Page 144 of New Storm Rising
Just then his words sank in. The juice in my mouth was sprayed across the table in a beautiful fountain.
“Themarshalis going to come pick us up later?”
“Yes.”
“The US Marshal, who is duty-bound to enforce the law of a country that outlaws prostitution, is going to come pick us up later? From abrothel?”
Mr Ambrose lifted one shoulder in what might be a miniscule twitch for other people. For him, it was a shrug.
“He thinks it is a hotel.”
I stared. Then I turned to gesture at the bunch of giggling, half-naked ladies scattered around the table.
“And, having seenthem, you think he’ll still believe that?”
“I can be very convincing.”
Just then, Delilah Deluxe spilled some wine over her friend’s dress and, apparently deciding she liked the translucent effect that had on the cloth, followed with the remaining contents of the glass. Sarah stared down at her wet dress—then broke out into giggles and hugged her friend.
I gave my dear husband a look. “I think you’re going to have to be.”
He shifted in his seat, very pointedlynotlooking at the girl now dressed in a see-through wet dress.
Good boy.
Shifting in his seat, Mr Ambrose turned to look towards the door. “Adequate. Then, shall we go?”
“Oh yes, let’s go!” a chirpy voice from his left piped up.
“Yes!” another voice from his right joined in. “Let’s go straight away!”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose glanced down at the woman clinging to both of his arms. “I wasnotreferring to the both of you.”
“Aww…you sure?”
“Quite sure.” Prying their fingers off his arms one at a time, Mr Ambrose slipped out of their hold and stepped over towards me. “Shall we go?”
Slipping out of the grasp of my two captors, I linked arms with my husband and moved towards the door. Half turning, I waved over my shoulder. “Toodeloo, ladies. Have fun.”
Meg smirked, glancing between me and Mr Ambrose. “Are you sureyouain’t the one who’s gonna have fun?”
I smirked back. “Now that you mention it…”
Just then the doorbell rang.
“Gu-uurls!” Mama Dumant’s sing-song voice came from the direction of the parlour. “Customers!”
“Oh shite! Gotta go, bye!” Leaping up, the girls rushed out of the room. Mr Ambrose gazed after them for a moment—then, quick as a flash, he fished out a pocket watch and let it snap open. “This is the time the marshal is supposed to arrive.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Can we reach the door before they do?”
In answer, Mr Ambrose started running.
Without letting go of my arm, the bloody bugger!
“Ah, Mr Ambrose!” The marshal smiled and inclined his head as the front door opened. “You look a bit flushed. Have you been exercising?”
“Something of the kind,” Mr Ambrose agreed, his breathing steadying. “Is it time?”
