I frowned. "The result of the contest's second round? Is it even in question?"

I'd better not have gotten those blisters on my feet for nothing, dammit!

"This is my father," came an icy voice from beneath the cushion I had thrown aside. "If there is no pomp and posturing for an occasion, he'll invent or introduce it. Oh, and Mrs Ambrose...remove this cushion from my face. Now."

One corner of my mouth quirked up. "Oh, I don't know. I think it suits you. Plus, like that you at least don't leave behind dents if you run into a wall head-first."

Reaching out, Mr Rikkard Ambrose plucked the pillow off his face with two fingers and threw me one of those icy looks that warmed my heart so much, laws of thermodynamics be damned.

"I think I will manage without padding, Mrs Ambrose."

"Aw. What a pity."

At the sound of a snicker from behind, we both turned around to see Adaira hiding a smirk behind her hand.

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Do you want us to come, or would you prefer for my wife and I to continue to perform for your entertainment?"

"Err...don't mind me. I'll shut up now."

"Adequate."

Rising to his feet, Mr Ambrose marched over to the screen in the corner and started to dress quickly and efficiently. I followed suit somewhat less efficiently, and couldn't help but wonder what it said about my husband that he had a collection of men's clothes for his wife in his wardrobe.

That he married a weird wife?

Shut up, inner voice!

With a huff, I straightened my clothes and, stepping out from behind the screen, strode towards the door—only to notice that my husband was not at my side. A glance over my shoulder told me he was striding back towards the bed.

"Um..." Adaira cleared her throat. "The door is over there."

"I know," was Mr Ambrose's curt reply. Then he stopped beside the bed and gently, almost tenderly, reached down to pick up Berty from where he lay. I watched, spellbound, as he walked over to the crib and lowered him inside. Towering over the crib, he sent an imperious glare down at the little angel and commanded: "Papa. Say it."

Bety blinked up at him. "Wah waah?"

"Papa. Pa. Pa."

"Waaaah! Wah wah!"

I couldn't help but grin. That's my boy! But, just to be sure...

Sidling up to the crib, I peered inside. "Don't listen to the big bad man, Berty. It's mama. Do you hear? Ma-ma."

"Wah waah?"

My eyebrows twitched. Well, it was worth a try.

"As amusing as the impromptu morning comedy is," Adaira piped up from the door, "but father is waiting."

"Oh, I know," was my husband's prompt reply. "Why do you think I am doing this now?"

Nodding, I looked down at Berty with a besotted expression. "Couldn't agree more. Now, Berty, Say it. Ma-ma."

"And...what if father changes his mind because of that?"

That made the besotted expression in my eyes instantly disappear.

"Hm...you might be right. Well, then..." Cracking his knuckles, Mr Ambrose turned away from Berty and towards the door. "Then let's not keep him waiting any longer, shall we?"

Together, we stepped out of the room and past the plain-clothed man standing guard outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Ambrose gesture towards him. The man gave a brisk nod and marched into our room, where he took up a guard position right next to Berty's cradle.

Reaching out, I took hold of Mr Ambrose's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Wordlessly, he squeezed back. That was all that was needed, really. Silent understanding flowed between us.

At least until Adaira noticed.

"Aww! The two of you are still at the holding-hands-stage? That's adorable!"

In response, Mr Ambrose sent her a glare that could have stripped the paint off an arctic exploration ship. Wisely, she clamped her mouth shut and the three of us proceeded down the hallway in silence, only slowing down when, in the distance, we spotted a familiar office door.

"Is it just my impression," I whispered, leaning over towards Adaira, "or does he really like ordering people to his office?"

Adaira gave a serious nod. "Must run in the family."

"Just so you know," a familiar, icy voice cut in, "I can hear the both of you."

We two ladies exchanged a glance, smirking. "Oh, we know."

"We're here."

That instantly wiped the smirks from our faces. Suddenly solemn, we came to a halt in front of the marquess's office door. Cocking his head, Mr Ambrose cast a glance our way.

"Ready?"

I nodded. "Ready."

Adaira remained silent. But if I'd had a father like hers, I probably would never feel ready for a chat either.

Reaching up, Mr Ambrose knocked.

"Enter!"

At the command of the crisp, curt voice from inside the office, my dear husband pushed open the door and strode into the room. Well-bred gentleman that I was (not), I offered my arm to Adaira and, upon her acceptance with a curtsy, led my future bride to meet her father.

All the others were already waiting inside. Lady Samantha, her husband, various servants and attendants, and, last but not least, the vicomte himself. Throwing him a confident smirk, I lifted my hand, so mine and Adaira's interlinked arms were visible.

Ha! I'll show you who's the alpha male here!

... Did I really just think that?

Bloody hell. Wearing trousers was seriously dangerous for my mental health.

Those thoughts, however, were banished to the back of my mind when the marquess rose to his feet behind his desk, sweeping the room with an imperious gaze.

"I have called you all here for an important announcement."

Important my arse. Self-important, more like.

"And I think you know what that is already, correct? There is only one important matter at hand, after all. The matter of the second stage of the contest, and who has emerged victorious."

A heavy atmosphere descended over the room—particularly above the vicomte, who looked rather gloomy. Remembering the way he'd had to dodge Adaira's dainty feet last night, I had to fight to hold back my smirk.

"I put quite a lot of thought into this issue," the marquess continued, his voice sombre as his gaze travelled between the vicomte and myself. "I carefully observed both your comportment during the ball, gentlemen, and how my daughter reacted to your advances. And I have come to a decision regarding this round of the competition. The result is..."

I couldn't suppress my anticipatory grin anymore. Considering the way the vicomte had nearly fled the dance floor last night, it was pretty simple to predict what the old man was going to say.

"...a tie!"

As expected, I had won easil—

Wait.

What?!

To judge by the look on the faces of the other people in the room, those words clearly didn't take just me by surprise. And when their expressions (except that of Mr Ambrose) changed to derision, it didn't take me long to realise what the old bugger was up to. What he was aiming for.

Power.

This judgement wasn't about fairness. It wasn't even about Adaira's happiness, or who might be more suitable as a suitor, no pun intended. No, it was all about power. The power to decide Adaira's fate. A power the marquess didn't want to give up so easily.

If he had ruled in my favour, I would have won two out of three contests. My victory and Adaira's safety would have been a foregone conclusion. But now?

Now he could dangle her fate above my husband's head till the bitter end. And by the arrogant glint in his eyes, the bastard knew it, too.

"Excellent!" Beaming, the vicomte clapped his hands. With a satisfied gleam in his eyes, he turned towards Adaira and sent her a gaze that made me shudder. "Well then, I will have to put my all into it, n'est-ce pas? If I make a good enough impression during the last contest, I am certain the marquess will be kind enough to grant me your hand, chérie. If you'll excuse me..."

He bowed and retreated from the room.

Everyone else simply stood there, paralyzed, until...

"All of you, leave," a familiar, cold voice commanded. "I need to have words with my father."

Ah.

Taking a deep breath, I moved towards the door, and—

"Not you, Mr Linton. You stay."

Drat!

I didn't really fancy the thought of being stuck between two crashing icebergs. But then again...I would probably end up listening at the keyhole anyway.

"Yes, Sir."

Everyone quickly filed out of the room. The last thing I saw was Lady Samantha and Adaira casting worried glances over their shoulders—then the door closed with a click.

"So, now that we are alone..." In an instant, the temperature in the room seemed to crash down to absolute zero. Yet that was nothing compared to Mr Ambrose's eyes. They turned so cold, so hard, a frost giant's glare would probably be warmer. "What is it you are really after?"

Sinking back into the plush armchair behind his desk, the marquess started studying his papers, apparently far too busy to pay full attention to his son. "I don't know what you could possibly mean, boy."

"Don't play games with me, father." Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, Mr Ambrose stepped forward. "Better men than you have tried—and failed. I can read the answer to my question on your face as clear as day. This entire engagement idea...it is a sham. A charade. All for one purpose: to flaunt your power over my sister and, thus, over me. So I ask again. What. Do. You. Want?"

Finally, the marquess looked up. "I see you catch on quickly, boy. Seems you at least learned something in the colonies other than to dirty your hands with common labour and trade."

Those words...they were infused with such venom it made me take an involuntary step back. And moreover...they had a meaning. One that I could not quite grasp.

The same, however, did not seem to be true for Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"So, that's it, is it?" His jaw clenched, and the cold light of understanding flashed in his eyes. "That is your demand?"

I blinked, uncomprehending. Demand? What demand?

"How much?" my husband enquired.

The answer came fast, hard, and uncompromising. "Everything. Everywhere."

"I see."

Well, I'm glad you do—because I sure as hell don't! Could someone please bloody explain to me what's going on?

Mr Ambrose's face did not betray a single hint. "How long do I have to decide?"

"Three days."

"And if I do not agree?"

"Then you will find that the next task will end up being quite suitable for the vicomte, and the contest will be decided in his favour."

All right, enough is bloody enough!

Marching forward, I planted myself next to Mr Ambrose and glared at marquess. "Pray, what the heck are you talking about?"

The older man didn't even bother glancing at me. "Dogs should be silent when gentlemen are talking."

My jaw dropped.

Did...did he really just say that?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a muscle in my husband's cheek twitch.

Apparently he did.

"I don't see any gentleman here, father. I see only a tyrant trying to use his children for his own ends."

A snort escaped from the older man. "That is interesting to hear from you, boy! Don't think you can fool me. You'd use anyone and anything if it could give you a benefit."

I wouldn't have thought it possible, but, somehow, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's stony face hardened even further. Out of the corner of his eye, so quickly no one but me even noticed, he glanced at me. That was all the answer he deigned to give to his father. But for me, it was enough to understand: Once, maybe. But not anymore.

A lump rose in my throat.

"If you'll excuse me," my husband spoke in a voice frigid enough to freeze the pelt of a polar bear's arse. "I am going to visit my wife and child. I believe it is overdue for me to spend some time with them."

Then, without another word, he whirled around and marched out of the room.

I simply followed, not sparing a single glance for the sorry excuse of a man behind me. The moment the thick oak door had closed behind us, I grabbed Mr Ambrose by the arm and turned him to face me.

"What the heck was that?" I demanded. "What was that bastard rambling about? W—"

I abruptly cut off when I caught sight of his face. His face, and the look of utter desperation in his eyes.

"I..." He swallowed. "He..."

I didn't know what came over me. I just acted on instinct. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pulled him down to me and kissed him, right then and there, in the middle of the hallway. A fierce, fiery kiss that told him one thing, and one thing only: I'm here for you. The flame to your frost. The other half of you. Your little ifrit. Always and forever.

Then I broke away and, cupping his cheek, gazed up into his eyes. "Tell me. What is going on?"

For a moment, indecision flickered in his dark eyes—then they hardened into determination, and he grasped my hand.

"Come with me."

Whirling around, he stalked off down the corridor. I didn't waste a moment and immediately followed. Soon, we reached the door to our room and entered in silence. Reaching into his pocket, Mr Ambrose pulled out a key and locked the door behind us. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed the key onto a nearby table and stalked over towards the fireplace, where he came to a halt, facing away from me. The crackling flames cast his tall shadow across the room, and I could practically feel the heavy load upon his shoulders.

Carefully, I stepped towards him and placed a hand on his arm.

"Now...can you tell me what is going on? What does your father want from you? What is he so obsessed with?"

Under my touch, I could feel an almost imperceptible shudder go through his body. Then, slowly, he turned to face me, his face cast in shadows.

"Very well...I suppose you have the right to know. It all started years ago..."

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My dear Readers,

Thanks for your feedback!  I'm delighted to hear you enjoyed Adaira's "brotherly reunion" ;-)

Next...the revelation of Mr Ambrose's big secret!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob