"You know," I chose that moment to pitch in, "I think there is a certain species of bear living around these parts that really loves chewing on silk dresses. They are also particularly hairy, and regularly hunt virgins, which they drag to their lair and devour whole."

It was quite impressive how, with one sentence, I could make two men who were mortal enemies stare at me as if they wanted to join hands to kill me. Both Karim and the vicomte seemed ready to jump at me at a moment's notice.

I leaned over to Mr Ambrose. "You know...I think they found my remark unbearable."

"Indeed, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Indeed, Sir."

"Well, for the vicomte, I suppose it is understandable." I sighed, gesturing at the destroyed gifts in his hands. "After being pelted by so many disappointments..."

Behind me, Adaira gave a snort, and her shoulders shook.

"Although, considering what has happened, he is still showing great forbearance."

I heard a wheeze, and something slumped against my back. It almost felt like a person who was trying to stay upright. Oh my, was my dear sister-in-law unwell?

By the looks of it, the vicomte was, too. His face had gone pale, and the vein at his temple was throbbing as if he was about to have a heart attack.

Which would be such a pity.

Really.

"Toi...!" Whirling to face me, DeMordaunt's hand tightened around his rifle. He started to stalk towards me, and—

"Not very impressive." A familiar, icy voice froze him in mid-motion. "Don't you agree, father?"

"I'm afraid I have to concur with my son." Everyone present couldn't help but look at the marquess as he spoke. Towering over the people in the yard from his high position atop the stone stairs, he looked down at everyone, or maybe on everyone. With someone like him, it was hard to tell. "This little performance was rather disgraceful for a man of your standing, Monsieur Vicomte. I shall expect a better showing next time."

The Frenchman whirled towards the mansion, a spark of fury flashing in his eyes—or at least, so I thought. I only blinked once, and any sign of irritation had vanished from the nobleman, his face smoothed out, his lips forming a kind smile.

"I humbly apologise, Your Lordship. I wished so much to please my wife-to-be with the presents I had prepared...it was a hard blow to learn they had all been destroyed. I cannot bear to disappoint my love."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

Smooth, you bastard. Smooth.

Not that I would ever believe a word of it.

"You wish to please my daughter? Then I recommend you put more effort into it next time."

"What an excellent suggestion, Marquess! I bow before your wisdom and shall follow your advice forthwith. Allons-y, Messieurs!"

Snapping his fingers, the vicomte instantly gained his men's full attention. They straightened abruptly and, as he strode off, hurriedly followed in his wake. From atop the stairs, the marquess watched the nobleman's retreating back for a moment—then whirled around and stalked back into the house. His wife sent a last, helpless look our way before she followed her husband inside.

For a moment, silence hung over the courtyard.

"So..." I finally asked. "What now?"

Adaira's head popped up over my shoulder. "How about you tell your dear sister about the 'fierce beast' that ravaged the poor vicomte's possessions? Do you think it can turn into a handsome prince and whisk me away?"

In a blink, Karim appeared at my side, hand on his sabre. "No, it cannot! It most definitely cannot! If it actually exists, which I'm sure it doesn't!" He sent me a don't-you-dare-make-me-a-prince-charming kind of look. "I am certain the Sahiba has much better things to do than to indulge in idle chatter. How about I escort her inside?"

"How about," Mr Rikkard Ambrose cut in before his sister could open her mouth again, "you both find something to do while I take my wife back into the house so she can relax and rest after an exhausting day out? After all, she gave birth less than a week ago."

It was amazing how a girl in a dress and a seven-foot behemoth with a big beard could look so much like two naughty schoolboys being scolded.

"Oh my..." Smirking, I leaned towards my man. "Overprotective caveman mode? I would never have thought I'd say this, but...me likey! Come here, Dicky Darling."

"Ugh!" Pulling a face, Adaira quickly backed away from us. "I suddenly remembered I have something important to do!"

"I as well!" Karim bowed. "I have some matters to take care of...somewhere. Urgently. If you permit, Sahib...?"

Without waiting for a reply, he fled.

"You, Mrs Ambrose," my dear husband told me, "are a devious woman."

I beamed. Compliments from the hubby were always welcome. Plus, my patented chase-third-wheels-away method was truly inspired.

"Thank you, darling! Although..."

"Yes?"

I pouted. "I am a bit disappointed. I would have thought that dear Adaira would have been more pleased by her future husband, Mr Linton, showing romantic feelings for the first time."

"I'm sure that, if Mr Linton weren't a fake husband wearing a dress while flirting with another man, she would have been overjoyed."

"You soothe my wounded heart. Truly, you do!"

He gestured towards the manor. "Can I soothe your wounded heart inside?"

"Lead the way, McFluff!"

"....Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Don't ever call me that again."

Grinning broadly, I slung an arm around his waist. "As you wish, Dicky Darling."

And, together, we strode into the house.

Later that day, as the sun was about to set beyond the horizon, the two of us were sitting in a small, private dining room, enjoying our dinner. Lady Samantha had, of course, invited us to eat with the rest of the family, but, just in case Berty ended up also wanting to "eat", I had declined in favour of a private meal. I didn't think it would be conducive to a nice meal if my jealous husband murdered all male dinner guests.

Unfortunately, I found myself poking at my plate without any particular enthusiasm. My good mood from the earlier show had long since evaporated, and my appetite was rather lacking.

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Hm?"

"Mrs Ambrose, look at me!"

I glanced up, blinking. "Huh?"

"I can see something is bothering you." Cocking his head, my husband pierced me with his arctic gaze. "What is it?"

For a moment, I was silent. Then I took a deep breath and began.

"You know...in the beginning, this didn't occur to me. The birth, the journey, your 'genius plan' to have me marry your sister..." I threw a look his way that told him exactly what I thought of that one. "All this kept me so busy I never got a chance to think about why this is happening. I mean...those things DeMordaunt did when we were still in the Caribbean? Sinking our ship? Trying to plunder your trade routes? I can understand that. I would like to introduce his bollocks to the pointy end of Karim's sabre for it, but I can understand it. He's a ruthless businessman." I threw a meaningful glance towards my husband. "I'm rather familiar with those. So all of that...it made a certain sense, you know. But this?" With a gesture, I took in his family's ancestral home. "Participating in your father's schemes? Trying to get his hands on Adaira? It doesn't make sense. What is he trying to achieve by this?"

He took a deep breath,

"I don't know."

"There is something we're missing, isn't there? Something he's plotting. Only...what is it?"

"I don't know," he repeated, reaching out to squeeze my hand where it lay on the table. "But, by all the gold and silver in my vaults, I swear to you: I will find out or kill trying."

"Err...isn't it supposed to be 'or die trying'?"

His icy eyes flashed. The look in them left me in no doubt what he would do if someone threatened his family. And dying wasn't it. "I prefer my version."

A smile spread over my face as I leaned into his chest and hugged him close, suddenly very glad I'd sat right beside him at the table, not at the other end. "So do I, Mr Ambrose. So do I."

The scraping of wood on wood met my ears as he shifted his chair, moving even closer towards me. When I glanced up, his face was only inches away from mine, his hot breath forming a tantalising contrast to the cold eyes that never left me.

His lips parted.

"Tomorrow, it's us against the world," he whispered. "Tonight? It's just us."

"Yes." I swallowed, feeling my heart pounding against my ribs as his lips approached. How could this man still affect me like this? I'd been with him for years. I'd had his child, for heaven's sake! So...how?

But deep down, I knew the answer. Love.

"Yes, Sir. Just us."

It was a beautiful moment. In the fiery light of the sinking sun, his cold granite face was alight with passion. Right then I realised: we were alone. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, we were alone, and desire was boiling up inside me like lava in a volcano about to erupt. I leaned towards him, my breath hitching. We were completely alone, and he was so close, and nobody could interrupt, and—

"Waaah! Waah!"

Scratch that.

"Waah!"

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Did we remember to bring a nanny?"

"No."

"What about Karim?"

"I can think of less cruel ways to get my bodyguard to quit his job."

There was a pause as I searched for other ideas—and found none.

"Fiddlesticks."

"Indeed."

"Waah, waah!"

Being a mother would take a while to get used to.

***

You know what else was going to take a while to get used to? My husband's bloody stubborn insanity!

"So..." I cocked my head as I gazed down at his handiwork. "Since we can't get between the sheets tonight, this is your alternative?"

He held up the rope of tied bed sheets. "What are your objections?"

"If you wanted to do rope play, there would have been easier ways."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "What exactly, Mrs Ambrose, do you think this is for?"

"Um...something I shouldn't talk about with Berty in the room?"

"This, Mrs Ambrose," he told me with a voice cold enough to make frost appear on the windows, "is our way out of this house."

"Err...I hate to break it to you, but that's what stairs are for."

His gaze became a few degrees chillier. "And then? After strolling down the stairs in a dress, you're going to come back in trousers as Mr Linton, without your 'sister' anywhere in sight, and not expect anyone to suspect anything?"

"Oh." He had a point. No matter how conveniently oblivious his family might be regarding crossdressing ladies, no one would be dense enough to not notice that. Not unless specially compacted with a hydraulic press.

"Oh indeed, Mrs Ambrose."

"So your plan instead is...what? Tie your parents to their bed so they won't see me leave?"

"No. I was thinking of something else."

"What? I mean, what else could we—"

I stopped abruptly. Because, right then, I had noticed the way his gaze was fixed upon the window.

My eyes flicked between the makeshift rope in his hand and the window. The open window, showing a perfect view of a deserted moonlit landscape.

"No. Oh no."

"Yes, Mrs Ambrose. Oh yes."

***

"Thrice-blasted granite-head and his hare-brained schemes! When I get my hands on him...!"

Unfortunately, my hands were currently otherwise occupied. As in, tightly clutched around a makeshift rope hanging out of our second-floor bedroom window at Battlewood Hall.

And the worst thing?

I'd climbed out here voluntarily!

Why?

Well, when your husband gives you a meaningful look and asks if his independent feminist wife needs help climbing down a rope...

Goddammit! I was so easy to manipulate!

Your fate is sealed, Mr Rikkard Ambrose. The moment I get back, your baby pictures shall be acquired and distributed to the public!

But before that, I had a task to finish. Or rather, Mr Victor Linton had a task to finish.

"At the end of the driveway, you will find a carriage I had my men leave there," I remembered Mr Ambrose's words. "It will take you to a nearby inn. All you need to do is to stay there for the night, and then return as your alter ego."

"And what if your lady mother asks why your wife isn't coming out of her bedroom?"

"I shall tell her I tired you out last night."

That son of a...!

Baby pictures alone weren't enough. I would have to find some more blackmail material and then wreak my vengeance upon him.

Once I was off this rope, that is.

"Blast, blast, blast! How long is this thing?"

Cautiously, I glanced down. Only another yard or so, maybe one and a half. Good. Soon, I would be safe on the grou—

That was when my sweaty hands slipped.

Uh-oh...

Crash!

Muttering low curses, I rubbed my aching ribs.

The good news? A bush had cushioned my fall.

The bad news? I had made noise. A lot of noise.

From above and to the left, I heard the squeak of a window opening, followed by Lady Samantha's trembling voice.

"W-who is there? I warn you! If you are a burglar, or a rogue coming to steal my daughter's virtue, her brother is in the house, and he will deal with you!"

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

My dear Lords & Ladies,

As all watchers of a certain Sci-Fi series probably know, "Allons-y" is French for "let's go". Now you have something to say when you only want your French buddies to come with you and everyone else to stay behind ;-)

Au Revoir

Monsieur Rob