If I had thought the little episode on the path meant that Mr Ambrose was now fine with my new apparel (or lack thereof), I had been vastly mistaken. I had hardly time to wake up the next morning before he pounced on me. He more or less arm-wrestled me into wearing my chemise over my mud-package. It was a bit wet and sticky, but on the whole I had to admit it felt nice having something to cover my girly bits. I guess I wasn't completely cut out for life as an Amazon Indian.

That didn't mean, however, that I wasn't more than ready to forego cover in the presence of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Not at all. The longer we travelled together, the stronger became my desire to push him to the ground and rip his clothes off. Unfortunately, Mr Ambrose didn't seem to share my desire, or at least had much better control of it than sweet little me. How could I possibly get this craving under control? How?

I tried logic. It had served me well in the past:

Men and women deserve equality. Men won't give women equality. Ergo, men are bastards.

See how well it works?

So I tried it on this situation.

I want to dance the fandango de pokum with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. I want it really, really bad. But if I do, I will probably get pregnant and have to do the unspeakable m-thing. You know the one that involves churches and priests and vows of obedience. Ergo: I can't get my hands on him.

But...I still wanted to! Blast!

Logic didn't seem to work here. Instead, I secretly started plotting ways of getting him to take his clothes off. For days and days, I brooded over dozens of plans, one less likely to succeed than the last. But it turned out that I needn't have bothered. All I had to do was wait, for fate was on my side.

*~*~**~*~*

'Take care where to step.'

Those were the first words I had heard Chandresh say for several days. He was almost as tight-lipped as Mr Ambrose. So, I had to admit, I was curious why he was speaking up now.

'Why?'

He didn't look at me. Instead, his eyes kept doing what they had been doing before: scanning the ground.

'There are dangerous animals here.'

'What kind of animals? Jaguars? Leopards?'

He pointed upwards. I followed his finger with my gaze, but all I could see were a couple of cobwebs stretched between tree branches.

'I don't see anything. What–'

Then it clicked.

'Oh.'

'Yes. As I said – take care where you step.'

I was tempted to ask whether the little fellows we should be on the lookout for were poisonous or not – but then I decided that, on the whole, I'd rather not know. Once or twice I saw something dark scuttle past underfoot, but the day passed without a major incident. It was towards evening that events took a more interesting direction.

We had made camp near a clump of tall, dark trees, just right for hanging our hammocks from. Our supplies were beginning to run low, so Chandresh posted a few guards some distance away around the camp, and then took the rest of the men hunting into the jungle. Karim went with them, but Mr Ambrose, for some reason, decided to stay behind. Maybe he wanted to lean back, relax and calculate how many millions of pounds he was going to make from this trip. Maybe he had found a stain on his tailcoat that he needed to eradicate. Most likely, though, it was fate.

I was lying in my hammock, contemplating the unfairness of life and the perfection of Mr Rikkard Ambrose's profile when I heard a noise from the direction of his hammock. I turned and saw that he wasn't lying down like me, but standing upright. In fact, you could hardly have stood more uprightly uprighter. His posture was as stiff as a board, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. His hands, his arms, his face – they were all perfectly still. Even his left little finger didn't twitch.

'Mr Ambrose?'

He didn't reply. What was the matter with him? Had he finally truly turned into stone?

'Mr Ambrose, Sir? What is the matter?'

He parted his lips, infinitesimally, and whispered so low it was hardly more than a tickle against my eardrum, 'Drr ss smsm crlnp mm lg.'

'Pardon?'

His cool eyes bored into me. Every other part of his body still stayed perfectly still. 'I said there is something crawling up my leg.'

Swinging out of the hammock, I examined his lower half with a frown. 'I don't see anything on your trousers.'

'It's inside the trousers.'

'Oh.'

'Indeed.'

For some reason, a smile twitched at the corners of my mouth. 'You do realise that if you hadn't been so stubborn about keeping your clothing on, this wouldn't be a problem? You could just reach down there and sweep away the–'

'This is not the time to discuss my sartorial choices, Mr Linton. Take my trousers off!'

It was very hard to keep my lips from breaking into a full-fledged grin. Very hard indeed. 'Sir! Are you trying to persuade me to get you naked? I'll have you know that I am a decent girl, and not in the habit of pulling down the trousers of any gentleman who asks.'

'Mr Linton!'

'Though I might consider it, if he looks nice enough.'

'Mr Linton! It's at the knee already. Get a move on.'

I sighed. 'All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'll be taking them off now anyway, so it's not worth the bother.'

A seraphic smile on my face, I started forward. I didn't hurry, particularly. I had been waiting a long time for this and was going to enjoy every moment.

'Mr Linton!'

'Coming, coming...'

Stopping a few feet away, I eyed the belt buckle of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Oh dear. This looked as if it was going to take some work. Checking for spiders on the ground, I knelt down in front of him. From under my lashes, I looked up at him.

'Oh dear.' I smiled an innocent little smile. 'What a compromising position.'

'If you don't get on with it,' Mr Ambrose ground out from between clenched teeth, 'I'm going to find a really compromising position to put you in!'

My smile widened. 'Don't tempt me.'

'It's on my thigh now!'

'Lucky spider.'

'Mr Linton...!'

'All right, all right.' Batting my lashes up at him one last time, I reached for his buckle. The thing was just as stubborn as its owner, and felt as if it was rusted shut, although it gleamed like freshly polished silver. Still, I was nothing if not determined. With a clink, the buckle opened, and a moment later, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's legwear slid to the ground with a soft rustle.

Aah...

Closing my eyes, I took a second to appreciate this unique moment. He was there, right in front of me. And he couldn't move.

Then I opened them again to see what he had to offer.

My mouth went dry.

'Mr Linton?'

'Wrgsfgl?'

'Mr Linton! The spider!'

'S-spider? What spider?'

'The spider!'

'Oh, that spider.' I blinked, trying to shake of the daze. It was hard. Very hard. After all, I was only human. 'Well...let's see, where is it...?'

My eyes swept over his thighs, taking in the sleek, smooth skin, the hard muscles, and, oh, of course also looking for spiders. But...there weren't any.

'There is no spider,' I informed my dear employer.

'That's,' he ground out between clenched teeth, 'because while you were staring, it decided to move up into my tailcoat. Get my shirt open! Now!'

Dear me! This spider was a clever little fellow.

'Why don't you open it yourself? Buttons aren't complicated like a belt. You should be able open them without shifting too much.'

'I'm not going to move an inch. Didn't you hear Chandresh? Some of those beasts are poisonous. I do not intend to end my days in the Amazonian Jungle, brought down by a mere spider bite.'

Rising to my feet, I lifted an eyebrow.

'And you're not worried that I'll be bitten?'

'I doubt one poisonous spider would suffer much from the bite of another.'

'Has anyone ever told you that you are a real gentleman, Mr Ambrose?'

'No.'

'Well, don't expect them to.'

My eager fingers started on his tailcoat and vest.

'You know,' I muttered, 'you're the only man I've ever known who wore a black vest under a black tailcoat – apart from undertakers.'

'We can discuss fashion later, Mr Linton. Get the shirt off!'

'Why, Sir! I never thought you'd be so forward with an innocent maiden like me.'

'You're going to pay for this later, Mr Linton.'

'No, you are. You are the employer, remember? You pay me, not the other way around.'

He gave me an arctic glare as good as a dozen curses. After that, I decided it would be politic to indeed get a move on. Besides, if you got a chance to fondle Mr Rikkard Ambrose's naked chest, would you pass it up?

That was a rhetorical question.

I unbuttoned his shirt and cautiously slid it off, taking time to appreciate his marvellous musculature in the process. He was so impressive, it took me a moment to notice the large, hairy black spider sitting on his chest.

'Eew.' I pulled a face. 'Nasty little beast!'

'Precisely my opinion, Mr Linton,' he managed to get out without moving his lips. 'Now will you get it off me?'

'Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!'

Picking up a stick from the ground, I slowly slid it under the spider's hairy belly.

'Three...two...one...now!'

One flick of my wrist, and the spider flew away, landing a few feet away on the soggy ground. I could have left it at that. But if I had, I wouldn't have been me. So instead, I whipped out my gun, levelled it at the little beast and fired.

Bam!

When the echoes of the shot had died away, all that was left of the spider were a few hairy remnants. Lifting the gun to my mouth, I blew the smoke away and batted my eyelashes at Mr Ambrose.

'Will you look at that? The heroine has saved the day. Now, all that remains for the hero to do is to fall into her arms, weep on her chest and offer up his virtue in gratitude.'

Mr Ambrose stepped forward, his eyes glinting coldly. 'Don't count on it.'

'The weeping, or the offered virtue?'

'Both.'

'Dear me. You really are a skinflint. Don't I even get a "thank you"?'

He said something in reply – but I didn't catch it. Because in that moment, I turned away from the dead spider to face him and got my first real eye full of Mr Rikkard Ambrose in his new, much less restrictive state of apparel.

Now, as mentioned some time ago, I had seen naked men before – well, statues of them, anyway. But never, not once in my life, had I seen a real man in underwear. Especially not this one. The sight hit me like a sledgehammer, squeezing my heart into a painful pancake.

Good God...!

Why didn't he just sell half-naked pictures of himself to young single ladies? No matter how much money he had made in other ways, it had to be a pittance in comparison to what he could make with such a business model. His figure was cast in half-shadow under the roof of the jungle, but that only accentuated the subtle, hard curving of his muscles. Slowly I dragged my eyes up from his powerful thighs, over his drawers, faded white and much too tight, to his bare abdomen and pectorals.

I nodded at his drawers.

'Let me guess...ten years old and still in mint condition?'

'Twelve, actually.'

'Of course.' My eyes were drawn back down there, enamoured by the way the cotton was stretched tightly over hard muscles and...other things. 'And I bet you haven't grown a bit since then.'

'Not significantly enough to warrant a new purchase. Why are we discussing my underwear, Mr Linton?'

'The real question,' I murmured, taking a step closer, 'is why we're still discussing, and not exploring.'

Our eyes met, and for the first time he seemed to realise what I had noticed quite some time ago – that we both were alone, hot, sweaty and very nearly naked. I watched the realisation enter his eyes, spread through his body and settle in his bones. I watched as a dark storm started to whirl in the depths of his eyes, and a muscle just over his jaw began to twitch.

'Well?' I raised an eyebrow. 'What are you waiting for?'

'I can't!' he ground out from between clenched teeth. 'I shouldn't...'

'Don't waste time with should or shouldn't.' Taking another step forward, I stood up on my tiptoes and, caressing his chest with one dirty hand, whispered into his ear, 'As a very intelligent man once said to me...I hate time-wasters.'

His arms were up and around me faster than I could blink. His bare arms, hard, smooth and unspeakably strong. Even if I'd wanted to, there wouldn't have been a hope of resisting as he crushed me up against his bare chest, devouring my mouth.

'Let up a bit!' I growled against his mouth, then kissed him back voraciously.

'Why?'

'Because I want to feel you!'

A deep sound came from back in his throat, almost like...a chuckle? No!

'Find something else to feel! I'm not letting go of you!'

'Bastard!'

I tried to squeeze my hand in between him and me, tried to find my way to his chest, but you couldn't have squeezed a knife blade in there. He was clutching me so tight it was almost hard to breathe, and—damn him!—I loved every minute of it.

Well, I'd simply have to find something else to touch.

With a slap, my hands came down on his derriere. I felt a jerk go through his whole body, smiled to myself, and squeezed.

'Mr Linton!'

'What?' I enquired innocently. Well, as innocently as I could, under the circumstances.

'Your hands–'

Was it my imagination or did his voice sound a little bit rougher than usual?

'What about my hands?' I squeezed again. Hm...nice. One thing was for sure: Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn't eat solid chocolate. Not one ounce. I should have despised him for being such a philistine, but at that moment, my hands were loving it.

Still...there was the problem of that annoying bit of cloth between me and my fun. Time to travel on, to the wide open spaces. Squeezing one last time, my hands started to move up the broad expanse of his back, claiming, exploring, pressing him even tighter against me (and leaving a few claw marks in the process). All the barriers were gone for once. I could feel his muscles flexing, could feel his blood pulsing under my fingertips. All the barriers were gone.

Or were they?

True, his skin was heated, his breath was hot, his lips burning on mine – but his eyes? They still were cold and calculating, filled with the same barrier of ice and stone that he build up between himself and everything else.

And part of you loves that, don't you? You want to climb that wall, and stand on top of it, shouting your victory to the world!

On top of it?

Scratch that! On top of him!

Grabbing his shoulders, I pushed him back, trying to get him down to the ground. I might as well have pushed at the foundations of a mountain. Only – a mountain wouldn't have pushed back. With the ease of infinite power, he captured my arms and pulled me down, bestowing another earth-shattering kiss on me. My knees buckled, as much from his kiss as his powerful hands. Slowly, I slid down to the soft ground, and he loomed above me, a granite monument to masculinity.

His hands still gripping my arms, he lowered himself until he hovered over me, his arms and legs caging me in as effectively as iron fetters. I watched, mesmerised, as he slowly, inexorably, sank down towards me. The moment his body touched mine, a jolt of heat surged through me, so intense I thought I'd be incinerated.

How the hell could this be? How could Rikkard Ambrose, coldest block of ice in all of Britain, make me feel like this? Like I was burning? Like I was ready to explode?

I didn't know. I didn't care. I simply grabbed him, and pulled him down on top of me. Leaves rustled. Skin slid against bare skin. And a little time later, the world did indeed explode. And when the shards came back together again, it didn't look the same as before. Not in the slightest.

*~*~**~*~*

Question: a man makes you feel two different ways. When he is fully dressed, he makes you climb up walls and evokes a strong desire for manslaughter. When he is undressed, he makes you want to climb up on top of him and evokes desires that are much more desirous than homicide. What do you do?

The simple answer would be: see to it that he never has clothes on. But this, I thought gloomily while watching the erect figure of Mr Rikkard Ambrose marching along before me in his tight black tailcoat, was something he wasn't likely to go along with. Right now, maybe he would. But right now wasn't the problem. Here in the wilderness, far away from the watchful eyes and wagging tongues of London society, everything was easy. March. Eat. Drink. Enjoy wicked delicious moments in the depths of the jungle. The big question was: what would I do once we returned to England? What would we do?

I had never been a procrastinator. If something needed doing, I did it. No questions asked. But this? I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know if something could be done.

So I procrastinated. Every time thoughts of England crept into my head, I told myself: It's far too soon! We'll be stuck in the jungle for ages. After all, we've still got an incredibly long way to go!

But the days drifted by, and the incredibly long way became a long way. The long way became a longish sort of way. The longish short of way became a rather short way. And the rather short way...

Well, you get the idea.

Snow-covered peaks appeared out of the jungle in front of us. I was terrified of what that would mean, and after I saw Chandresh and Mr Ambrose exchange a significant look, I knew for certain. In no time at all, we were ascending into the mountains that, according to the ancient manuscript, held the great treasure we were seeking.

Not fair! So totally not fair! Treasure hunts should be more difficult than this. We should have at least a few more hundred miles of jungle to cross before we find the gold. Before we have to go back to Eng–

But I couldn't even think it. England meant a world in which Mr Rikkard Ambrose couldn't pull me into his arms and plunder my mouth whenever he wanted to. England meant a world with rules and regulations, and hundreds of other people watching our every move.

We would have to end it! Whatever 'it' was, exactly, we would have to stop. That was the only way. If we didn't, if someone caught us at 'it', we would have to...

At this point, my already exhausted imagination wheezed its last breath and collapsed in a crumpled heap. It was simply too much! Too much to contemplate, and most certainly too much to do. If only something, anything were to happen, to distract me from this torture!

Did you ever hear the saying 'Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it?'

I perfectly understood the wisdom of this saying one second later. We had just turned into a path leading high up into the mountains, when, from behind us, a commanding voice called out in Portuguese:

'Halt! In the name of His Majesty the Emperor.'

I whirled – but already before I looked, I knew what I would see. And my fears were not disappointed. There, only a few dozen yards below us, stood Colonel Alberto Silveira, his soldiers behind him, weapons raised and aimed straight at us.

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

The time approaches for "Silence is Golden" to be published! And, as you might have guessed, the published edition shall include additional chapters from Mr Ambrose's POV. This time, before writing the additional chapters, I wanted to hear your thoughts on which chapters are your favorites, and which you would most like to relive from the perspective of your favorite block of stone in human form.

Here are some of my favorites! Please leave an inline comment on whichever you like best, and by all means express your opinion as to why, and what you believe Mr Ambrose might have been thinking! :)

1. Lilly & Ambrose holding hands at the Royal Wedding (from chapter 4)

2. Ambrose chats with his mother for the first time in a decade (from chapter 14)

3. Lilly & Ambrose fight for their lives at sea (from chapter 17)

4. Lilly starts to unburden herself & shocks poor Mr Ambrose (from chapter 23)

5. Mr Ambrose rescues Lilly - after he rescues his treasure map! ;) (from chapter 33)

6. Lilly & Ambrose under the waterfall (from chapters 39 and 40)

Of course, not all of those will make it into the final book - but I'll do my best to pick the most interesting! :) Please help me with your comments and suggestions. You are also welcome to leave alternative chapter suggestions as an inline comment on this paragraph right here, if you wish. My ears are always wide open for your fabulous feedback! :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob