Page 235 of Storm over the Caribbean
I simply nodded again.
“Can…can I have a nightcap to help me sleep?” I glanced down at the telegram. “For some reason, my stomach suddenly feels a little queasy.”
His face remained unmoved, but the storm in his eyes subsided ever so slightly. Reaching out, he gently touched my cheek—then gave a curt nod, turned around and strode towards the door. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
With aclick, the door closed behind him, leaving me alone with the silvery moonlight streaming in through the window. In the shadows, my fist clenched around the telegram. Part of me wanted to rip that thing apart and burn it. Adaira… That girl was my sister in all but blood! And that chauvinist son of a bachelor who called himself a marquess thought he could marry her off against her will? To a bloody evil mastermind?
Hold out a little bit, Adaira! The feminist brigade is coming!Turning my head, I stared out of the window into the night, towards the north.That scheming bastard is getting his hands on you over my dead body!
“Here.”
I looked up just in time to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose step back into the room. Amazingly, he wasn’t carrying hot tap water, but an actual, honest-to-god cup full of hot, steaming chocolate.
One corner of my mouth quirked up. He really did love me, didn’t he?
And I’d show him how much I loved him, too. I only had to get my hands on DeMordaunt and tear him a new one.
Just you wait, Adaira! Your brother and I will come to rescue you, and there will be nothing in the world that can stop me!
Cup in hand, Mr Ambrose strode forward to pass it to me, and I reached out to take it—until I suddenly froze in place.
Abruptly, all colour drained from my face.
“Water!”
He frowned. “What, you don’t like hot chocolate anymore?”
“N-no. Water.” Swallowing, I met the eyes of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. “My water. It just broke.”
***
THE END
One Less Chapter Title Would Save Precious Ink
(Chapter 4, “The Grand Speech of Mr Rikkard Ambrose”, from Mr Ambrose’s Perspective)
***
I never liked mysteries. Mostly because the majority of said mysteries came in the form of the question “Where did all the money go?”
And the answer to that—surprise, surprise—ended up being “Into the pockets of corrupt employees.”
Needless to say, said corrupt employees didn’t enjoy the consequences either.
Ever since I had married my wife, things had changed, just a little. Mysteries such as “How much longer till we get to the bedroom?” or “What will happen once we get there?” were rather pleasant to contemplate. Their answers usually turned out to be even more so.
This, however?
Being dragged off by my wife for some kind of mysterious “event” in a public park, with lots of strangers around? This smelled fishy.
And not just because of the vendor selling ridiculously overpriced kippers not too far away.
Eyes narrowed ever so slightly, I let my gaze sweep across the meadow before me. More than two dozen rather dainty tables and chairs decorated with flowers. A women’s event? But then why was there a stage being erected nearby, as if for a public speaker?
Is she going to give a speech?
No, that made no sense. If so, why the secrecy?
