Page 74 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

“I…” His body stiffened, and I could see his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. His face was impassive and unmoving as always, but his eyes…oh, his eyes made my heart ache. “I really don’t know if I can. If I sleep, I’ll see…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. It didn’t really require a lot of imagination to realise what kind of nightmares might plague Mr Rikkard Ambrose tonight.

“ You have to sleep,” he reaffirmed one final time. “But I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” I told him as, gently but firmly, I slid my arms around him. “I’ll hold you.”

In answer to that, once again, all I got was silence—for a moment.

Then, I felt my stone statue of a husband come to life as he shifted closer and allowed me to enfold him in my arms. Very, very slowly, I felt the tension drain out of him, and he relaxed in my embrace.

As I felt his breathing slow, a smile crept onto my face and I felt warmth spread through my chest. I had nearly done it!

“Thank you,” I whispered.

I didn’t say more. I didn’t need to.

Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for letting me in.

“No,” he mumbled, already half-asleep. Which was probably why the next two words slipped out. “Thank you .”

With a small smile playing around my lips, I snuggled into his chest.

“You’re welcome,” I told him, meaning it in more than just one sense.

“I know.” I felt the rumble of his sleepy voice through my entire body. “Now…let’s just sleep, shall we? And let’s hope my father doesn’t do something stupid before we arrive.”

As if on cue, we heard the ringing of a distant bell.

Bloody. Frigging. Hell.

In my arms, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stiffened. I didn’t blame him, either.

Someone was ringing the bell of Empire House.

People never rang the doorbell of Empire House—mostly because of what happened last time someone had come looking for charitable donations. From what I’d heard, the horror stories were now commonly used by London mothers to get their children to eat their vegetables.

And yet, here was someone ringing the doorbell of Mr Ambrose’s infamous lair. In the middle of the night, no less.

The two of us exchanged a glance. A moment later, Mr Rikkard Ambrose was out of bed on his feet.

“Wait here. I’ll find out what this is about.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

He was already moving. With a firm gait, he strode towards the door and left the room. I nearly didn’t catch the way he swayed and stumbled the moment he thought he was out of my sight.

Dammit!

Whoever was down there at the door, they had better run fast. Because if I got my hands on them—

I didn’t get the chance to further indulge in my homicidal fantasies.

Hardly half a minute after Mr Ambrose had left, I heard a thunderous crash from downstairs, as if Hades had just smashed shut the gates of the Underworld.

Which, taking into account Mr Ambrose’s current mood, was not such a bad analogy.

Moments later, heavy footsteps thundered back up the stairs. No…not just heavy. Angry.

What happened down there?

I wasn’t left long to wonder. I’d hardly had the chance to turn to the door when it flew open and Mr Rikkard Ambrose marched in, his eyes blazing with icy fury. There was a crumpled telegram clenched in his hands.

“What is it?” I demanded.

Dragging in a breath, Mr Ambrose shoved the missive in my face. “Read.”

Back to one-word commands, are we?

He was in business mode. Bad business mode, at that.

Without hesitation, I grabbed hold of the crumpled piece of paper and started to read.

Happy news – STOP – Agreement reached between me and the vicomte – STOP – Come to Battlewood to celebrate Adaira’s engagement immediately – STOP

William Alexander Ambrose, Fifteenth Marquess Ambrose

Crap.

Triple crap with a turd on top.

“Remember when I said we are leaving at sunrise?” Mr Ambrose enquired.

I nodded—then looked up at him and saw his eyes. Eyes that were raging with the force of an arctic storm.

“I have changed my mind. We are leaving before sunrise. Go to sleep now.”

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 a click , 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