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That should clear up the matter.
‘The camel hates my guts!’
‘Intelligent animal.’ Though I couldn’t see how personal feelings entered into the matter under discussion. I thought we had been talking about aloneness versus company.
‘You… you’re doing this on purpose!’
‘Doing what?’
‘Making me angry!’ Came a growl out of the darkness. It sounded much more like her usual self. ‘So I won’t be afraid.’
In the safety of the darkness, I felt my lips tremble, wanting to shift into an almost-smile. I clamped down on the urge, hard.
‘Is it working?’
‘Yes, blast you!’
‘Indeed?’
‘That’s all you’ve got to say? You are a bloody bank-vault-like, close-mouthed bastard!’
Ah, yes. Now she sounded very much like her usual self. Why was it that her insults made me want to reach out and pull her closer? Usually, when people insulted me, they didn’t live past the next dawn. But she… she was a different matter.
How to respond?
‘I see.’ I paused, again struggling against the incomprehensible urge to reach out into the darkness. ‘Or rather, I don’t see. Anything, in fact.’
‘Ha, ha! That’s so funny!’
Silence fell between us. Or, at least, the absence of words. The whirling darkness battered against us, making the lack of words painfully loud in my ears. I had never minded silence. But right now…
‘Mr Ambrose?’
Her voice broke the roaring quiet, tentatively.
‘Yes?’
She hesitated. What in God’s name would make my dear, temporary wife hesitate? This had to be good. Or, more likely, very, very bad.
‘I… feel alone.’
Bad. Worse. Terrible. I felt an iron fist clench around my heart. Definitely a pulled muscle!
‘Do you?’
‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’
Her words hit me like a fist. No, that wasn’t right. I was very adept at dodging fists. But this I couldn’t dodge. It hit me like a bullet. Fast. Hard. Unavoidable.
And before I could think of anything to say, there was her hand, brushing over the sleeve of my tailcoat. My whole body stiffened under her touch. She had touched me before - more than just touched, in fact - but this was different. There was meaning in every tiny movement. A meaning that I didn’t entirely comprehend. I wasn’t even sure whether I wanted to.
Her fingers slid down my arm. When they reached the bare skin of my hand, I sucked in a quick breath, lost in the storm. Cautiously, almost tenderly, she brushed away a few grains of sand and stroked the skin underneath.
What in the name of all that is profitable…!
I wanted to say something, wanted to order her to stop, to never stop, but something was lodged in my throat, blocking any words from escaping. When I finally managed to squeeze a few syllables past the blockade, I didn’t recognize my own voice: ‘I thought that sort of thing between us was reserved for the dark of the night.’
Her voice came out of the storm, sweet and soft. ‘It looks pretty dark to me.’
