Under Mr Ambrose's patented office-employee-encouragement glare, we all continued to row hard and swiftly down the river. Whenever people came into view, we took one of the fishing nets still stored on the boat and cast it out into the water, pretending to be fishing. Nobody was interested in some dirt-poor fishermen, so we attracted no real attention. Even the various warring bands that roamed the countryside, no matter whether British or Indian, seemed to show no interest in us. That still didn't keep my heart from pounding in my chest every time they passed close by.

"Stop!" Mr Ambrose's voice suddenly rang out on the third day after we had set out. "We go ashore here. Move towards the left bank."

"Why?" I frowned, glancing at the large riverboat with the flag of the East India Company moored at a peer to our left. "We don't want to attract their attention."

"On the contrary, Mrs Ambrose. That's exactly what we want to do." And, before I could whack the thick-headed idiot over the head, he stood up and gestured at the crew of the boat. "You there! Over here!"

"What are you doing?!" I hissed and grabbed the bloody fool by the back of his shirt. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No." He didn't sit down or even stop waving. "But I have found my subordinates."

"Subordina—" Then it clicked. "Son of a...! Those are your employees in disguise, aren't they?"

"What gave it away?"

"The fact that we're not full of bullet holes yet!"

"Indeed."

Soon, we reached the larger boat and were pulled aboard by the crew of enthusiastic (in front of their boss, at least) sailors. The moment my feet touched the deck, a heavy load fell from my heart. Now that we were in British-held territory, under the flag over the East India Company, no matter how fake it may be, we were more or less safe. Adaira and the captain seemed similarly relieved. Only Karim apparently had to restrain himself to not strangle the fake EIC employees. Every time he caught sight of the insignia on their uniforms, his fingers twitched with the urge to wrap around their necks. Mr Ambrose, instead of commenting on this, sent Karim to monitor the sailors whenever he felt they were getting lazy. Suffice to say that, once this strategy was employed, we made excellent progress down the river. It didn't take long till the air began to smell salty and, when I stepped on the deck, I could hear the roiling of ocean waves in the distance.

Close! So very close!

We were near the ocean. Near the ocean meant near Agatti Island. And near the island meant near my son.

Already, I could nearly feel the wonderfully familiar weight of Berty in my arms. If only he were really there. I knew that, soon enough, he would be truly in my arms, but...what if something happened? This was still a bloody warzone!

True, the island where we had left Berty was far away from the Indian mainland and should not be touched by any of the fighting. Yet no matter the distance, there was always a trace of danger. What if pirates or rebels had been blown of course and landed at the island. What if—

A firm hand landed on my shoulder.

"There is no need to worry," came a familiar, far too bloody cool and rational voice from behind me. "At present, most forces are converging on Delhi. Even those that aren't are mostly land forces. The Royal Navy has always been firmly in the hands of the British, and the rebels can't hope to compete with it. According to my calculations, the probability that a rebel vessel encounters us or lands on the island is less than 0.056773%."

One corner of my mouth twitched. "Is that so?"

"Yes." A pause. "Approximately."

My shoulders slumped. "You're right. You're right about everything. It's just—"

"Yes?"

"I don't bloody care!" Whirling around, I stared up at him with fierce eyes. "I want my baby back!"

An incomparably gentle hand touched my cheek. For a long moment, we stood like this, lost in each other's eyes. Then...

"I'm afraid conjuring our child is beyond my ability. But..."

My eyes lit up. "Yes?"

With a growl, he leaned forward and gave me a kiss that nearly knocked my socks off. When our lips parted and I regained my wits, I could suddenly feel a certain part of him press into me. A hard part. "I can always give you another one."

I sucked in a breath. When I next spoke, my voice was a little unsteady. "Y-you're just trying to distract me."

"Yes. Is it working?"

"N-no!"

"Then why are your cheeks turning red?"

"They're not! Don't talk nonsense!"

"I agree."

"Y-you do?"

"Yes." Capturing my face with both hands, he forced me to look up at him once more. Damn! Why were those blasted eyes of his so deep, dark and seductive? "For what we're about to do, no talking is required."

Then he reclaimed my lips.

Heat rushed to my face. That scoundrel! We were up on deck, where everyone could see—this "everyone" including his sister! Rogue! Blaggard!

"We...we can't!" I stepped back—only to have to stop as the ship's railing dug into my derrière. "Not here!"

"Is that so?" A strong arm snaked around my waste, pinning me in place. "Let's go to our cabin, then."

"That's not what I meant!"

"I know. But it's what I meant." And, before I could get another word out, he swept my legs out from under me.

"Eeeep!"

I did not utter a startled squeal. And anyone who tells you differently is a heinous lying liar and a scoundrel.

But not as much of a scoundrel as Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I discovered a moment later as he caught me in a bridal carry.

"Let me go!"

"...to the bedroom? Don't worry, I'll carry you."

And, without another word, he strode off towards our cabin. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Adaira, who was trying and failing to conceal her smirk behind one hand. Next to her was Karim, whose beard was twitching ever so slightly. That was the last thing I saw before the door to my and my husband's cabin closed behind us.

"You...you...!" I pounded the blaggard's chest. That son of a...if news of this spread, how was I ever supposed to look my feminist friends in the eyes again? "My reputation is ruined!"

"No," he growled, striding to the bed in three long steps. "But it's about to be."

I felt my face flush. "You...you...!"

"After all," he continued, not seeming to notice my outraged sputtering, "a lady spending a night with her husband is so very scandalous."

The next moment, I found myself flying through the air. For a second or so, I felt weightless. Then gravity caught up with me. I plummeted down and, an instant later, was engulfed by soft pillows and blankets. Before I could move a muscle, he was above me, his deep, dark, fathomless eyes pinning me in place.

"N-now isn't the time for this," I told him. For some reason though, my voice came out as nothing more than a whisper. "I'm worried about Berty and—"

"—and so am I." With one hand, he cupped my face. "And yet, we can't do anything about it, can we?"

Darn that logical son of a bachelor and his infernally reasonable arguments!

"...No."

"So why not follow my usual method? When faced with an unsolvable problem, ignore it and do something productive." His grip tightened and his eyes flashed in the gloom. "Or, failing that, something reproductive."

If there had been a blush in my cheeks before, it was nothing compared to the conflagration that raged there now. Glaring up at the son of a bachelor, I poked his rock-hard chest. "That had better not be a method you employ at the office, Mister!"

Not threatened in the slightest, he leaned forward until his lips brushed against mine, making my breath hitch.

"Only with my favourite secretary," he whispered.

Then he claimed my lips, silencing me before I could say another word.

What had I been going to say, anyway? Suddenly, it didn't seem so important anymore. All that seemed to matter now were his hot lips on mine and his icy gaze boring into me. That is, until his fingers found the topmost button of my garment and started to work.

Quickly, I turned my head to the side to free my lips. "We...we really shouldn't—"

What I hadn't realised was that turning my head sideways would give him easy access to my throat. An opportunity that my husband, bloody opportunist that he was, took immediate advantage of. A trail of burning kisses moved down from the corner of my mouth, over my throat and down to my collarbone. When he finally reached that oh-so sensitive spot there, I couldn't help but let out a low mewling sound.

"S-stop! What if Adaira hears—"

"I don't think she is paying overly much attention to anything at the moment." He placed another burning kiss onto my skin, going even deeper down my décolletage. Dangerously deep. "Aside from a certain someone."

"A-and that doesn't bother you?"

"At any other time it would." Another kiss. And another. "Right now? I couldn't give a flying fig."

"Naturally." I couldn't help but giggle. "Figs are expensive, never mind flying ones."

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Are you, Mrs Lillian Ambrose, making fun of me?"

"Making fun? Of course not." Batting my eyelashes up at him, I gave him a critical look. "If you want to make something, you have to have suitable raw materials."

His gaze lowered by ten degrees, boring into me with delicious chilliness. "You have quite the mouth on you today, my wife. Time for me to put it to good use."

Then his lips slammed down on mine once more, stealing my breath. His hands went back to undoing my buttons and, this time, they didn't stop.

"W-we really shouldn't do this now," I whispered against his lips. "We aren't home yet. With everything that's happening—"

"—you need to relax," he finished my sentence for me. The last button of my garment fell open, revealing my everything. "So let me do my husbandly duty and help you do so."

Then he started kissing his way down my body.

"W-wait! Rikkard Ambrose, what are you doing? Don't think you can just sweet-talk me!"

"Oh, I don't plan to talk much, Mrs Ambrose. Although I do plan on using my tongue."

"What do you mean? You can't actually be suggesti—eeeeeh!"

"Oh, I think I can."

I melted into the mattress like butter in the hot sun. Under his ministrations, all the tension, all the worries that had filled me for days on end evaporated like mist in the morning light. As for the fact that it was actually sunset right now? Who the hell cared! There was a sun rising deep within me right now, and the fire was still being stoked.

"T-too...too much...!" I wheezed, while, in my head, I was screaming More, more, more!

"I would have thought that, by now, you would have understood something about me, my lady wife," came his deep growl from places too private to mention. "For me, there is no such thing as 'too much'!"

Then he dove down once more—and I didn't complain again. Mostly because I was too busy making incomprehensible noises that would have made a brothel madam blush. And as for my dear husband? He was silent. Silent and fully focused on worshipping me as if I were the most precious treasure in the world. No...not a treasure. Because a treasure Mr Rikkard Ambrose would only ever pursue and possess. Never would he bow his head. Never would he show he actually cared.

This blissful torture lasted for...how long? Minutes? Hours? Days? I didn't know and didn't care. All I knew was that the son of a bachelor I had married played me for all this time like a virtuoso would his favourite instrument. And yet, he never let me reach the last and highest note. When he finally came up and his face came into view, still somehow ice-cold and unmoved, I was ready to beg.

"P-please..."

"Please what, Mrs Ambrose?"

I gazed up at him, my fiery gaze telling him exactly what I wanted. "Please...just, please!"

"I see," his chilly whisper entered my ear, "Well then, let's get to reproducing, shall we?"

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My dear Readers,

Sorry for the late chapter! I overslept.

Countdown: six chapters left!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob