Page 5 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

Over the last few days, I had considered many a tactic to unveil my newly bulging status to my friends with (hopefully) minimal casualties. Then I had remembered that Patsy was among my friends, and realised minimal casualties was an unachievable dream.

Come on, Lilly! They say to never give up hope, right?

Yes, they did. And, I realized as Patsy Cusack’s eyes bored into my skull, “they” were monumentally stupid.

“Lilly?” Patsy began. “Lilly, dear…?”

With the desperation of a condemned woman who knew her doom was nigh, I leapt behind Flora and Eve. They might be able to hold up against Patsy for two seconds or so. Three, if I was lucky.

“Ooooh!” Instantly, Flora drew me into a hug. “Lilly, why didn’t you tell us! You look so cute like this!”

“But not nearly as cute as her little one is gonna look, I bet!” Beaming, Eve gently prodded my belly, and was rewarded with a kick to the finger. “Aww! He already knows his aunty! Isn’t that sweet!”

“He? How do you know it’s not a she?”

“Because I want a cute nephew to cuddle!”

“I want a niece!”

“Nephew!”

“Niece!”

“Nephew!”

“Err…” I cleared my throat. “You two realize that neither of you is actually related to me, right?”

“Niece!”

“Nephew!”

“Niece!

“Nephew!”

It was so nice to have friends who always listened to you.

On the upside, I seemed to have underestimated the power of baby cuteness. For the last five minutes, Patsy had been trying her best to shove her way towards me. But every time she tried, she found herself rebuffed by Aunty Eve and Aunty Flora, who were busy oohing and awing over my little bulge.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Even before being born, my baby was already this awesome? Like mother, like daughter.

“What do you think it’ll be?” demanded Eve, who finally seemed to remember that I was here. “What is your female intuition telling you?”

I looked past her to where Patsy was trying her squeeze her way between the two other women, murder in her eyes. Unsuccessfully, so far, but she was increasing her efforts.

“My female intuition is telling me to skedaddle.”

“What? No! You can’t go yet! You’ve only just gotten here!”

And I’m regretting it already.

“Well, that’s the life of a working married woman for you,” I told her, smiling widely while I surreptitiously tried to start my retreat. “Always too busy, flitting from job to job. I’m just lucky my hubby is such a sweet, patient man, or else I’d be exhausted all the time.”

From behind me, I could feel a pair of icy eyes drilling into me. I was sure I would have to pay later for besmirching my dear husband’s reputation. But right now, I had more urgent matters to take care of.

“Like right now, for instance,” I continued to blabber, words coming faster and faster as Patsy managed to finally squeeze past my other friends.

“I suddenly remembered that I haven’t instructed the housekeeper back home yet.

” Mostly because I doubt race track casinos have housekeepers .

“I have to go! I have to attend to my domestic duties!”

That was probably not the smartest thing to say. The moment the word “domestic” left my lips, Patsy let out a low growl and made some very rude gestures at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. If feminism came in gun form, I was fairly sure he’d be nothing more than a smear on the wall by now.

Meanwhile, my dear husband was calmly sipping a cup of tea. God only knew where he’d gotten it from.

Cracking her knuckles, Patsy started to advance again.

“Ehem…” I hurriedly cleared my throat. “Yes, my housekeeper really needs to be urgently instructed. I think I’d better leave and—”

“Don’t you dare!”

Eve and Flora grabbed my arms. My gentle little sister Ella suddenly appeared behind me like some sneaky ninja, stopping me in my tracks.

Traitors!

“Let me go! I have to…the housekeeper…”

“Don’t worry,” Eve patted my shoulder. “There’s no need to instruct your housekeeper about lunch. You can eat with us. You can even stay the night.”

“Aren’t we generous?” Flora added, not showing even a hint of her usual shyness for some blasted bloody reason.

“Very…generous,” I forced a smile onto my face. “But I really think I should—eeep!”

That was the moment when Patsy finally got her mitts on me. Her hands tightening around my wrists like clamps of iron, she started to drag me off, away from the others. I threw a desperate, pleading glance towards my husband.

In answer, my husband took another sip of tea.

Traitor! I’m surrounded by traitors!

“You…you…” Pushing me into a corner, Patsy stabbed a finger at me. “You’ve let yourself be corrupted !”

I cleared my throat. “Now, now, that’s going a bit far, wouldn’t you say? It’s hardly my fault that this happened!”

She glared at me for a moment—then, surprisingly, nodded.

I blinked. “Huh?”

She was…agreeing with me?

“You’re right. It’s not your fault.” Her finger swivelled, stabbing at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. “It’s his !”

Mr Rikkard Ambrose took another sip of tea. I noticed, however, that his other hand had slid under his tailcoat—to the place where he normally kept his revolver.

“Ehem, come now, Patsy. Perhaps you should calm down a little…”

And perhaps Father Christmas should get a shave. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen.

“And why, pray?” Patsy demanded. The way she looked at me, I was fairly certain she spelled pray with an e instead of a.

“Um, well…”

“Tell me!” she hissed, once more jabbing her feminist finger at the accursed chauvinist that was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. “Tell me why I shouldn’t tear him a new one!”

I considered this. “Two reasons.”

“Do tell.”

“First, he’d never pay for a new one while he still has the old one.”

Patsy’s meaty fist clenched, probably missing a rolling pin. “And second ?”

“Well…” A devious little smile spread over my face, and I lowered my voice. “I already have something in mind for him which even you should consider suitable punishment.”

“Oh?” One of her eyebrows rose, and an answering grin appeared on her face. “Share with your friend. Sharing is caring.”

“All right. Let me tell you what I’ve got in mind…”

When, a few hours later, Mr Ambrose and I left the house arm-in-arm, my friends and family waving behind us, I had a wide, satisfied smile on my face. Mr Ambrose seemed to have noticed. Not moving his head an inch, he studied me out of the corner of his eye.

“Mrs Ambrose?”

“Yes, Mr Ambrose?”

“You seem oddly…cheerful, considering how anxious you previously seemed about meeting with your friends in your current condition.” He threw me a suspicious glance. “Any particular reason?”

Hugging his arm to me tightly, I snuggled up against his side. “Just the fabulousness of being married to the most spiffing man in the world!”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed, Mr Ambrose, Sir!”

“Hm.”

Mr Ambrose fell silent, his suspicions apparently assuaged. I barely managed to suppress an evil cackle.

***

Finishing my signature on the last paper with a flourish, I folded the last of the letters and slipped it into an envelope—just a moment before Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s arms came around from behind me.

“What are you doing, Mrs Ambrose?”

“Me?” Grabbing the pile of letters, I quickly slipped them into the box for outgoing mail and closed the lid. “Nothing much, just finishing some letters.

I felt him stiffen behind me.

“What are you up to, Mrs Ambrose?”

“Me? Nothing.” Smirking, I reached behind me to the place where he was most stiff. “Although if this is how you react to my being up to something, maybe I should do it more often.”

A growl erupted from behind me and he whirled me around. An instant later, a searing kiss was branded on my lips, and ravenous hands explored my body. Deep inside, I smiled.

Operation distraction, successful!

With one swift move, Mr Ambrose swept me up into his arms and carried me off towards the stairs.

Very, very successful, apparently.

“W-what about dinner?” I mumbled against his lips. “We didn’t get to eat before we left Patsy’s. We should—”

“Later.” Long, firm, elegant fingers found their way to my face to stroke my cheek with heart-breaking gentleness. “Right now, I feel like having some appetizer.”

I swallowed. “Sh-should I get some from the kitchen?”

Heck! Why am I stuttering? I’m a married woman, dammit! Why?

“No.”

Ah, there was the reason. His chilly voice that, no matter how often I heard it, never failed to send a delicious shiver down my spine. His deep, dark eyes that told me exactly what was in store for me.

In a blink, we were already halfway up the stairs to the bedroom. When he bent down to once more press his lips to mine, I welcomed him with open arms, and couldn’t help but smirk.

Wait till he finds out what I have in store for him .

***

The next few days passed in beautiful conjugal bliss.

I went to work. I was bossed around by Mr Ambrose.

His employees stared at me as if I were a tap-dancing giraffe at the North Pole, and Mr Ambrose took liberal advantage of that fact to deduct pay for tardiness.

All was well in skinflint-land, and Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn’t even catch a whiff of suspicion of his coming doom.

Yet in spite of this…

I glanced at my dear hubby. Jaw clenched. Little finger twitching. Silently trying to freeze a bird outside his office window with his gaze.

I cleared my throat.

“Ehem, Mr Ambrose, Sir?”

Silence.

“Is it just me or are you not in a…particularly festive mood?”

More silence.

Well…except for the sound of crumpling paper as he tortured the poor letter clutched in his hand.

“So,” I enquired in a cheery tone, “good news?”

“Not. As. Such.”

Wow. Three words in a row. He had to be pissed off.

I could have asked him to tell me more. I also could have whacked him over the head with a cudgel made from cheesecake. Both methods most likely would have been equally successful. So instead, I just moved up behind him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and waited.

Three…

Two…

One…

“I received a letter from home.”

Bingo!