"I would like to begin," Mr Rikkard Ambrose said while expressly avoiding looking in my direction, "by stating that I am absolutely innocent."

"Ma-nee!" Berty chirped again. "Gimme! Gimme Ma-nee!"

My fingers twitched, itching to wrap around a certain someone's throat. "Are you, now?"

"Indeed. It must be our son's excellent taste at work."

Carefully placing Berty down in his cradle, I turned and started to stalk towards my dear husband. "And from whom you think he got his taste, Dicky Darling?"

With one swift move, he slid off the bed, coincidentally putting the large piece of furniture in the room between us. "No comment."

"Indeed, Sir?"

"Indeed, Mrs Ambrose. I am certain this is a misunderstanding. Our son's behaviour must just be a coincidence."

"Ma-nee!" Berty chose that moment to give another happy squeal. "Papa gimme ma-nee!"

My gaze met that of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"You're dead."

"I should point out that, in a confrontation between the two of us, you are unlike to successfully emerge vic—"

I leapt forward. In a blink, I was across the bed and about to pounce on him—only he wasn't there anymore. Somehow, he had ended up in another corner of the room, without seeming to waste time on getting from point A to point B.

"You." Lifting a finger, I stabbed it in his direction. "Don't. You. Dare. Run."

"Now, now, Mrs Ambrose. Let's not do anything rash—"

"The only one who is going to have a rash is you." I cracked my knuckles. "Once I'm done with you, you'll need to borrow Berty's bottles of baby lotion, or you won't be able to sit down for a week."

"I am a businessman. Sitting at my desk is required for me to continue my work."

"You're rich enough. You can take a holiday."

The look in his eyes at hearing the word 'holiday' was far more horrified than at my previous threats. Which kind of pissed me off.

I gifted my darling husband with a big smile. "You know...maybe I should force you to go on holiday. What do you think about taking a month off? Two? Three?"

Immediately, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stopped retreating and lifted his chin. "I would rather die."

"You...! Then let me fulfil your wish, you son of a bachelor! Just wait till I get my hands on you!"

I leapt forward, and immediately, he evaded. "Apologies. I am not good at waiting."

"Then let me get my hands on you right now! I'll teach you to corrupt our son!"

"No need. I am already proficient."

"You...!"

I doubled my pace, and soon, I had nearly caught up with the villainous child-corrupter. Only a few inches closer, and I'd have him! I just had to get past that armchair and—

—and suddenly, the armchair was shoved right into my path, courtesy of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Stumbling over it, I fell face-first into the plush upholstery.

"Be careful, Mrs Ambrose. Falling over like that, could it be that you are still exhausted from the pregnancy?"

"I'm going to strangle you!"

"I'll take that as a no."

"Stop hiding behind that chair!"

"The word 'behind' is a matter of perspective, Mrs Ambrose. From my point of view, you are behind the chair."

"Oh, really?" Pushing myself out of the armchair, I slowly started stalking around it. "And what's your perspective on me kicking your behind from behind?!"

"I decline."

"Who says you can, you bloody child-corrupter?"

Again, I lunged forward. He evaded with astounding alacrity for a bloody stone statue, and sidled around the bed, once more putting the massive piece of furniture between us.

"I resent that accusation. It is blatantly untrue."

"Oh, indeed?"

"Yes, indeed. I regularly wash myself, thus it is impossible for me to be dirty, let alone bloody."

Eyes narrowing with deadly intent, I advanced on him with a dangerous smile. He was trapped between me and the bed. There was nowhere for him to run anymore. "Not bloody, hm?" I cracked my knuckles. "Then let's change that, shall we?"

I lunged.

He tried to escape, tried to evade, but, this time, I was too fast! We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and started to wrestle, trying to get the upper hand. Somewhere in the background, Berty clapped and giggled, obviously very satisfied with how we were demonstrating the ideal of responsible adult role-models.

"Ma-nee!" he eagerly exclaimed. "Gimme Ma-nee!"

Suffice it to say that this did not calm my temper.

"You...!" I tried to get my hands around his throat, but, unfortunately, only got hold of his bow tie, which soon gave way.

"Mrs Ambrose! Be careful, bow ties are expensive!"

"I'm trying to bloody strangle you, and you are worrying about the price of bow ties?!"

"Yes?"

The worst thing—he sounded genuinely nonplussed as to what I thought was wrong with that perfectly logical attitude.

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

I made another grab for his neck. This time, I got a hold of his lapels, but all that accomplished was to tear off a few buttons.

"Mrs Ambrose! Careful!"

Although, considering who I was dealing with, that was probably a more grievous punishment than strangulation. After all, the prices of buttons were so outrageous these days, right?

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be careful," I told him, leaning over my husband like a prowling lioness who had decided to make a prey out of her lion. "I wouldn't want you to accidentally survive. Now stay still and take your punishment."

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "I am not good at taking orders, Mrs Ambrose."

"Oh don't worry." I stroked a finger down the side of his chiselled face. "No need to be good. You only need to be adequate."

My arm whipped out, making a grab for his ear. If he insisted on corrupting our child, then I'd discipline him like one! We'd see if he still dared to do it when I had tanned his hide and twisted his ear into a spiral. But before I got the chance to, he grabbed hold of my arm and rolled over on the mattress, coming to a halt on top of me.

"Oy! Let go of me!"

"So you can mutilate my ears? I don't think so."

Growling, I bucked beneath him and tried to throw him off. "I said let go!"

"Calm down, Mrs Ambrose. Can't you be reasonable?"

"Ma-nee!" came a happy gurgle from the direction of the crib. "Papa gimme ma-nee!"

I cocked an eyebrow at my soon-to-be-late husband. "What do you think?"

"I once more protest my innocence."

"You can protest all you like once I'm done with you."

With my free hand, I reached out like lightning and pinched his side. He jerked, and I used the distraction to slip out from under him and pounce on him once more. For a moment or two, we rolled around on the bed, struggling and twisting to the happy applause of Berty, who was peeking at us through a decorative hole in the wall of his cradle.

"Give...up and...take your...punishment!"

"...is normally what I say to disobedient employees, Mrs Ambrose."

"Shut up and stay still!"

I jumped on top of him once more, pinning him down. He started twisting his waist from left to right in order to shake me off. Quickly, I reached down to keep my victim from escaping, and—

—and my hand touched something hard.

Hard and long. Like a...

Immediately, my face flushed and I sent a glare down at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who looked infuriatingly unrepentant.

"Really? Right now?"

He cocked his head. "There is no time like the present."

"You can't be serious!"

"Name one time when I wasn't."

I opened my mouth to retort—and without hesitation, he seized the opportunity. His rock-hard upper body rose, not bothering to pretend that my weight on top of him hampered his movement any more than a feather. His mouth captured mine, taking my breath away.

Oh my...

What was I going to say again?

Scratch that. What was I going to think again? Was I going to think at all? Those lips of his felt so wonderful, soft yet hard, gentle yet demanding...

Bad Lilly! Bad! You were going to punish him, remember?

Oh, right. I was. Although...for what exactly? He was such a nice man, and such an excellent kisser.

Concentrate! Remember! He corrupted your so—

That was when he deepened the kiss. Sliding his hand into my hair, he took a firm hold and pulled me against him. I went along as if my muscles were nothing but melted butter. His free hand started to roam all over my body, setting off fireworks in its wake.

"Y-you...s-stop and let y-yourself be pu—aaah!"

"Yes?" A familiar, arctic voice entered my ear, sending chills down my spine. "You were saying, Mrs Ambrose?"

"I...I was saying...oooh!"

"Indeed. That's what I thought."

Get yourself together, Lilly! You've got to stand up for yourself!

But was it really so bad to lie down for myself instead? After all, it was an activity that had proven to be very fun in the past, especially in my husband's company. Plus, I could always punish him later, right? For now, why not just have a little fun and relax?

Dimly, I felt his fingers reach for the buttons of my shirt.

"Th-this doesn't mean I'm giving up." I whispered against his lips.

"Noted."

"You will be punished appropriately."

"Assuredly."

With nimble fingers, he opened the first button.

"Just...a little bit later."

"Indeed."

Another button popped open. There was no sound from Berty anymore. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Maybe, just maybe, I could indulge a little bit? After all, what was the worst that could happen?

Mr Ambrose reached for the last button of my shirt, and—

Without warning, the door to the room burst open and slammed against the wall with an almighty crash! Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the blurry figure of a man rush in and, for a moment, I instinctively reached for my gun—until I recognized him. It was the man Mr Ambrose had sent to speak to Adaira earlier.

"Mr Ambrose!" the man shouted. "Mr Ambrose, you have to come quickly, you—"

It was only then that he seemed to notice what was going on in the room, including how his boss was undressing the boss lady.

"—eeeep!"

"You," Mr Rikkard Ambrose told the little lackey, who at this moment was shaking like an aspen leaf, "had better give a very good explanation as to why you barged into my room unannounced."

"I'd be interested in hearing that explanation as well," I piped up from behind the pillow Mr Ambrose had used to hide me from sight the moment the man had entered. "I believe you mentioned something about wanting my husband to come quickly? As a wife, I must say, I disagree."

That little remark got me an icy glare from Mr Rikkard Ambrose. I considered for a moment whether to lighten up the mood with another brilliant joke—but only for a moment. Because, the very next instant, the servant's words sent a chill straight to my heart.

"It's Miss Adaira, Mr Ambrose, Sir. I've come because of Miss Adaira."

In a blink, Mr Ambrose was up from the bed and in front of the other man, pinning him to the spot with his glower. "What is the matter, man? What is wrong with Adaira?"

The servant swallowed. "I...well...she..." He swallowed again, his Addam's apple bobbing visibly. "You had better come and see, Sir."

"Oh?" At those words, I immediately perked up. With the vicomte's threat out of the way, I could only really think of one thing that might happen to Adaira at this time. Quickly buttoning up my shirt, I rose into a sitting position and looked over at my husband. "Don't tell me that your little kidnapper squad managed to find its way out of prison and give her a surprise by climbing in through the bedroom window? Poor girl. Oh well, at least this way she will get to enjoy her holiday in the Caribbean a bit earlier than pla—"

"No."

"Huh?" Confused, I glanced at Mr Ambrose.

"No." His face was a block of chiselled ice, his eyes filled with arctic storms. "They didn't. They're still in prison."

My eyes widened. "But then what—?"

"Exactly."

And he was off, nearly kicking the door off its hinges in his rush to get out of the room. By the time I was up on my feet, all that was left of him was the sound of quickly receding footsteps. Muttering swear words under my breath, I threw on my tailcoat and rushed after him. However, when I reached the door, he was already twenty paces ahead, marching down the corridor at a pace that marathon runners would find difficult to keep up with.

Well, then it's lucky you're no marathon runner, right, Lilly? Recently pregnant city girls are so much more athletic!

I could only silently curse my snarky inner voice and dash after my husband. By the time we reached Adaira's room, I had just barely caught up with him. Immediately, I started hammering on the door.

"Adaira? Adaira, what's the matter?!"

No response.

"Adaira, talk to me!"

Still no response. Absolute silence. And, for some reason, I didn't think it was due to family taciturnity.

I exchanged a look with Mr Ambrose. He nodded.

Without hesitation, I pushed open the door and burst into the room.

"Adaira, what's wrong? Please, talk to me! You don't need to worry, we'll get you out of here before your father can do anything to you! We...we will..."

My voice trailed off as I realised I was talking to an empty room. An empty room with a makeshift rope of bedsheets dangling out of the open window.

"Oh crap."

"That," Mr Ambrose's icy voice came from behind me, "is an understatement."

"W-where did she go?" Darting into the room, I checked in the corners and lifted the pillow on the chaise-longue, as if I expected her to hide underneath it. "Where is Adaira?"

"Something I would like to know as well, Mrs Ambrose." My husband strode into the room, his thunderous gaze sweeping the small space. "And I think I have found the answer."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"This." I turned just in time to see him pointing at the bed. There, right in the centre of the mattress, lay a folded piece of paper. Without hesitation, Mr Ambrose strode forward, snatched up the paper, unfolded it, and began to read.

And read.

And read.

A muscle in his cheek twitched.

He read some more.

It twitched again. And again. Then it started twitching spasmodically, as if the rebellious muscle had actually decided that it was time to commit a sacrilege, and put a facial expression on the face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Um...Mr Ambrose?" I enquired hesitantly. "Is everything all right? Does it say where Adaira is?"

That muscle twitched one final time. Then, a moment later, he thrust the letter towards me. Cautiously, I took it and began to read.

Dear Lilly,

Sorry I couldn't say goodbye. I appreciate everything you and your friends did to help me, I truly do. But now it seems like it was all for nothing in the end and, well, I decided I had to follow your example and walk my own path.

There is a simple solution to my problem. There always was. If my dear father wants to blackmail Rick by threatening to marry me off, I will just have to take matters out of Father's hands and into my own. Or, rather, I have to take myself out of his hands. Permanently.

To that end, I have decided to run away and find myself a better husband than whatever smarmy halfwit my father has in mind. Like a certain captain of the British Army I seem to get along with rather famously, and who recently sent me a letter that should allow me to track him down. Granted, he's halfway across the world right now, but it's about time I had an adventure of my own, right?

By the time we next meet, I should be Mrs James Carter. Hope to see you soon!

Yours Truly

Adaira Ambrose

P.S.: Don't tell my grumpy brother where I'm going. He's sure to do something stupid like coming after me.

Slowly, very slowly, I looked up from the letter—only to come face-to-face with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He did not look happy.

"Oh," I stated. "Oh my."

"Indeed."

Then, without another word, he grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder. By the time I got a startled squeak out of my mouth, he was already striding back down the corridor towards the stairs and, subsequently, the manor's exit.

"Karim!" my dear husband bellowed in a voice that brooked no argument. "We're leaving! Get the carriage ready! And find out where I can find Captain! James! Carter!"

THE END

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

...and this was it, my dear Readers. The last chapter of this book.

Over the course of this book, I've noticed a little bit of a decline in interest in this series (which isn't really surprising after such a long time). However, I really don't want to leave you hanging on a cliffhanger but give this series an ending that even Mr Ambrose would consider "adequate".

For a long time, I have received requests for a book about Adaira. Well...the time, my dear readers, has finally come:

Love! Adaira Ambrose has finally found it, and doesn't plan to let it go. Who cares about the thousands of miles of distance between her and her beloved? Now it's finally her time to go on an adventure! Off to India! Who cares about the bloody revolution that happens to be going on there? She has grit, determination, and a revolver in her pocket! Who cares about her enraged big brother, who is coming after her and—

...all right, she might have to care about him. But not if she can pull off a successful elopement before he gets his hands on her. Time to embrace the motto "Knowledge is power is time is money!"

I hope the blurb was to your liking. The last volume of this series, "The Final Storm", starting next Wednesday!

Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed and supported this series so far. I hope you are looking forward to the big finale.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob