliding out of his arms, I slipped into the rest of my clothes and strode towards the door—only to stop in my tracks. "Um...is there a place where we can get breakfast here?"

"There should be, yes." Striding over, Mr Ambrose reached for the doorknob—only to halt as well and gave me a penetrating stare. "You are, however, absolutely forbidden from asking for spotted dick."

I smirked, and, without bothering to reply, slipped through the door.

"Mrs Ambrose? That was an order, understood? Mrs Ambrose!"

"Come along!" I called up, already halfway down the stairs. "You wouldn't want to be late for...'ordering breakfast', would you?"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose moved faster than the Pony Express. In a blink, he was at my side and had linked his arm with mine in an unbreakable grip.

"I will be the one ordering breakfast, wife."

"A travesty! What happened to my freedom of choice?"

"The same thing that happened to the last remnants of my innocence last night."

"You are no fun, Sir."

"A fact I take great pride in."

In companionable bickering, we descended down the stairs. About halfway down, we encountered a pale, mournful ghost.

"Hello there, Karim," I greeted. "Did you have a good night's sleep? How was your first night spent in a bawdy house?"

The bearded bodyguard shot me a murderous look. "I will eviscerate you with a rusty kitchen knife!"

"But he's the one who chose this place," I protested, promptly doing what a wife should do and unloading all the guilt onto my husband.

"Yes. But he is my employer."

I opened my mouth to protest such blatant unfairness—then a point occurred to me. I grinned.

"And I'm your employer's wife."

Karim blinked.

"Dhikāra hai!"

"I assume that's Punjabi for 'Yes, Ma'am, just as you say, Ma'am'?"

Karim's face morphed into a wooden mask of male misery. "Yes, Sahiba. That's exactly what it means. May I take my leave now?"

And go find a nice corner to die in? the unspoken words hung in the air.

"Actually, we were just wondering where we could find something to eat. Could you maybe go and find out?"

"Yes, Sahiba." Karim resigned himself. "Right away, Sahiba. But...where would we find food in a place like this?"

"Go ask the staff," Mr Ambrose ordered.

"He means the half-naked women," I supplied helpfully.

Karim's beard twitched maniacally. "Yes, Sahiba, I shall go directly, Sahiba."

Whirling around, he stomped down the stairs, nearly bringing down the house in the process.

Eyes sparkling, I leaned over to Mr Ambrose. "Wanna bet whose clutches he's going to fall into?"

"I never bet, Mrs Ambrose."

Just then, a manly squeal came from further down the stairs.

"Especially if I already know the answer."

It took some time for Karim to return. When he did, his turban sat askew at a jaunty angle, and there was a very suspicious mark on his neck.

"Breakfast," he managed to squeeze out, "will be served in the 'Sweet Pleasure Suite'. Or at least so I have been informed by Miss Delilah Deluxe."

"Sweet!" I clapped Karim on the back. "Thanks."

"You are welcome."

Following the directions of Mr Ambrose's conscientious bodyguard, we soon arrived at the door of said sweet pleasure suite. Together, we stepped into the room and, just as expected, found a table full of hearty food. What I hadn't expected, however, was the company.

"Mister Spend-Resister! Cross-dressing wifey! Come in, come in, the both of you!"

Before I could even think of resisting, surprisingly strong, perfumed hands grabbed hold of me and dragged me into the room. Soon, I found myself sandwiched between a young woman who introduced herself as "Hot Pot Meg" and someone called "Sultry Sally", unable to move an inch, and having to watch while several giggling women attempted to restrain my struggling husband and spoon-feed him bacon at the other end of the table.

And do you know what was worse?

The ones who were trying to spoon-feed me!

Honestly! It wasn't as if it were the first time women had expressed their deep and passionate desire for my wonderful self—but back then, I had been dressed as Mr Victor Linton, wearing a tailcoat and with substantial socks stuffed in my trousers!

"So, tell me," Meg whispered in my ear, while aiming a fork at my mouth. I neatly dodged, nearly having my ear skewered in the process. "How did you and Mr Iceberg meet?

A nostalgic smile spread across my face. "Well, as to that..."

On the other side of the table, Mr Ambrose's struggles to free himself from the clutches of the ladies of the night abruptly increased. For some reason, he suddenly seemed very eager to get over to me.

I grinned. "Let me tell you the whole story..."

Roughly half an hour later, I was stuffed full of delicious food and had ruined my husband's reputation in front of a gaggle of prostitutes. Life was good. And it was about to be even better. To judge by the gossipy sparkle in Hot Pot Meg's eyes, his reputation in the whole US of A was going to take a nosedive, too.

"Mrs Ambrose!" my dear husband growled. "You...!"

"Yes?" I batted my eyelashes at him, innocently.

"Don't you dare say another word, or—"

Right then, he was interrupted by a spoon full of bacon being stuffed into his mouth. I couldn't keep the smirk spreading from across my face.

It was a bit strange. I probably should have been pissed off beyond belief, considering the prostitutes dangling off my husband's arms and all that. But...

I glanced at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He sat between the two scantily-dressed women, cold and unmoved as an iceberg fresh from the Antarctic. His back was stiff as a broomstick, and his buttocks clenched as if one were actually shoved up his backside. So far, he had made seventy-three consecutive escape attempts, and the two women practically had to pry open his jaw with pliers to force-feed him.

Was it wrong that the sight sent a surge of warmth through my heart?

"You caught yourself a good one, girly."

I jumped and glanced sideways to see it was Meg who had just whispered into my ear. She smirked, jabbing a spoon in the direction of the glacial monument that was my husband.

"The last time Sarah tried that routine, she had some guy eating out of her hand in five minutes flat. Your man's been sitting there for thirty-five minutes and, escape attempts aside, hasn't moved a muscle. That's a new record."

I stared at her. Could it be that they'd planned this the whole time, to test...

She winked, and put a finger to her lips. "Shh. Let's keep this between us girls, shall we?"

I grinned.

Maybe I'd have to revise my opinion. It might have been a good idea to come here after all.

"So," I enquired, leaning to where Mr Ambrose was still struggling with his tormentors. "What should we do today? Go on a little town tour? Relax and take a day off?"

Mr Ambrose shook his head, which luckily no woman had grabbed hold of yet. "We can't. We have business to take care of."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "What business?"

"We came to find a representative of the judicial system, did we not? We have to visit the judge for him to confirm the arrests of the thugs in our two Spanish friends' employ. Most of them we'll just be able to leave in the local prison, and we'll only have to continue on with the main culprits, since they're already wanted for crimes in New York. The marshal will be coming to pick us up later."

"Ah, I see." I took a sip of my breakfast orange juice. "I guess we'll have to—"

Just then his words sank in. The juice in my mouth was sprayed across the table in a beautiful fountain.

"The marshal is going to come pick us up later?"

"Yes."

"The US Marshal, who is duty-bound to enforce the law of a country that outlaws prostitution, is going to come pick us up later? From a brothel?"

Mr Ambrose lifted one shoulder in what might be a miniscule twitch for other people. For him, it was a shrug.

"He thinks it is a hotel."

I stared. Then I turned to gesture at the bunch of giggling, half-naked ladies scattered around the table.

"And, having seen them, you think he'll still believe that?"

"I can be very convincing."

Just then, Delilah Deluxe spilled some wine over her friend's dress and, apparently deciding she liked the translucent effect that had on the cloth, followed with the remaining contents of the glass. Sarah stared down at her wet dress—then broke out into giggles and hugged her friend.

I gave my dear husband a look. "I think you're going to have to be."

He shifted in his seat, very pointedly not looking at the girl now dressed in a see-through wet dress.

Good boy.

Shifting in his seat, Mr Ambrose turned to look towards the door. "Adequate. Then, shall we go?"

"Oh yes, let's go!" a chirpy voice from his left piped up.

"Yes!" another voice from his right joined in. "Let's go straight away!"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose glanced down at the woman clinging to both of his arms. "I was not referring to the both of you."

"Aww...you sure?"

"Quite sure." Prying their fingers off his arms one at a time, Mr Ambrose slipped out of their hold and stepped over towards me. "Shall we go?"

Slipping out of the grasp of my two captors, I linked arms with my husband and moved towards the door. Half turning, I waved over my shoulder. "Toodeloo, ladies. Have fun."

Meg smirked, glancing between me and Mr Ambrose. "Are you sure you ain't the one who's gonna have fun?"

I smirked back. "Now that you mention it..."

Just then the doorbell rang.

"Gu-uurls!" Mama Dumant's sing-song voice came from the direction of the parlour. "Customers!"

"Oh shite! Gotta go, bye!" Leaping up, the girls rushed out of the room. Mr Ambrose gazed after them for a moment—then, quick as a flash, he fished out a pocket watch and let it snap open. "This is the time the marshal is supposed to arrive."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Can we reach the door before they do?"

In answer, Mr Ambrose started running.

Without letting go of my arm, the bloody bugger!

"Ah, Mr Ambrose!" The marshal smiled and inclined his head as the front door opened. "You look a bit flushed. Have you been exercising?"

"Something of the kind," Mr Ambrose agreed, his breathing steadying. "Is it time?"

"Yes, the judge is free this morning. Do you have time right now?"

Stepping up behind Mr Ambrose, I glanced over my shoulder at the rapidly approaching "staff" of Mama Dumant's. "Oh yes. Definitely. Let's go, shall we?"

Then I grabbed him and dragged him out of the house as if my heels were on fire.

Matters with the judge were resolved surprisingly quickly. The man seemed to be pretty cooperative after apparently having mistaken the US Marshal for a salesman when he came knocking the previous day and slamming the door in his face. Being shown the error of your ways with a pair of revolvers can do amazing things to improve one's manners.

"...and here is the new warrant for the two Spanish gentlemen, with the additional charges," he finished, hurriedly dropping two final documents on the already humongous pile of papers on the table. "I hope that everything has been arranged to your satisfaction, Marshal? Do tell me if I can be of service in some other way, Marshal."

"This will be fine." The marshal/salesman gave a curt nod. "About the other prisoners..."

The judge inclined his head, almost bowing. "I shall take care of them, naturally. Our local jail is quite spacious, and those who can't be housed there will be taken off our hands soon enough. I shall vouch for the cooperation of the sheriffs from the neighbouring towns."

"Excellent." The marshal nodded. "What do you say, Mr Ambrose?"

"Adequate." Mr Ambrose nodded briskly. "Though we could use a few additional guards and guides for our continued journey east."

"Done! Agreed! Anything you wish!" The judge nodded like a construction-obsessed woodpecker. "When would you like me to implement matters?"

"Right away," Mr Ambrose ordered.

The marshal nodded. "Agreed."

"Wonderful, wonderful! Then, if you permit...?" The judge half-rose from his armchair, hopefully gesturing towards the door.

"By all means, start attending to your duties. We shall see ourselves out."

"Well, that went quickly." I commented as the front door closed behind us moments later.

"Fortunately for the judge," Mr Angleton commented. "I do not appreciate having a housekeeper threaten to chase me away with a broom."

"Did she catch you?" I enquired innocently.

"I'm afraid that, as an officer of the law, I am not permitted to share details of an ongoing investigation," the marshal responded, his face expressionless. Though I did notice him rubbing his backside.

Together, we walked back the same way we had come, as the sun rose higher into the sky and the street traffic slowly started picking up around us. Wagons were rolling down the street, people milling around on their way to work. From the distance, I heard the sound of a blacksmith's hammer. Soon, we reached a market place. Farmers and traders were setting up booths there. Apparently, there was some local market or something like that happening.

Seeing all the colourful objects on sale around me, a brilliant idea struck me. Quickly, I linked my arm with Mr Ambrose's to keep him from escaping.

"So, now that business is taken care of," I began, smiling up at my beloved husband, "should we go on a little shopping trip?"

"No."

It was impressive how quickly and instinctively the answer came. Grinning, I tightened my grip on his arm. There were certain duties and responsibilities that came along with being a husband. And shopping was definitely one of them. If Mr Rikkard Ambrose hadn't known this before the marriage, he would just have to learn.

"Aww, come now, darling. You wouldn't want to disappoint your beloved wife, now, would you?"

"I do not remember appointing you in the first place."

"You, using word plays? How shocking!"

"Can electric shocks prevent you from shopping?"

Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed the brave, heavily armed US Marshal retreating swiftly.

"My apologies, Mr Ambrose, Ma'am. I suddenly seem to have remembered something very important I still have to do today."

"Indeed?" Mr Ambrose demanded, his cold gaze spearing the traitor who wanted to leave him to the enemy. "And what, exactly?"

"That, um...that's classified, I'm afraid. Exactly. Classified. I'll see you both later."

And, case clutched under his arm, he ran.

"Well, isn't that nice?" Sidling up, I cupped my dear husband's cheek with one hand, while the other cupped his pocket. "We're all alone now. How romantic."

"Yes. Very. Now stop trying to steal my wallet."

"One cannot stop what one has already accomplished," I explained to him in my best wise philosopher imitation, waving the wallet in front of his nose.

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched. "I am not going to get out of this, am I?"

I grinned. "Not a chance."

"How about limiting the budget?"

"Budge it? Why would you want to budge it, and what do you mean by 'it'?"

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he stared at me. "I can certainly see that someone is not going to budge."

I patted his cheek. "I'm lucky. I've married such an intelligent man." Then I whirled around and skipped off down the street, his wallet still clutched firmly in my hand.

Three hours and one heavily loaded husband later, we returned to Mama Dumant's to find the marshal just arriving in front of the door.

"Ah, Mister and Mrs Ambrose, there you are! I just came to inform you that, by morning, things will be ready, and we will be able to depart towards New York."

"Wonderful," came an arctic voice from behind the pile of packages with legs beside me. "Absolutely wonderful."

"Um..." The marshal shifted nervously. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing major." I smiled at the lawman reassuringly, waving a certain (now considerably slimmer) wallet in the air. "At least not anymore."

"Ah. I see." The lawman cleared his throat diplomatically. Half-turning, he glanced up at the sign above the door of Mama Dumant's. "Do you think this establishment still has free rooms? I was so busy with work up until now I have yet to find somewhere to rest for the night, and this place looks quite enticing."

The pile of packages with legs stiffened.

As for me? I grinned. Widely. "Oh, yes! I'm sure you'll find plenty to...entice you there."

Still smiling widely, I stalked towards the marshal. It may have been at Mr Ambrose's instigation—but nevertheless, this supposed salesman had been fooling me and leading me by the nose for weeks. Time to turn the tables for a bit.

Unless, of course, he and the ladies will be doing it on the table.

"Come." Linking arms with the marshal, I led him to the door, completely ignoring the hissed protests from behind the pile of packages. "I'll introduce you to the owner of the establishment. I'm sure she and her staff will be able to fulfil your every wish."

"That sounds amazing. I wonder why nobody at the judge's house told me that there's such a comfy little hotel in town."

"They probably just wouldn't want to share their favourite haunt. Now, let me introduce you to Mama Dumant..."

We didn't see the marshal again that evening. Later that day, when we sat at dinner, not only was he missing, but so were three of the ladies. From above, I could hear the faint squeaking of bedsprings, along with half-choked groans.

"My compliments, Madame Dumant." I inclined my head to the woman at the other end of the table. "Your staff is really most diligent."

"You betcha!" Giving me a big smile, she pushed an extra-large bowl of chocolate desert in my direction. "And if you ever feel like acquiring their services yourself..."

She was interrupted by the clearing of a frosty throat. Lifting an eyebrow each, we two ladies glanced over at the icy business mogul who had so rudely interrupted us. "Yes?"

He met my gaze. His eyes full of iron determination, he spoke, "You already spent all my money."

Damn! He just had to be so darn logical, did he?

A resounding thud came from above.

"Pity." Mama Dumant smirked. "You're missing something."

The thud was followed by an ear-splitting crack.

"My, oh my." I smirked. "Now they're getting frisky."

"That wasn't them." Mr Ambrose's deadly serious, ice-cold voice made me freeze in place. "And it didn't come from upstairs, either."

I frowned. "What do you mea—"

KA-BOOM!

The whole building shook from the explosion. A glass teetered on the edge of the table, then crashed to the ground, splintering into a thousand pieces.

"What the...!" I leapt up from the table. But I hadn't taken even a single step before the door to the dining room flew open, and one of the guards who were supposed to be guarding the Spaniards came stumbling into the room.

"Have to...leave!" he gasped, clutching his chest with one hand. "Th-they're coming!"

And, keeling forward, heslammed to the ground with a heavy thud. An instant later, a pool of redstarted to spread from beneath him.

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I woke up late today! No time for a long author's note or the chapter will be late as well ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Dhikāra hai!—Punjabi for "Damn it!"