"Mr Ambrose...do you know why your father is doing this? Why he is forcing Adaira into this marriage with the vicomte?"

His face, while remaining perfectly unmoving, somehow managed to look grim. "I might have an idea."

"Then what is it? Tell me!"

"No."

I stared. "No? What do you mean, no? Why not?"

"Because there is no need to." His eyes stared into mine with iron determination. Frost-covered iron. "Because, once we reach the north, I will ensure he will stop. Permanently."

I stared at him some more.

I can't even...ugh! Men!

My mouth opened in preparation for a feminist rant that would have made Patsy proud—when suddenly, I noticed something. Something in his expression. Unmoving as it was...I had been married to this man for a good, long while now. After some time, interpreting micro-expressions became easier. Or micro-micro-micro-expressions, in this case.

"Mr Ambrose...the reason for his actions wouldn't happen to have something to do with you, would it?"

The twitch of his little finger was answer enough.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"It's not what I did. It's what I refused to do!" His eyes flashed with a resolve I would have called fiery if it hadn't been at arctic temperatures. "I won't have my life dictated by anyone! Least of all some self-important old fool who thinks he has power over me."

"...and who has power over your sister," I remind him sombrely.

"Not much longer, if I have anything to say about it."

"I can get behind that." My eyes narrowed. "Though I noticed you didn't mention what exactly your father is trying to force you to do."

He gave me a look. One that quite clearly said And I'm not going to.

"Why is it, husband dear, that even after months of marriage, getting information out of you is like pulling teeth?"

"It isn't. Pulling teeth is easy. All you need is a pair of tongs."

"Oh, I don't know..." My fingers twitched. "I read a book about medieval torture once. I could think of a few ways to use tongs to get information out of you."

After that, my dear husband seemed to suddenly remember he had something urgent to do somewhere else and took his leave. I stared after him, the gears in my mind turning hard.

Don't think this is over, Mister! I'm going to get to the bottom of this!

Not anytime soon, though, apparently. The rest of the day dragged on like the decapitated carcass of a horse behind a headless horseman's carriage. I tried to read some more to Berty, but even he seemed to sense there was something wrong with the atmosphere. It almost seemed as if he...

I sniffed.

Ah. Seems like there was indeed a problem with the atmosphere, and it was Berty's fault. A small but undeniable smile spread across my face. Ringing the bell on my bedside table, I waited—till, a moment later, a nurse stuck her head into the room. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Could you send for my husband, please?" I made sure to look as pitiful as possible. "There's something I need his help with."

"Why, of course, Ma'am! I shall go fetch him directly!"

I waited till she was out of the room, then the small smile returned once more.

Reticent about information, are you, my dear hubby? Well...time to start the torture. And it seems I won't even need tongs.

Lovingly, I patted Berty on the head. "You're such a good boy, Berty. Always know what to do at the right moment."

"Waah wah?"

"Yes, exactly."

***

As the sun was sinking below the horizon, I sat on my bed, gazing out of the window that faced outside. Only...I wasn't looking at the sunset. The sun set in the west. I was looking north.

The rest of the day had been interminably long. None of the methods I had tried to distract myself had worked. In the end, I had even attempted to once more squeeze information out of my dear husband. I guess I should have known better. If Mr Rikkard Ambrose had actually been convinced to talk that easily, I would probably have thought he'd been replaced with an evil twin.

Just then, a not-evil-twin-person placed a familiar hand on my shoulder. Glancing up and behind myself, I caught sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who had moved over from his side of the bed

"Are you all right, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Are you sure you want me to be?" One corner of my mouth quirked up. "After your second, ehem...fragrant experience earlier?"

One of his muscles twitched. Notably, it was not in his cheek, but in his nose. There was a moment of heavy silence. Then...

"Yes."

"Pardon?"

"You asked if I still wanted you to be all right. The answer—yes." He took a deep breath. "When giving birth...well, you dealt with what came out of you for hours on end. I think I can deal with what comes out of our son for a few days. It seems fair."

"That is an...interesting way of looking at it." The smile on my face widened. "Look at you! Actually trying to be considerate for a change."

His nose twitched again. "Don't count on it being a common thing."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it!" My smile suddenly fell as I glanced back at the bed. "In fact, I hope I won't dream at all tonight."

The grip on my shoulder tightened. "Nightmares?"

"L-last night. I..." I swallowed. "I just can't stop thinking of what might happen to her, you know?"

Of what might have happened to me if my aunt had gotten her way. If I hadn't met you.

The words were left unsaid. But unlike my husband's, my own face was not a granite bust. I couldn't just keep all emotion off my visage.

"I know. I know." His arm slid all the way round me, pulling me close. "Come here. Let me hold you."

"Sure. For three pounds five shillings."

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "I knew I shouldn't have let that Amy woman into the house."

"Why not?" I tried my best to smirk. This was nice. This was a good way to pass the time. Besides, the longer I bantered, the longer I could postpone the nightmares. "What's three pounds five shillings? After all, what's mine is yours, isn't it?"

"Indeed. And what's yours is mine." His eyes bored into me. "And that includes your troubles."

Those words nearly made me crack. I threw myself into his arms and hugged him so tightly it almost hurt. His arms tightened around me, pulling me even closer.

"Don't cry, my little ifrit. It's—"

"What?" I growled. "All right? Are you trying to tell me everything is all right?"

"No, it's..." He hesitated. "...adequate."

I half-snorted at that. Or was it a sob?

"You...you..."

"...perfect man?"

"Come here! Hold me."

That night, I didn't have quite as many nightmares. But I did have a pair of strong arms around me.

***

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Mphmbl?"

"Mrs Ambrose!"

"Five minutes longer..."

"Adaira is being married to a homicidal, chauvinistic megalomaniac."

In a flash, I shot up in my bed, my eyes wide. "Where's the carriage? Let's go!"

Blinking in the morning sunlight, I came face to face with Mr Rikkard Ambrose, already dressed. He gave me a curt nod. "Downstairs. It's ready and waiting. I've had some food prepared. Dress and follow me. We'll eat in the coach."

With that, he gave my shoulder a squeeze and left.

I had been through plenty of hasty departures with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Oh, who was I kidding? All departures with Mr Rikkard Ambrose were hasty. As was anything else, for that matter. But this? I had never moved as fast as this. I was a whirlwind as I grabbed the clothes already lying nearby. After pulling a loose dress over my head, I finally, slowly slid my legs out of bed and, with quite a bit of caution, tried to stand up.

Hm...a slight twinge, but no real pain. Good. So, I was awake, dressed, and able to walk. What else?

Ah, yes!

Reaching into my nightstand, I grabbed what every well-bred lady should keep next to her bed: a loaded revolver. A grin flickered over my face.

Time to do some arse-kicking!

I put the gun away and cracked my knuckles. "All right. Let's get going." With two swift steps, I was beside the crib. "Mummy is going on a little trip, Berty. Would you like to come along?"

"Waaah?"

"Aww! You say the sweetest things."

Carefully, I lifted my child out of the crib and, cradling him in my arms, made my way towards the elevator.

Why had I decided to take my newborn child on a quest to vanquish a murderous villain, you might ask?

Well, there had been some discussion between Mr Ambrose and me about whether or not we should leave Berty behind, but, as I pointed out, "There's nowhere on earth where our son would be safer than right next to you."

What was he supposed to say to that? Especially since he knew that I was right. So, Berty remained in my arms, and down the elevator we went.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was...rather tense. And for once, it did not have anything to do with Berty's digestion. I was not entirely sure what Mr Rikkard Ambrose had put his employees through during the last couple of days, but it resulted in most of them looking like living corpses. When I stepped out through the front door, I could hear an audible sigh behind me. Maybe due to relief, though I was putting my money on it being the last sigh of the souls leaving the zombified corpses of Mr Ambrose's poor victims.

Well, details like that can be left for later.

Outside, Mr Ambrose was already waiting for me in front of a carriage. Absent-mindedly, I noticed that, this time, the carriage did not just have one or two horses in front of it, or even three, but a whole team of six of the fastest horses money could buy. And when using the words "that money could buy", I meant that quite literally. Somehow, I had a feeling the Queen's stable was missing a few horses today.

"Mrs Ambrose." With a quick nod, my husband pulled open the carriage door for me and offered me his arm.

I nodded back. "Mr Ambrose."

That was all that needed to be said, really. Taking his proffered arm, I let him help me into the carriage. An instant later, he was in there himself, and a loud thump sounded from above. Either a rhinoceros had just fallen from the sky, or Karim had climbed onto the coach box.

Reaching up, Mr Rikkard Ambrose slammed his cane against the carriage roof.

"Drive!"

The reaction was immediate. A whip cracked, and Karim's gruff voice sounded over the background noise of early morning London. "Gee-up!"

And then we were moving. Not just moving. Racing. The carriage was shooting down the street at a suicidal speed. Suicidal and probably murderous, considering the streets of London weren't exactly empty in the early morning. But right now, I didn't give a flying fig.

"How long to reach the north?"

"Three days."

The two words were cold. Curt. Crisp. Nevertheless, I could hear what he was really saying.

Three days too long. Three days during which Adaira could be going through God only knows what.

"Don't worry." With my free hand, I reached out and touched his cheek. "We will save her."

Then I leaned back in my seat and settled in for a long wait, my hand coming to rest on the comforting bulge of my hidden revolver. In front of my inner eye, the images from my nightmares flashed by again and again and again. Adaira locked in a room with bars on the window...Adaira next to a bed, with a huge figure looming over her...

I couldn't imagine what kind of things that poor, helpless girl was being subjected to.

Hold out! Just hold out for a little bit! We'll rescue you!

***

"You thrice-blasted, mule-headed macho bastard!"

"You...I am your father!"

"Ah, so now you remember? How about you start acting like it!"

"I will not be insulted like this!"

"Ah, of course. My apologies. I should have insulted you in a different way, you gutless waste of a worm!"

"Who do you think you a—"

"No, who do you think you are? Trying to arrange an engagement for me behind my back? Did you really think you could plan something like this without me getting wind of it?"

"I resent that accusation, young lady. I had always planned to inform you when necessary. Once the preparations for the wedding were concluded and the vicar had arrived—"

"And I had no chance to get out of it anymore? That's when you would have informed me? You bloody bastard!"

"Young lady! You forget yourself! I will not be spoken to in this way!"

"You won't? Ah, then how about another way of communicating? This is one my friend Patsy taught me..."

Slap!

"You...you...!"

"...have trained for this a lot? Yes, I have. My arm muscles are much more impressive now than they used to be. Thank you for the compliment."

"Out! Get out this instant!"

"With pleasure. You'll need some alone time to get that stick out of your behind!"

The sound of thunder echoed through Battlewood Hall. Either lightning had just struck the flagpole, or someone had just slammed a door hard enough to crack it. Fuming, Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose came storming out of her father's office. Good thing she did so, too! If she were to stay in the same room with that man for a moment longer, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions!

Well...except maybe that slap. That one she was rather proud of.

"So," a voice suddenly came from behind her and slightly to the side, "Mademoiselle, I don't wish to presume to know your mind or anything of the sort—but my intuition gained over many years of experience tells me that you are disinclined to be engaged to me, oui?"

Adaira froze. Then, slowly, very slowly, she turned around to face him.

"Vicomte."

--------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Some of you who are used to American English spelling might be surprised about my spelling of "Mommy". Since this novel is set in Britain, I opted for the English spelling of this word, which happens to be "Mummy". As you might imagine, this has led to quite a few jokes involving British mothers and mummified Egyptian pharaohs.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob