Page 224 of New Storm Rising
So that was the game she was playing, was it? I was too taciturn for her taste, so instead of words, she would try to squeeze some money out of me?
Well then…challenge accepted.
Immediately, I put my papers aside.
“It would be my pleasure, Mrs Ambrose.”
Quickly, half an hour passed. Far too quickly, in my opinion. I would have happily continued, but…
From across the table, my littleifritgave me a look that once more reminded me why she had been nicknamed after a fire demon. As for the reason why she was so displeased with me? Well, it might have had something to do with the giant pile of coins in front of me, and the contrasting empty table in front of her.
“You, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, are afiend! A menace! A threat to all hard-working women of the world!”
“Why, thank you, Mrs Ambrose.”
“That wasnotsupposed to be a compliment!”
“It was not? Well, I will have to content myself with my winnings, then.”
Unless I could convince her to continue? After all, if she did not have money to bet anymore, we could always try that interesting American tradition known as “strip poker”…[49]
I glanced at her, and she was still wearing that expression reminiscent of a wrathful fire demon. Hm…maybe better not suggest it right now.
I didn’t really get the chance to anyway, because, in the next moment, she pinned her gaze on me, her eyes slightly narrowed. “Say…now that you’ve won big, you won’t mind treating me to something nice, will you?”
Trying to get me to spend the money I just won from you, are you, Mrs Ambrose?
Well, she was doomed to be disappointed.
“Certainly,” I told her with a nod. “As far as I am aware, there are a lot of tanners in town who are quite excellent at treating leather. For a modest fee, they should be able to treat wives as well.”
The look she sent me in response made me consider the purchase of fireproof clothing. A moment later, however, her expression suddenly changed. Her face twisted into a pained grimace, and she placed one of her hands over her pregnant belly.
“Ooohh…!”
The groan that escaped her throat wrenched at my heart. In a blink, I was at her side, hovering over her.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I…I don’t know.” She uttered another pained groan. “I feel strange. A little sick. I think…I think I really need…”
“Yes?!”
“…a dinner in an expensive restaurant and an evening out at the theatre.”
I froze.
Did she really just…?
Yes. Yes, she did.
I felt a muscle in my cheek twitched. She fooled me. That little vixen had fooledme, Mr Rikkard Ambrose! I was the one who fooled others to give me their money, not the other way around!
“What a curious bout of sickness,” I stated, my voice frosty.
Innocently, she batted her eyelashes at me. “Yes, very curious indeed, isn’t it? And very intense. I feel it needs to be cured immediately, or the symptoms might get worse.”
“Is that so?” I considered for a moment—then suddenly remembered an advertisement I had seen on the street. Maybe visiting the theatre might not be such a bad idea. “Hm…very well. I hear there is a performance of Shakespeare’sMeasure for Measurerunning on Broadway. It’s a story about a pregnant woman being sent to prison for her wicked deeds. Very interesting subject, isn’t it?”
