Page 232 of Storm over the Caribbean
My stony, silent man is back with me! And I won’t let him slip away again. Not if I can help it!
Reaching out, I grabbed the blanket and pulled it over the both of us, creating a tiny cave of warmth and comfort. A moment later, the bed started moving. That evening, perfect silence reigned in Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s abode. Well…except maybe for the creaking of the bed, and the noise made by the small earthquake that shook Empire House.
English geology can be funny sometimes.
***
Some time later…
Well, actually…a lotof time later. Dutiful wife that I was, I had been quite thorough in allowing Mr Rikkard Ambrose to vent his frustration. Out of pure altruism, of course.
Ehem, like I was saying: some time later, I was lying in bed, staring off into the distance and wondering whether you could die from too much amorous congress, when a pair of strong, rock-hard arms wrapped around me from behind and pulled me closer. A tiny smile tugged at my lips and I snuggled closer to the owner of said arms—again, for purely altruistic reasons. It hadnothing whatsoever to do with the way I felt completely sated and safe in his embrace.
Shifting around, I was able to turn my head just far enough to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose in all his naked splendour, the sinking sun painting his carved muscles in tones of crimson and gold. He was staring at me, his gaze not deviating an iota from my face. Not for a single second.
“Feeling better?” I enquired gently.
His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into me with an oh-so familiar icy intensity. “Adequate.”
It was his usual response. Completely expected and normal, and yet…
I saw the deeper meaning in his eyes. He was feeling adequate. Not all right. Because…how could he truly be all right considering what he’d just learned about his family?
Without even thinking about it, I turned to fully face him and reached out to take his hand. Intertwining his fingers with mine, I placed them over my heart.
“So…what will you do now? Storm up to Battlewood Hall and force your father at gunpoint to chase his ‘guest’ away?”
“Unfortunately…no.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “No?”
“As much as I would like to deny it, I am my father’s son. Taking this into account, do you truly think he would be convinced by a gun barrel in the face?”
I considered that for about half a second.
“No.”
“Indeed.”
I considered for a moment longer.
“But you do have a plan.”
“Indeed.”
“Does it involve shoving gun barrels in some other people’s faces?”
He cocked his head at me, as if to say,Naturally, what do you take me for?
I smirked. Wasn’t it wonderful to be married to a man you understood perfectly?
“Would you be so kind as to share a list of those people with me, Dicky Darling?” I batted my eyelashes at him. “I could help you…decide priorities.”
“Offering to work for free, are you?” Tightening his grip on my hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on its back. “How could I possibly refuse?”
Together, we began to plot. Whatever DeMordaunt was planning up north, neither I nor my husband were going to rush in half-cocked. Especially not my husband, if recent experience was anything to go by. No, we would be prepared. So we talked. We considered motives, possible goals, people, angles of approach, methods, targets and countless other things. Neither of us had any idea what exactly Saint-Celeste hoped to achieve by going to Battlewood. But we sure as hell were determined to be ready for every eventuality.
One thing we never talked about, though? What we would do if we came too late. What we would do if Saint-Celeste had already gotten his hands on Adaira. Because, whether or not I had managed to sooth the rage in Mr Rikkard Ambrose, if he was forced to think about that possibility, his thin veneer of calm would shatter.
