Page 223 of Storm of Bells
And yet something was tugging at the back ofmy mind. Something important. Something…what was it again?
Sighing, I reached over, my hand searchingfor my chemise—and encountered an ear.
I blinked.
I had heard of walls having ears before, butbeds? Cautiously, my fingers slid off the ear, over a cheek with ahigh cheekbone and onto a nose.
‘Dif,’ came a cool voice from the other sideof the bed, ‘if not fe greeting I ekfpected to refeive in themorning.’
Eyes flying open, I tore my hand away.
Mr Rikkard Ambrose lay on the other side ofthe bed, gazing at me from under half-raised lids. Suddenly, allthe memories from last night came flooding back.
It was abigflood.
My ears turned red as tomatoes, and I cast aquick glance at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He, too, was looking at me. Hiseyes were…
Intense wasn’t a big enough word for it.
Ravenous wasn’t a big enough word.
No word was big enough. Instead, there wassilence. Splendid, wonderful silence after the storm.
I swallowed, my eyes shining. ‘Last nightwas…’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
A corner of my mouth turned up, and I feltthe tips of my ears turn red. ‘You…what you did…’
His chin rose slightly. An arrogant,triumphant gesture—and I didn’t mind in the least. For once, he’dmore than earned the right to be arrogant. ‘Yes. I remember.’
Once again, we sank into silence. Lyingopposite each other, we were content to stare into each other’seyes, discovering entire new worlds of happiness there. Worlds wewere burning to explore. Only now and again, our fingertipstouched—but that was more than enough. We were intrinsicallyconnected by bonds so tight, so strong, that we didn’t need totouch to be together.
‘Mrs Ambrose?’
My new name was like an unfamiliar breezetickling my ear. Strange, but irresistible. Leaning closer, I tookthe hand of…of my husband.
His face looked a little bit odd. If he hadbeen anyone but Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I would have said there was aconfused expression on his face.
‘What is it?’ I whispered.
‘I…’ Licking his lips, he glanced at thephotograph of his family sitting on the nightstand, then his eyesdrifted to my face and stared and stared and stared.‘I’m…happy.’
His words nearly broke my heart. He soundedlike a castaway, after being adrift at sea for years, had finallytouched solid ground. Moisture threatened to spill at the corner ofmy eye. My mouth opened, but before I could say anything, his armsshot forward, grabbing hold of me and pulling me into an embrace sotight I was hardly able to breath.
‘Mine!’ he rasped.
And, for once, I didn’t contradict him.
It was long before we were ready to let go ofeach other. Around us, the world slowly came alive. In thedistance, a cockerel, who apparently also had a satisfactory night,crowed to announce his success to the sunrise. Morning light beganto paint the room in rosy hues as, downstairs, the noises of feethurrying around and pots clanking started to echo through the manorhouse.
‘Shall we get up?’ Mr Ambrose suggested.
I considered his words for a moment—thenshook my head. ‘Nah.’
He cocked his head, and then drew me tightlyagainst him once again, and pulled the blankets up, snugglingagainst me.
‘Are you being lazy in the morning, Sir?’
