"I swear, the place we are going to is primarily used as a domicile?"

"I did not lie," Mr Ambrose replied. "Technically."

I felt my fingers twitch. "Then what, pray," I enquired as I lifted one hand to point at the entrance door in front of us, "is that?"

Mr Ambrose followed my outstretched finger with his gaze to where, above the entrance of the luxurious house in front of us, a sign proclaimed:

Emerald Meadow Racetrack Hotel & Casino

(Access to Emerald Meadow Racetrack Not Included in Room Prices)

"In retrospect," he stated, "perhaps I should have had the sign taken down before we came here."

I gave him a sweet smile, the doom of all husbands with pregnant wives. "Oh no, why would that be necessary? After all, how could I possibly demand you stop making money for the benefit of your wife and your unborn child."

An arm came around me, pulling me close. "I am lucky to have such a kind and understanding wife."

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Have you perchance encountered something called 'sarcasm' before?"

He considered this for a moment.

Cocking his head, he sent me a challenging look. "Once. No one has dared to use it on me since."

"You...!" That actually sounded like something that might happen, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's charming personality considered. But, darn it, he wasn't going to get out of this so easily! My eyes narrowed. "No changing the subject, Mister!"

I was pissed! Not pissed for myself so much, really. After all, for most of my life, I had called a single room my home, a room I was sharing with my sister Ella. I didn't need a home to be happy. But my baby? That was another bloody matter entirely!

Plus, pregnancy might, possibly, be trying to make me just a tiny bit temperamental. Not that I would let that affect me. Nope, not at all.

"Let's get back to the bloody point, shall we? The point being that, after you decided that staying at a hotel is unsuitable, your first move is to stash me into a carriage and drag me to another bloody hotel?"

"Ah." Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised a finger. "A hotel that belongs to me."

"Which makes a difference how exactly?"

"I would have thought that was obvious. I do not have to pay for our room."

"Oh, it was obvious." I cracked my knuckles. All right, maybe pregnancy was influencing me a tiny little bit. But not so much it mattered, surely. "I just wanted to see if you are brave enough to say it out loud, Dicky Darling. Now, let's see if I can't get you to take your husbandly duties a little more seriousl—"

I was abruptly interrupted by the carriage door being pulled open. A distinguished figure in a butler's uniform appeared and bowed.

"Good evening, Your Ladyship. May I help you out of the carriage?"

I blinked. It took me a moment to realize I still hadn't stopped cracking my knuckles. Ears reddening, I quickly shoved my hand into the folds of my dress.

"Ehem...sure. Right."

"Thank you for your gracious acceptance, Your Ladyship." He extended his arm and, dazed, I took it. "We have the royal suite prepared for you. Would that be sufficient?"

"Um, yes, I think so."

"Marvellous. Please be so kind as to follow me, Your Ladyship."

Before I could get out so much as a single word, the butler manoeuvred me down the carriage stairs and along the path towards the front door. Suddenly, two dozen figures in servant attire stepped out from the shadows of the trees along the way, bowing deeply.

"Greetings, Your Ladyship," they chorused. "Welcome home."

My mouth dropped open.

One of the older maids stepped out from the row, curtsying deeply. "My name is Magdalena. I am the head maid and have been assigned as your personal attendant. Naturally, you may pick any of the other maids if you require additional aid."

"Any of the...but what about the other guests?"

"Other guests?" She blinked, seeming confused. "My Lady...there are no other guests. The only people residing in the hotel will be your husband and your esteemed self. You will have this place all to yourselves."

I whirled around to stare at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Mr Ambrose, who was currently standing beside the butler, probably discussing annual profits or something of the kind, and was very distinctly not smiling.

That devious, dastardly son of a...! He tricked me!

I was going to get my revenge for this. I was going to—

"We have a program prepared for the evening, Your Ladyship. If it pleases you, we shall commence with a relaxing bath in the marble pool, followed by a foot massage, before we continue to a sumptuous meal prepared by our five-star chef, and conclude the evening with a cup of hot chocolate for a night cap."

—maybe postpone my revenge for tomorrow. After all, I wouldn't want to break this poor woman's heart by rejecting her hospitality, right? Or her hot chocolate.

"Would you like me to show you the way to the baths?"

"By all means, do."

"Then please follow me, Your Ladyship. I shall show you the way. Is there any particular bathing oil you prefer? Lavender? Jasmine? Rose-scented?"

A wicked grin suddenly appeared on my face. Maybe I wouldn't have to postpone my revenge after all.

"Oh, I've always preferred rose in my bath," I told the older woman leisurely. Then, leaning over towards my dear husband, I whispered, "To be precise, a particular variety called Amb Rose."

Instantly, his spine went stiff as a board. And probably not just his spine.

Putting on a broad, cheerful smile, I turned back towards the house. "Now I'm going to have a nice, long, naked bath in a steamy bathroom," I announced. "Won't that be fun?"

And I strode off, whistling, a confused head maid following behind me and an icy gaze burning holes into my back.

Married life is so much fun! This is going to be spiffing!

Ten minutes later I was relaxing in a massive marble pool, waves of hot water gently lapping over my bare skin. Stretching, I cranked my neck from side to side and let the warmth seep into my aching muscles. Hm...I felt so much lighter in the water. Only now did I realize how much weight I was lugging around with me since the pregnancy really started kicking in. Maybe I could get a pool installed in my office? Surely, that would fall under acceptable business expenditures.

If I were married to the exact opposite of my husband, that is.

And speaking of my husband...

I glanced around the luxurious room decorated in gold and marble. Now that I thought about it...wasn't all this a tad bit too extravagant for Mr Rikkard Professional-Penny-Pincher Ambrose? Even if this was a hotel rented out to other people at exorbitant prices, I simply couldn't picture Mr Ambrose buying or building such a place. Strange. I wonder why—

Just then, a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Your Ladyship? Would you like a massage?"

To heck with why! To heck with how and any other inconvenient questions. This was the life!

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "Definitely! Unless..." I hesitated. "The masseuse is a she, right?"

No need to have my brand-new husband shipped off to prison for masseuse-murder.

"Naturally, Your Ladyship. Shall I send her in?"

A beatific smile spread across my face. "By all means, do."

Moments later, soft footsteps approached across the marble floor, and a gentle pair of hands started massaging my back muscles, which recently seemed to have been under a lot more stress than usual.

Reaching down, I gently caressed my belly and levelled an accusing stare at the bulge. "You really couldn't make yourself any lighter, could you?"

I felt two light nudges against my fingers as my little one gently moved inside me.

"If you get too fat, you'll just have to start dieting once you grow up, you know?"

Nudge, nudge.

Almost against my will, I felt one corner of my mouth twitch.

"So, you can understand me? Give me one nudge for yes, and two nudges for no."

Nudge.

"You are an ugly little brat that keeps me up all night with your shenanigans."

Nudge, nudge.

"You're going to be just as stubborn as your father, aren't you?"

Nudge.

"And I'm probably being silly, right?"

Nudge.

What the...! Was my unborn child criticizing my lack of intelligence? I should probably stop the baby conversations for tonight. This was making me question my own sanity. Was I going crazy?

Nudge.

I couldn't help it. My lips twitched, and I once more looked down at my belly as a warm feeling spread through me.

Then again, maybe sanity is overrated.

My masseuse seemed to agree, because she suddenly let out a squeak, leapt up and dashed out of the room without a single word. I blinked, and turned around—or at least tried to. But before I could, another pair of hands settled on my back. A very different pair of hands. Large, strong, and very much familiar.

Not that I was going to let him know that, though.

"How dare you invade a lady's privacy, Sir!" I exclaimed. "Just wait till I tell my husband about this!"

"Call me optimistic," a cool voice came from right behind me, "but I do not think he'll mind."

His hands sped up, kneading my muscles like dough, eliciting a moan from me.

"Besides," he continued, "didn't you say something about enjoying bathing with Ambrose?" Suddenly, I felt his breath at my ear. Somehow, it felt ten times as hot as the steam rising from my bath. "Here's your chance."

"I...you...we shouldn't—"

Dammit, why couldn't I keep my mouth shut! Why did I have to bait him into coming here?

Well, Lilly...maybe you can be alone and naked with your hubby in a steamy, luxurious bathroom?

Good point, actually. But only now that I was naked, something that should have been very obvious occurred to me: along with being pregnant came the little fact of being very fat. There was no way around it. I wasn't pudgy. I wasn't curvy. I was fat. Did I really want to be naked in the same room with my tall, dark, chiselled granite statue of a husband?

Me and my bloody blabbermouth!

Just then, from behind me, I heard the soft rustling of cloth hitting the floor. Water splashed as something slid into the pool and approached me from behind.

Then again, being a blabbermouth is spiffing! Why not do it more often?

"Come." His strong hands moved from my back to my front, pulling me close, gently caressing, massaging.

"I-it's my back that's aching," I managed to squeeze out.

"Oh?" I could practically hear him cocking his head. "Do you want me to resume massaging your back?"

His fingers began to trace leisurely circles on my chest. A moan escaped my throat. "N-no! The front is fine!"

"Indeed?"

Bastard!

His fingers started moving faster, dancing across my skin in the most interesting way. I felt my knees go weak and wobbled ever so slightly.

"Tired?" his low rumble of a voice caressed my ears. "Lean on me."

"Chauvinist," I murmured.

"And you love me," he retorted.

I didn't really have a response for that. Bloody hell, was it annoying when husbands were right!

Just then, said husband's hands resumed their exploration of my body, one continuing its massage, while the other wandered farther down, over my belly, down to my—

Ohh...!

On the other hand, husbands could be really useful. Yep, let's keep him. At least as long he continues to...

Aah, yes!

"Did you say something, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Shut up! And don't you dare stop!"

"As you wish, Mrs Ambrose."

Maybe, just maybe, living in a hotel wouldn't be so bad after all. The room service was certainly nice.

After the lengthiest and most enjoyable bath of my life, I emerged from the bathroom fresh, smiling and...invigorated. With a contented sigh, I stretched. Bathing was so much more relaxing when you had soft clothes to put on and a chiselled, naked husband to dry your hair for you.

"Your Ladyship." A butler awaited me in the corridor, bowing deeply as soon as he spotted me. "Dinner will be served in a few minutes. May I show you the way to the dining room?"

"No," a certain cool voice came from right behind me. "I will."

A tall figure in a dark tailcoat and trousers appeared beside me, and a rock-hard, muscled arm linked with mine. Glancing sideways, I cocked an eyebrow up at my dear husband.

"Jealous of your own butler, Mr Ambrose, Sir?" I whispered.

He sent me a cool gaze. "I know how much he earns per month. Trust me, there is no need to be. Now...dinner?"

"Lead on, Sir."

Dinner was scrumptious—and that was coming from a woman who could enjoy the eye candy that was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. I had never enjoyed any food so much in my life. Granted, considering the usual fare in my aunt and uncle's house, that wasn't really saying much, but still. It was wonderful.

Which brought to mind a question.

Slumped back in my chair, I slowly opened one of my lazy eyelids in an attempt to overcome my post-banquet drowsiness and peered at Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Why?"

He cocked his head. "Why what?"

I gestured at the luxurious room, the crystal chandelier, the table filled with the remains of various delicacies. "This house. The dinner. Everything. This isn't like you. So...why?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then...

"A last meal for the condemned."

I blinked. "Pardon?"

"A last meal for the condemned. Or did you forget already what we have planned for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? What are you talking abou—" My eyes suddenly widened. "Oh."

"'Oh' is correct, Mrs Ambrose."

"Crap, crap, crap! How could I have forgotten?"

"I am unaware."

I was such a bloody idiot! With all that had happened, I'd completely forgotten about that! First my day back at work, then the rather interesting bath, and well...suffice it to say, our plans for tomorrow had completely slipped my mind. Now that I wasn't in the bath being, ehem..."distracted" by Mr Ambrose anymore, my anxiety set in with a vengeance.

Tomorrow would be the day. The day I had tried to avoid as long as I could. The day that could no longer be delayed. The day of my doom.

I swallowed.

"Um...do you think we could leave the city? I know this charming little village by the coast where—"

"No."

"But why? We could—"

"Because a certain lady told me to, and I quote, 'under no circumstances let me weasel my way out of it'."

Damn! I did tell him that, didn't I?

Me and my big mouth!

"Um...I was wondering..."

"Yes, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Back at your country manor, you have suits of armour, don't you?" I tried my best to not sound too hopeful. I failed miserably. "Could you lend me one?"

"No."

"But—"

"Not unless you can find a suit of armour for pregnant female knights."

Dammit! Why does he always have to be right?

"Well, if that is it..." Rising from his seat, Mr Ambrose stepped forward and extended his hand towards me. "Time for bed."

"Um...can't we stay up a little longer?"

After all, the longer you stay up at night, the longer it would take for the morning to come. This was a universal law of time I had discovered while waiting for Father Christmas as a five-year-old.

"No." In a blink, he had crossed the distance between us and captured one of my hands in his. Deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into mine, full of promise for the night to come. "Bed. Now."

Then again...going to bed early didn't necessarily have to mean sleeping. Judging by the look on my husband's face, I wouldn't get much shuteye tonight.

"Very well. Let's go, Mr Am—"

A squeak escaped my mouth as he snatched me up and carried me off towards the bed chamber. I clung on tightly to him, shutting out any and all thoughts of tomorrow. If my doom was approaching anyway, I might as well enjoy my last night, right?

***

Bright and early next morning, we stepped out of the palace-for-rent that was the Emerald Meadow Racetrack Hotel & Casino and moved towards the carriage that awaited us. That is, Mr Ambrose moved towards the carriage, while dragging me behind him.

"Do we really have to go? I don't think I'm feeling very well. I might vomit any moment!"

"The carriage has open windows."

"I, um...think I just remembered I left something at home. I should go back and fetch it before—"

"Our entire luggage is still waiting at Empire House."

Oh, crap! What the heck am I supposed to do if even my fibbing skills fail me?

The last thing I saw before I was dragged into the coach was the broad grin on Karim's face.

"You're the bodyguard," I reminded him. "If I'm in danger, it's your duty to defend me."

His grin instantly disappeared, replaced by a horrified expression.

"Karim?" Mr Ambrose called out. "Drive."

"Um...Sahib, I just remembered I forgot something back in my room. Could I go and—"

"Drive. Now."

All too soon, we arrived in front of a familiar house. I had visited here quite often in my pre-marriage days, and yet now, as I climbed out of the carriage, I was dreading every step forward. Nonetheless, I finally arrived in front of the door. Before I could stop him, Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised his hand and knocked.

"Couldn't you have waited a little longer?" I hissed.

He cocked his head. "And waste time?"

"Rrrgh! You're infuriating!"

"And you are too excitable." Half-turning towards me, he cocked his head. "It is not as if you are the only one who might have to face...unpleasant consequences here. In fact, it is most likely I whom this will be most hazardous for."

"But you're made from rock!" I shot back my perfectly logical counter-argument. "You'll be fine! You—"

Right then, the door swung open, revealing the stoic form of a butler. "Ah. Mr and Mrs Ambrose, I presume? Please come in, you are expected."

His gaze swivelled down to the bulge of my belly.

"Well...at least most of you."

And he vanished, apparently very eager to not be present when his employer arrived. I could not blame him either.

We stepped after him into the entryway. Before I even had a chance to slip out of my overcoat or pull out my revolver to defend myself from the coming danger, the door at the other end of the room burst open, and several figures rushed inside. Ella, Edmund, Flora, Eve and...

"Finally!" Patsy exclaimed. "You're back! And...you..."

Her voice trailed off as she stared at me. Or, more precisely, my abdominal region.

"Surprise!" I gave her my best and brightest smile. "I'm pregnant!"

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Everyone, take cover! Prepare for the wrath that shall end the world!

On a totally unrelated note, how do you think Patsy will react? ;-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Father Christmas - This is the traditional British name for Santa Claus.