"Come to me!"

My voice was nothing but a whisper. Yet for him, it apparently was like a flame to a pyromaniacal moth. In a split second, he was on the bed, only inches away from me. His hands were clutching my face, his dark, sea-coloured eyes staring straight into mine, filled with fathomless anguish.

"He...he's right there," he rasped, his voice more vulnerable than I had ever heard it before. Likely more vulnerable than it had ever been. His chiselled face didn't seem nearly as invulnerable as usual. "He is right there with mother and...and Adaira. And my bastard of a...!" For just a moment, his fingers clenched instinctively, clutching me like a lifeline. "My bastard of a father is planning to practically sell her to him!"

"Why didn't you do anything before now?"

He snorted.

"...you did, didn't you?"

"Of course I did! I sent a man north to keep an eye on the situation the moment I received the letter. But I told him not to interfere. I told him it was just some nouveau riche my father was trying to rope in. I told him my sister could handle herself!"

One of his hands disappeared from my face and slammed into the bed's headboard with a crack, making the whole thing quake beneath me. Yet I didn't twitch, didn't even blink. No matter what, while I was with him, I was completely safe.

Judging by the look in his eyes, the same didn't apply to other people, though.

"I swear..." That look in his eyes seared a brand straight into my soul. I wished so much I could do something, anything to help him, but it was beyond me. "I swear, if he gets his hands on my family, I'll...I'll..."

He trembled again, as if about to explode any second.

Maybe you can help him after all, Lilly. Maybe you're the only one who can.

"Shh..." Gently, I reached out to caress his cheek. To soothe him in a way I alone could. "I know. I know."

His only answer was to lean forward and kiss the life out of me. I didn't push him away. Instead, I slid my arms around his neck and pulled him closer and closer and closer, until not so much as a single hair would have fit between us. Under my touch, I could feel his wrathful tremors slowly subside.

"Everything is going to be all right," I whispered. "Your mother and Adaira...they're both going to be all right."

"How can you know?" Dragging in a ragged breath, he stared at me. If it had been anyone but Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I might have thought I saw a flash of desperation in his eyes. But, of course, with him that couldn't be true, could it? "How?"

"Simple." I tightened my grip on him. "You'll make sure of it. We'll make sure of it."

That was when the dam broke. A growl erupted from the back of his throat and he hurled himself at me, kissing my cheeks, my mouth, my everything. At any other time, it might have been wonderful, romantic and warm—but not now. Now, I could feel the searing hot need behind his every touch. And, from deep inside me, an answering need sprang to life. Frenziedly, I started tearing at his shirt. Only moments later it sailed away and we came together, fiery skin on skin. It didn't matter that I was heavy with child. It didn't matter that I had to twist like a pretzel to kiss him. All that mattered was him and me, together.

"My little ifrit," he rasped as he pressed his forehead to mine. "What would I do without you?"

One corner of my mouth quirked up "Tut-tut. It is a waste of time to ask superfluous questions, Sir. Because..." Grabbing hold of his perfect sculpture of a face with both hands, I kissed him like my life depended on it—then broke away to look straight into his eyes. "...you'll never have to find out."

In answer, Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn't speak a single word, but simply tightened his grip, gazing into my eyes as if he never wanted to look away again. And then, without another word, he kissed me. Hard. Fast. Relentless.

He's back!

Joy welling up inside me, I clutched my husband hard and kissed him back until blood pounded in my ears and no breath was left in my lungs.

My stony, silent man is back with me! And I won't let him slip away again. Not if I can help it!

Reaching out, I grabbed the blanket and pulled it over the both of us, creating a tiny cave of warmth and comfort. A moment later, the bed started moving. That evening, perfect silence reigned in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's abode. Well...except maybe for the creaking of the bed, and the noise made by the small earthquake that shook Empire House.

English geology can be funny sometimes.

***

Some time later...

Well, actually...a lot of time later. Dutiful wife that I was, I had been quite thorough in allowing Mr Rikkard Ambrose to vent his frustration. Out of pure altruism, of course.

Ehem, like I was saying: some time later, I was lying in bed, staring off into the distance and wondering whether you could die from too much amorous congress, when a pair of strong, rock-hard arms wrapped around me from behind and pulled me closer. A tiny smile tugged at my lips and I snuggled closer to the owner of said arms—again, for purely altruistic reasons. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the way I felt completely sated and safe in his embrace.

Shifting around, I was able to turn my head just far enough to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose in all his naked splendour, the sinking sun painting his carved muscles in tones of crimson and gold. He was staring at me, his gaze not deviating an iota from my face. Not for a single second.

"Feeling better?" I enquired gently.

His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into me with an oh-so familiar icy intensity. "Adequate."

It was his usual response. Completely expected and normal, and yet...

I saw the deeper meaning in his eyes. He was feeling adequate. Not all right. Because...how could he truly be all right considering what he'd just learned about his family?

Without even thinking about it, I turned to fully face him and reached out to take his hand. Intertwining his fingers with mine, I placed them over my heart.

"So...what will you do now? Storm up to Battlewood Hall and force your father at gunpoint to chase his 'guest' away?"

"Unfortunately...no."

I cocked an eyebrow. "No?"

"As much as I would like to deny it, I am my father's son. Taking this into account, do you truly think he would be convinced by a gun barrel in the face?"

I considered that for about half a second.

"No."

"Indeed."

I considered for a moment longer.

"But you do have a plan."

"Indeed."

"Does it involve shoving gun barrels in some other people's faces?"

He cocked his head at me, as if to say, Naturally, what do you take me for?

I smirked. Wasn't it wonderful to be married to a man you understood perfectly?

"Would you be so kind as to share a list of those people with me, Dicky Darling?" I batted my eyelashes at him. "I could help you...decide priorities."

"Offering to work for free, are you?" Tightening his grip on my hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on its back. "How could I possibly refuse?"

Together, we began to plot. Whatever DeMordaunt was planning up north, neither I nor my husband were going to rush in half-cocked. Especially not my husband, if recent experience was anything to go by. No, we would be prepared. So we talked. We considered motives, possible goals, people, angles of approach, methods, targets and countless other things. Neither of us had any idea what exactly Saint-Celeste hoped to achieve by going to Battlewood. But we sure as hell were determined to be ready for every eventuality.

One thing we never talked about, though? What we would do if we came too late. What we would do if Saint-Celeste had already gotten his hands on Adaira. Because, whether or not I had managed to sooth the rage in Mr Rikkard Ambrose, if he was forced to think about that possibility, his thin veneer of calm would shatter.

And frankly, so would mine.

"We should probably go to sleep," I whispered. "We'll have to leave early tomorrow."

"I am not sure if I can sleep." The words were spoken so low I could barely hear them. Maybe I had only imagined them. After all...Mr Rikkard Ambrose, admitting weakness? Unthinkable! He would actually have to trust someone for that, right?

"Just try it." One tender hand reached out to touch his cheek. "For me, please?"

All I received in answer was silence.

Being stubborn, are we?

"Besides..." I added innocently and batted my eyelashes up at him. "I am a poor, delicate, pregnant lady. You wouldn't want me to stay up all night and possibly aggravate my condition due to sleep deprivation, would you?"

A pair of eyes that, even in the fiery light of the sinking sun, somehow still managed to glitter icily bored into my own. "That was underhanded, Mrs Ambrose."

"I learned from the best, Sir. Plus, does it being underhanded make it any less true?"

"...No." Those icy eyes of his flicked down to my belly, a moment later followed by the touch of a gentle hand. "No, it does not. Maybe you should simply—"

"Don't you dare!" Stabbing a finger into his face, I glared at him. "Don't you dare suggest leaving me behind!"

"Mrs Ambrose...your condition—"

"—won't matter one bit as long as you have me surrounded by three dozen armed guards. Which, I'm guessing, is what you were planning in any case, whether I stay or go, correct?"

"No!"

I gave him a sceptical wifely look. "No?"

"...I was planning on four dozen."

I gave him another wifely look.

"...and I promise I will not leave you behind."

Yay! Wifely looks were amazingly effective. I'd have to remember to use them more often.

"But only if you go to sleep." He sent me a stern husbandly look. Darn cheater! He was copying my methods! "You need your rest."

I met his gaze with a determined one of my own. "As do you."

"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 infold 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 French 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 hand the cup 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

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And that was it, my dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen! The end of "Storm over the Caribbean"! Applaud my supreme cliffhanger skills, please ;-)

Don't worry, though. The story will continue with the next book and the arrival of Ambrose Junior in the first chapter of "Silence No More" the very next Wednesday, right here on Wattpad. Just in time to be an early Christmas present!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob