Most of the rest of the day my friends spent with their various self-appointed tasks. I tried to help as much as I could, but when I showed up in the manor's library next to the ancestral tomes with a happily drooling baby in my arms, the librarian nearly chucked me out of the window. I did the wise thing and beat a hasty retreat.

Thus, I ended up wandering through the manor's corridors. I was just racking my brain wondering what to do, when Berty informed me of his opinion by giving off an ear-piercing cry and filling the air with a fragrant aroma.

"Let me guess...you want me to change your diapers?"

"Waah waah!"

"Wordless understanding between mother and child is such a beautiful thing."

"Waah!"

My lips twitched and, with a last wave at the suspicious librarian peeking around the corner, I set off back towards the room I shared with Mr Ambrose. Once I had reached the changing table, I gently laid Berty down, reached for his diaper and...well, I don't really feel like describing in detail what I did next. Narration should only ever go so far.

During the next two days, I flitted around the manor, doing my best to support my friends' investigations in my own way. I had another chat with Mr Fernsby in the hope that he might be able to reveal any chinks in the marquess's armour—but the old man was both infuriatingly loyal and infuriatingly nice. It was completely impossible to squeeze any blackmail material out of him that wasn't baby pictures.

My other efforts didn't yield any results either. The old marquess's office seemed to be too well guarded for me to sneak in and investigate. The marchioness seemed happy to render aid when I asked for help, but, unfortunately, she apparently thought the best way to help was to go find Mr Linton and give him tips on being the ideal suitor and husband.

In the end, I decided to temporarily halt my efforts and trust in my friends. They were investigating this matter to the best of their ability. If I couldn't rely on them, who could I rely on? Surely, any moment now, they would come up with a solution.

Any moment now.

Any. Moment. Now.

That was what I kept repeating to myself. Only...on the evening of the third day, just before the deadline the marquess had given my husband, it didn't sound quite so convincing anymore. I had almost made up my mind to go check on my friends to see if they had discovered something yet when—

"Waah waaaaaaaaaah!"

Well...dang. So much for that.

This motherhood thing was going to be a full-time job, wasn't it?

Look on the bright side, Lilly, my inner voice suggested in a chipper tone. If Mr Ambrose sells off his business, you most likely won't have any other job left, so you'll have plenty of time to be a full-time diaper-changer. Yay!

Was it legal to murder one's own subconscious?

Legal, probably. Healthy, less so.

"Waaah, waaaaaaaah!"

Well, if things went on like this, I might do it anyway. At least then I would have only one enervating voice to deal with.

I was just about to check on Berty to see if he needed something or was merely practising his singing voice when the door to the room opened and Mr Ambrose stepped inside.

My feet froze in mid-step.

The expression on his face...

...is still non-existent. Dammit! Is it too much to ask for this god-damn granite-head to show a hint of emotion on his face in front of his own wife when his world is falling apart?

Mr Ambrose gave me a curt nod, his visage unmoving. "Mrs Ambrose."

Apparently so.

In fact, instead of showing emotion, he seemed to have fossilised further, his face turning into stone so hard and unmoving Medusa would have been impressed. He was apparently determined to convey with every non-expression that, yes indeed, he was an unfeeling block of bedrock, and no, he did not need to talk about his feelings with anyone.

So, as a dutiful wife, of course that was the subject I first broached.

"Um...Mr Ambrose? Are you all right? Would you like to talk about it?"

In answer, all I got was...

Wanna guess?

Yep. Silence. Ah, my good old friend! I've missed you!

Still...I had learned to listen very, very closely, even when there were no sounds. Especially then. No two silences were entirely alike, particularly when coming from Mr Rikkard Ambrose. There was the I-am-working-and-don't-you-dare-disturb-me silence. There was the I'm-sleeping-and-don't-like-wasting-time-like-this-one-bit silence. There was the I-am-displeased-and-you-will-soon-find-out-why silence. And finally, the newest exhibit in the collection...

There was the silence that told me: I am shaken. To my core. And I do not know what to do.

Without a word, I stood up and enfolded him in my arms. Judging by the way he stared into the distance, he hardly seemed to notice—and yet, his arms instinctively wrapped around me, holding me so tightly it was almost painful. I didn't mind in the least.

"Mrs Ambrose...Lillian, I..."

"Shh." My lips brushed across his cheek. "It's all right. Everything is all right."

"No. No, it isn't."

When he looked at me, there was a storm brewing in his eyes fierce enough to cover an entire continent. Boring straight into me, his gaze pinned me in place.

"Lilly...what am I going to do? I want to break my father's face for daring to use my sister in such a manner. And yet, if I want to stop that, if I want to save Adaira, I'll...I'll have to..."

"I know. I know." I tightened my grip. "We won't let it come that far."

"We?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "Why do I get the feeling that this includes more than you and me?"

"Um..."

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "What have you been up to, Mrs Ambrose?"

"What, darling?" Batting my eyelashes, I gazed up at him, without a hint of guile in my eyes. "Don't you trust your dear wife?"

"Don't you want to be honest with your dear husband?"

Touché.

"Well..." Whistling innocently, I did my best to avoid his gaze. "I may or may not have mentioned your father's blackmail attempt to my friends—"

I hadn't even had the chance to finish that one sentence before Mr Ambrose whirled around and dashed towards the door.

"—except Patsy."

He froze, then slowly turned back towards me again. "Next time, mention that before I try to make a fool out of myself in order to prevent a murder in my childhood home."

"Oh, don't worry." Stepping forwards, I patted his arm. "You didn't just try. You succeeded."

He sent me one of those icy glares of his. "If you think by annoying me you can distract me from the situation, you are gravely mistaken."

Dang! And it nearly worked, too!

"Then...is there anything else I can do to distract you?" Reaching up, I caressed his face with a single, sensual finger and pressed my figure more closely against him. "I, for one, can think of a few interesting ideas."

There was no hint of a reaction from him. No expression. No movement. No twitch. Not even from his private parts. That, more than anything else, told me how bad things really were.

"What am I going to do?" he repeated, staring into my eyes in a way that made my heart ache. "Ever since I made my fortune, I've always known what to do. If someone opposed me, they would either bend or they would break. If they did not, all I had to do was to throw money at them or, failing that, throw Karim at them. With my fortune, my power and my influence, there was no one who could stand against me. But now..."

I swallowed, the image of my aunt flashing in my mind. "It's not so easy when the villain of the story is your own family, is it?"

"No." The wintery tone of his words was cold enough to make autumn end early. "No, it is not."

"So...if you don't know what to do, what will you do?"

"I will have to decide." A muscle in his cheek twitched. "And soon. The deadline my father gave is fast approaching. If we don't find a solution before the time is up, in order to protect Adaira, I will...I will really have to..."

Once again, he didn't finish the sentence. This time, however, I didn't think it was due to a lack of loquaciousness. He just couldn't bring himself to utter those specific words.

My grip on him tightened until not so much as a hair would have fit between us. "Just remember...I'll stand by you whatever you decide. I'll stand by you if you choose to become the noble Marquess Ambrose. I'll stand by you if the outlaw Rikkard Ambrose is hunted down for kidnapping his own sister from her wedding. Heck, I'll stand by you if you end up a penniless pauper!"

He gave a snort at that, telling me exactly how likely he thought that was.

"But," I continued, giving him a deep look, "are you sure that's what you want to do? If the worst comes to the worst, in order to save Adaira, are you really ready to..." I hesitated. It felt so wrong to say. "...admit defeat?"

"Everything has a price." The look in his eyes was stark. The look of a man speaking from experience. "Life. Liberty. My own free will. Everything can be bought and sold." Reaching out, he touched my cheek with incredible gentleness. "In this world, there is only one thing I would never part with, no matter what price is offered."

"Waah! Waah!"

We both looked over to the cradle in the corner, and when our eyes met again, there was something fierce in his gaze, something wild, like a cornered beast shielding its young, ready to fight to the last.

"Correction. Two things."

Warmth flooded my heart. Before I knew what I was doing, I had flung myself into his arms, my mouth colliding with his. There was no thought of teasing. No thought of pretence. Was I still hurting down there? Probably. Was it too early to do this? Most likely. It was just...right now, I didn't give a flying fig!

"Mrs Ambrose...what are you—"

I cut him off by intensifying our kiss. This time, he didn't protest. His eyes darkened and, grabbing hold of me, he dragged me towards the bed. In passing, I had just enough presence of mind to kick the door shut before the two of us tumbled onto the mattress.

"Waah waah?" came Berty's rather curious voice from somewhere.

Never in my life had I been so glad that his crib had solid, non-see-through walls.

It's a little too early for you, little fellow. Maybe in twenty years. Or thirty. Or forty. When you've found a nice, feminist girl approved by yours truly.

"The little man is curious, is he? Already interested in the right things so early..." Eyes flashing, Mr Ambrose let his hungry eyes travel over my figure. "Seems he takes after his father."

In challenge, I raised my chin and met his gaze head-on. "That remains to be determined. I've never seen him counting pennies."

"...yet."

"Oh, shut up, you!" Climbing up his form on the bed, I grabbed him by the short hairs. "Shut up and come here!"

In a blink, I had once more sealed his mouth with mine. And by the way he was roughly, almost desperately clinging onto me, he didn't mind in the least.

"Lilly..." he whispered against my lips. "I...I..."

"Shh..." I stroked a thumb across his cheek, noticing for the first time that the beginnings of stubble were starting to show there. Stubble. On a man who had somehow managed to remain clean-shaven while shipwrecked on a bloody desert island! This was as bad as it could get, wasn't it? "I know. Just let go. Let go of everything, just for tonight."

"Not everything," he growled, his mouth devouring mine with a hungry desperation worthy of a starving wolf. "Not you!"

"You don't have to," I promised. "You'll never have to."

Judging by the way his arms tightened around me, I hadn't been quite convincing enough. "You know, in that moment," he whispered against my heated skin, "when he demanded that I give up my entire fortune and all my enterprises...naturally, the idea was anathema to me. But still, I stayed. I listened to his threats and blackmail. I at least considered the hypothetical possibility, for my sister's sake. But if he'd asked me to give up you..." His grip tightened even more until it was almost painful. "I would have smashed his face in right then and there!" His breathing sped up and he stared into my eyes with an intensity I could hardly bear. "I can't let go. Not of you."

"Then don't." Gently, I kissed his forehead. "Don't let go."

"That's what he wants, you know?" he whispered. "Getting his grubby paws on you and Berty. Shape our son into the perfect little British nobleman. But this..." His eyes flashed as if, in the depths of the thunderstorm that raged in them, lighting had just erupted. "I. Will. Not. Allow!"

"Then don't," I repeated with another kiss. "Berty is your son, and I am your wife. We belong with you and no one else. Don't let go."

The lightning in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes flashed again, and he grabbed the side of my face in an iron grip.

"Are you sure? Because you know what the opposite of letting go is, right?" In a blink, he rolled the both of us around until I lay on my back, and he was on top, towering over me. "Taking."

I swallowed and opened my arms in invitation.

"Then take me."

"Adequate," he told me, his eyes as dark as a winter night. With a flick of his hand, he tore away my dress and roughly pulled me against his chest, where I melted into him. "Come here!"

That night, Mr Rikkard Ambrose and I did what he did best: silent communication.

***

I woke up the next morning to the sound of the few birds that still remained in the autumn chill and the feeling of a delicious ache filling my entire body. A groan escaped from between my lips.

Suddenly, the sight of the ceiling above me was blocked by Mr Rikkard Ambrose hovering above me. And...was that a hint of concern I saw in his eyes?

"Mrs Ambrose? I...might have been a little too harsh last night."

Was that Mr Rikkard Ambrose attempting an...actual apology?

"Oh, I don't know about harsh," I told him with a smirk. "But you definitely were rather hard."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "I did not hear you complain last night."

"Who says that was a complaint?" Purring, I leaned forward and trailed a finger down the centre of his chest. "In fact, if you are still in the same 'condition' as last night, I wouldn't mind another round of—"

"Waah, waah!"

I had to give it to Berty. My son had an admirable sense of timing.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose and I exchanged a look. It was amazing how much married people could convey without a single word.

"Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

"Yes, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Is it too late to reconsider this motherhood thing?"

"Indeed it is, Mrs Ambrose."

Surely, that was just a glint of ice in his eyes, and not a sparkle of amusement?

Giving him a dirty look just in case, I stood up and, grumbling under my breath, made my way over to the cradle. Soon, Berty was fed and snuggling into his warm cushions. With a smile, I turned back towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Is there any reason you didn't button your dress back up?"

"Hm..." Slowly, I sauntered towards him, certain assets of mine still on full display. "Why don't you make a guess, Sir?"

A rumbling noise erupted from the back of my husband's throat. His eyes were inspecting said assets with the complete, focused attention of a businessman.

Ha! I've nearly got him! Any moment now, he'll crack!

"Now," I purred, stalking towards him. "How about the two of us go back to bed and—"

Knock, knock!

"Oh, come on!" Freezing in mid-step, I sent a glare at the door and whatever blasted bugger had thought it was a good idea to interrupt right now. "Again? This is getting ridiculous!"

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes?!"

"Button up your dress."

With another grumble, I got to work on the buttons—which had nothing whatsoever to do with his orders, incidentally—and went over to the crib to make sure the annoying visitor hadn't woken up my son. Meanwhile, Mr Ambrose rose to his feet and, throwing on some clothes, made his way over to open the door.

"Um, begging your pardon for disturbing you, My Lord..." The young maid in the doorway performed a nervous curtsey. "But His Lordship the Marquess wanted me to give you a message. He said... 'The three days are up. Tell the boy I want his answer.' Does...does that mean anything to you, My Lord?"

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My dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed Mr & Mrs Ambrose's scene with Berty :-)

Incidentally, when writing about the stormyness of Mr Ambrose's eyes, I originally wanted to make a comparison using the hurricane scale, only to discover that the classification of hurricanes on a scale from one to five was only developed in 1971. One never ceases to learn, I suppose.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Medusa - a a monster from Greek mythology who is said to turn anyone who looks at her to stone.