"...a ball."

The two words that announced doomsday.

"W-what?"

"I said," Mr Rikkard Ambrose repeated ruthlessly, "the next challenge you shall face is a ball."

"The kind you kick across a field?" I asked hopefully.

"No. The kind you attend in fancy clothes."

My heart plummeted.

"Err...what if I were sick?"

"Then I will personally feed you chicken broth and castor oil until you recover. Speedily. You are my beloved wife, after all."

Dang it!

Well, you know what they say: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

"Um..." I raised a finger. "What if I said I was injured from the bandit attack?"

In a blink, he was in front of me, his face only inches away from mine, his icy eyes sending chills down my spine.

"Then I would attend to your wound. And, once you are bandaged and I have eradicated that vermin who dared to hurt you, we will attend the ball!"

"You...!"

"You look cross. Pray tell, why?" Reaching out, he captured my chin in one hand. "Don't you want to come to the ball."

I felt my face flush, and a tingle shoot down my spine. Dang him!

"That might sound a little more romantic if you weren't planning on having me attend the ball dressed as a man accompanied by your sister!"

Leaning forward, he gazed straight into my eyes. "I can make anything romantic."

And I believed him. Blast him!

"Oy!" came a voice from my left. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Adaira stalk closer, wearing a faux-outraged expression on her face. "Don't flirt with my fiancé-to-be in front of me, you scoundrel!"

"Adaira?"

"Yes, brother dear?"

"Shut up!"

"Ah..." Beaming, she threw an arm around his waist. "My brother telling me to be quiet...that brings back childhood memories. Are you going to put frogs in my shoes next?"

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "That can be arranged."

That threat silenced Adaira rather quickly. I, however, felt a surge of warmth in my heart drive away any irritation. Reaching out, I cupped Mr Ambrose's cheek.

"You used to put frogs in your relatives' shoes as well?"

I was touched. Truly touched. I had no idea we had so much in common.

"No comment."

I grinned. He did. He so totally did.

"And don't change the subject, Mr Linton. Are you injured?"

Dang and blast!

"No."

"Hm. So the vicomte gets to live another day."

"Indeed, Sir?"

"Indeed, Mr Linton. Also, don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject. You are going to that ball."

Double blast! With extra dynamite!

In his icy eyes, I could read the words he was really saying: This is what you get for letting your life be in danger, wife. Next time, don't do it again.

"Can't I face another three dozen bandits again instead?" I pleaded. "Please?"

His stony face fossilised further. "No."

"But...but..." By now, I was ringing my hands. "How is a ball supposed to help decide who is a more suitable suitor for Adaira?"

"Isn't it obvious, Victor, darling?" With an innocent smile on her face that archdemons would have been proud of, Adaira sidled up to me and flopped down onto the sofa next to me. "Your task at the ball will be simple for a man like you. It is to charm me. To impress me with your gentlemanly manners. You dance with me, and have me melt in your passionate embrace."

I gave both of them a deadpan look. "You truly have no mercy, do you?"

Her smile turned into an impish grin. "None whatsoever."

"Likewise," my darling husband agreed.

Damn!

"Now," he continued, pinning me with that icy stare of his, "be so good as to leave me alone with Mr Linton for a moment, will you, Adaira? The two of us have business to discuss."

"Aww, but dear Victor was just reading me some more romantic poet—!"

"Adaira? Now." As he spoke, his gaze didn't leave me for an instant, filled with an arctic intensity that made my skin tingle. Adaira seemed to notice as much, too, because she put on that oh-God-my-brother-is-about-to-do-icky-stuff expression and fled the room as fast as her feet could carry her. Probably a good decision, because the moment the door had closed behind her, Mr Rikkard Ambrose grabbed my face with both hands and slammed his mouth down on my own.

"Do you have any idea," he growled, his voice reverberating through my entire body, "how worried I have been?"

"I...I have a vague idea," I gasped.

"Only vague?" His dark, fathomless grey eyes flashed. "Then let me clarify."

In a blink, I found myself lifted up off the sofa and pushed against the wall. Before I could utter a single word, his mouth covered mine with another fierce, unrelenting kiss. From across the room, the portrait of an Ambrosian ancestor gave us a stern glare—which I completely ignored. All I could focus on was the way my husband was plundering my mouth, and his hands were roaming all over my body. Not that they stayed there for long. After what seemed like a far, far too short time, his hands found their way to my face, which they clutched as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.

"Now do you understand how worried I've been?" he demanded, his forehead pressed against mine. "When you were in there, and I heard all those gunshots, and then everything suddenly went silent..."

"...you finally had enough peace to concentrate on your paperwork?" I teased.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose did not look amused.

"To hell with silence!" he growled. "To hell with peace! I would spend the rest of my entire life suffering the loudest cacophony in existence if it meant you would never be at risk again."

"You would, would you?" one corner of my mouth quirked up. "I'll let Berty know. I'm sure he'll be happy to accommodate y—mmph!"

Abruptly, my voice was cut off by his lips.

"This is not a joking matter!" The ferocity in his dark, sea-coloured eyes banished any hint of humour from my face. "I nearly lost you, Lillian! Lost you!"

"Are your eyes malfunctioning, Sir?" I cocked my head at him, affecting a faux-affronted manner. "You are talking to your sister's future fiancé. I hope you are not suggesting something scandalous between the two of u—mmmph!"

This was going to be a regular thing, wasn't it?

Not that I was complaining or anything. Not at all. If he wanted to use this method to silence me, who was I to complain?

Isn't it a bit hypocritical, though? Think about it, Lilly! Just a minute ago, he said he wouldn't mind the loudest cacophony in the world, and now he's trying to shut you up? What a liar!

Hmm...true. And I was probably going to protest about that once I was done enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around me and his hungry mouth devouring my own.

"Scandalous enough for you, Mrs Ambrose?" My husband's deep voice rumbled through my entire body. His hands were quick to follow, divesting me of my tailcoat, my vest, and...oh God, had he locked the door? I really hoped he'd locked the door.

"I...um...ohhh...!"

"Well, wife of mine?" His hands...oh Lord, his hands! They were everywhere, setting my skin aflame and...and... "Scandalous enough?"

What was I going to say again?

His hands started to unbutton my shirt.

Oh, heck! Who cares?

I found my own hands tugging at his clothes in response almost desperately. As his lips caressed my face and he whispered sweet, searing hot words into my ears, I tried to find the words to reply, to say anything...but my throat tightened, not allowing me to speak. That look in his eyes...

It was almost scary.

"My little ifrit...!" His grip tightened to a degree where it almost hurt. Not that I minded. "I should never have let you go out there. If anything had happened to you..."

"Shh." I placed a gentle finger on his lips. "I know. I know."

"Do you know, truly?" His icy eyes bored into mine, and it felt as if he were staring at my very soul. "Do you know what I would do if I lost you?"

I opened my mouth to say "yes"—and then I looked into his eyes again.

Oh my.

What would he do if I died?

Worse...what would Berty do?

Worse yet...what would he do with Berty?

The mental image of Mr Rikkard Ambrose trying to feed a disgruntled baby from a bottle while barking orders at his minions almost made me want to laugh out loud. Almost. Because, in order for that picture to become reality, I would have to be gone. Gone from their lives, forever.

The thought sent a deep ache through my heart. And judging by the desperate, almost hungry look in his eyes, he didn't feel any different.

"Promise me!" he ordered, leaving a searing trail of kisses down the side of my throat.

"P-promise? W-what?"

"You know what." Those fathomless, ice-cold eyes of his pierced into me. "Promise me that you won't ever put yourself in danger again."

Instinctively I reached out and gently brushed his cheek. "Can't promise that," I whispered, leaning my forehead against his. "Right now, I'm in danger of falling in love with you all over again."

He looked as if I'd punched him in the guts with a battering ram.

"Lillian...I—"

That was all he got out before I grabbed him by the short hairs and kissed the life out of him! After all, it was only correct to return favours, right?

Judging by the way he grabbed and bent me over backwards, he apparently agreed.

It was funny...I had always despised dancing. But the way his lips were dancing with mine made me think I could get used to it.

"We...we should probably n-not do this here. If someone looks in through the window—"

I was cut off by the instinctive, animalistic sound that erupted from Mr Rikkard Ambrose's throat. Whirling me around, he grabbed the curtains of the only window in the room and tugged it closed. A moment later, I found myself pressed up against another wall and, this time, his eyes were telling me there would be no more interruptions.

I swallowed. That is, I tried. But my mouth turned out to be far too dry.

"D-door? Lock?" I suggested.

"The door can go to hell. Quite literally." His arctic eyes burned into me with icy ferocity. "Because if anyone dares to come in here while we are occupied, they'll wish it led there."

And, before I could get out another word, he laid a last, lethal kiss on me. After that, all thoughts of protest fled my mind. Why was I trying to object again? Would it really be so bad if someone discovered Mr Rikkard Ambrose kissing a man who just so happened to be courting his sister, while actually being a crossdressing married woman? Surely the scandal wouldn't be too bad, right?

As you can probably deduce from my thoughts, Mr Rikkard Ambrose was a really good kisser.

"D-Dick..."

He growled. "Don't call me that!"

I smirked. Reaching down, I palmed a particular part of his anatomy. "Who says I'm talking to you?"

That got another growl out of him. One that made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. In a blink, the last few buttons on my shirt were ripped open, and the flimsy piece of linen slid down my shoulders, leaving me in my tightly bound corset.

"Oh my," a whisper tickled my ear. "Seems like you are rather...restricted."

I licked my dry lips. "Am I, now? Well...you know, I think you are right. I think I might need to...relax a little."

His eyes glittered darkly. "Would you like me to help you with that?"

"Oh yes!" I pushed my chest up towards his face. "Please help me, darling. I..."

"Yes?"

"I...I want..."

"Yes?"

"...a back rub."

He froze.

"What."

"A back rub." I blinked up at him, innocently. "Have you never heard of it? It's something where you use your hands to massage someone else's aching back to help them relax and—"

A muscle in his chiselled cheek twitched. "I know what a back rub is, Mrs Ambrose! What I want to know is what made you think that now is the time for it?"

"Ah, well..." Putting on a pitiful expression, I massaged my shoulders. "With the changes in my body thanks to the pregnancy, I've had increasing muscle aches in my back and shoulders recently. Probably something to do with the increased burden. Or should I say burdens, since there are two of them?" Batting my eyes, I presented said burdens to him, pretending to not hear the animalistic rumble that came from the back of his throat. "Plus, the last few days have simply been so stressful, thanks to a certain someone coming up with a brilliant plan that requires me to squash my lady bits into a corset and dress up as a man."

That muscle of his twitched again. "So...you are still intent on punishing me for that, are you?"

"Punishing?" Widening my eyes in innocence, I reached for his private region and tickled him in a totally innocent manner. "Why would I be punishing you, Dicky Darling? No, I'm just a sweet, innocent little wifey who wants a backrub."

He gave me a deadpan look. "And I am a slab of granite."

In response to that, I simply grinned—then tightened my grip on his male anatomy. "Well, you are certainly hard enough."

"Nng!"

"What was that?"

"You...! When I get my hands on you, I will...!"

I tightened my grip a little more, and my grin widened. "Yes?"

"...give you a backrub."

"That's what I thought you'd say."

I let go—and that turned out to be my mistake.

In a blink, he had me in his grip, pinning both my hands to the wall above my head and effectively turning the tables. Before I could form a single coherent thought, my corset was ripped away, leaving me in nothing but sheer scrap of cloth.

"You wanted to relax?" His voice rumbled in my ear, like a volcano about to explode. "You want to feel my hands on you, my little ifrit? I can oblige."

He attacked. That was the only way to put it, really. And against the attack he launched, I found myself to be utterly defenceless. His hands, his mouth, his everything, they were everywhere, dominating my mind, body and soul. All thoughts of backrubs were wiped from my mind. Suddenly, I wanted him to rub other places on my body, to touch, caress and kiss!

Touch. Caress. Kiss!

It was a plea. A demand. An order. All at the same time.

Hold me close and never let go!

The world around me became blurry as I was unable to keep my eyes focused on anything. The only sensations left were taste and touch, and, oh, what sensations they were! His lips tasted like Ambrosia on my tongue, pun most certainly intended. And the touch of his skin on mine...

Some things were beyond divine!

And Mr Rikkard Ambrose apparently thought the same of myself. He was ravishing my mouth and seemed only moments away from doing the same thing to my entire body. His hands started pulling away the last few scraps of cloth that separated us, and his body pressed into me even harder—

—until a small twinge of pain shot through me, and I couldn't help but flinch.

He froze.

Every single movement of his stopped instantly. His eyes flicked to my face, scanning it for any sign of pain.

"It..." His voice was as rough as sandpaper. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "It...still hurts?"

Giving him a slightly apologetic smile, I shrugged. "A little."

A shudder went through my husband's entire body. For one long moment, he struggled with himself—then he regained control of himself, and stepped back.

"Very well, If you're still not recovered, I'll..." He swallowed, as if the next word tasted more bitter than bile. "...delay."

I smirked. "Wish you had used contraceptives during that night nine months ago, do you?"

The fierce look full of love he sent me in response instantly evaporated any humour into thin air. Love not just for me, I was certain.

"Never!" Grabbing me by the back of the neck, he forced me to look straight into his eyes. "Do you hear me, Mrs Ambrose? I. Do. Not. Regret."

Deep inside, I trembled. "Yes." Leaning forward, I gently placed my head against his chest. "Neither do I."

My husband's arms came around me and, for one more time, he leaned down to kiss me. Not the kind of passionate kiss he had given me before that might as well be a conquest of my mouth. No. This was a gentle caress of his lips on the top of my head. It didn't make my knees tremble. It didn't make passionate heat surge through me. Instead, it simply warmed my heart.

"Maybe..." I licked my lips. "Maybe we should postpone the backrub just a little bit, Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

"Maybe we should, Mrs Ambrose."

"I mean...it won't be a problem if we stay here for a little longer, right? Just...just to hold each other?"

"No. No, it won't be a problem at all."

I tightened my grip on him. "And I'm sure no one is going to interrupt us, right?"

"No one."

After all, who would? Adaira knew what we were up to, Lady Samantha was probably busy planning the ball, and her lord husband was probably busy being an arsehole. There was no one else here who would have any reason to come looking for me. No one at all.

Cold eyes that, paradoxically, made me feel warm, gazed deeply into mine. Leaning forward, his lips approached me slowly, tenderly, until—

—the rattle of coach wheels from outside the manor made us freeze.

"Yoo-hoo!" a far too familiar, feminist voice entered my ears a moment later. "Lilly! Adaira! Hang on, we're here to rescue you!"

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My dear Readers,

Thank you for your compliments on my poetry last time. 

Truly, I must confide,

You make me feel warm inside! ;)

Yours truly

Sir Rob