Page 66 of New Storm Rising
“So…what did you offer him if hedidn’tdo as you said?”
The hand snapped shut, re-capturing the penny in a single instant. His gaze became even colder.
“I was even more generous. Much, much, more generous.”
“And then?”
“I gave him a day to consider.”
“You did?” I raised an eyebrow. “A whole eighty-six thousand four hundred precious seconds? Who are you, and what happened to my husband?”
Leaning down, he stroked a thumb across my cheek, his intense gaze boring straight into my eyes. “Someone taught him that there are things worth waiting for.” Leaning back, he straightened, intensity shifting into iciness. “Besides, when giving people the chance to consider the repercussions of their actions, giving them additional time is not a bad idea.”
So they have more time to shit their pants? Yes, very generous indeed, Mr Ambrose, Sir.
“Ah.” I nodded wisely. “Do you think he’s had enough time to think things over?”
For a long moment, he only looked at me consideringly. I could see the choices in his eyes. Make her stay, or let her come? Finally, he took a deep breath. Pushing back his chair, Mr Ambrose rose to his feet and extended his arm. “Why don’t we go and see?”
Yes!
Taking his arm, I gave a small curtsey. “An excellent idea. Let’s go, shall we?”
And I led him to the door.
“Go?” He stopped, halting me in mid-step. When I turned around, I caught sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s posture, which was even stiffer than usual. “Go…as in, you intend towalk?”
I stared at him. “Of course. What else did you think I was going to do?”
“Ride a coach, of course.”
My stare only got more incredulous. “Yourented a coach? Formoney?”
“Naturally,” he responded, as if this were perfectly normal behaviour for him. “You walked nearly five hundred yards yesterday. You’ve had enough exercise for this month.”
I blinked. I’d heard of post-traumatic insanity, but post-coital insanity?
Well…there’s always a first time, I guess.
Something occurred to me. If we did “it” again, would he start giving me days off? Would he give me a raise?
I grinned. This presented…possibilities.
“My feet suddenly feel really exhausted,” I informed my dear husband, tightening the grip on his arm. “I hope you have a comfy coach?”
It was supposed to be half a joke. Well, actually,allof it was supposed to be a joke. So, when Mr Ambrose led me to the front door, snapped his fingers, and an amazingly luxurious, comfy coach rolled around the hill, coming to a stop in front of the log house, I was just a tad surprised, to say the least.
That was the moment when Mr Ambrose stepped forward, bowed down and unfolded the steps at the side of the coach for me to use, then held the door open for me.
“Go ahead. Please, be careful. Make sure not to fall.”
He’s behaving like agentleman?
Yes. Definitely post-coital insanity.
“Why, thank you.” And I let my husband help me into the carriage. Wonders never cease.
Soon, we were inside the coach and rolling down the dirt road to the town. Well, just dirt, really. Not a road. But today, nothing was going to muddy my mood.
