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‘Prett
y much, yes,’ I agreed cheerily. ‘Don’t let it bother you.’
‘I should not let it bother me?’
‘Yep.’
His arms tightening around me, Mr Ambrose leaned forward, pressing me harder into the sofa. His face above me was a mask of granite. ‘I should just sit back and relax, letting that red-coated fool go free to gallivant around you and pant at your feet, and for what? A kiss each day?’
I met his cold gaze without blinking. ‘Not a kiss.’ Grabbing his face in my hand, I pulled him down on top of me. ‘This kiss!’
And I kissed him.
And kissed him.
And kissed him.
When, a long, long time later, I finally released him and gazed into his eyes, I saw everything that was burning in me reflected there.
‘Well, what do you say, Sir?’ I whispered. ‘Do we have a deal?’
*~*~**~*~*
I had to admit, I reflected as I sat in the coach back to Battlewood, gazing out over the white landscape rushing by, I was quite pleased with myself. Not only was I now a private secretary, but also a businesswoman in my own right, who had just brokered her first major deal with one of Britain’s richest financiers. Granted, the deal was a tad unconventional, but still, it was something to be proud of, right?
Particularly at night, when I was going to enjoy the dividends and benefits.
Pulling my gaze from the endless white outside, I glanced around the coach from one of the two men to the other, and only with a lot of effort managed to suppress a smirk. Dear Lord…! This would have been funny if it weren’t so deadly serious.
Who was I kidding - it still was funny!
Captain Carter cleared his throat. ‘So kind of you to let me travel in your coach, Mr Ambrose,’ he said.
Silence.
The captain cleared his throat again. ‘Riding all this way on horseback again would not have been comfortable.’
More silence. Utter, complete, ear-killing silence.
‘I suppose what I wanted to say was…I really appreciate the gesture. You’re a true gentleman.’
At that, Mr Ambrose made a sound somewhere between the grumble of a volcano and the grunt of a polar bear. His hand tightened around the handle of his cane with a force that…
Well, ‘poor cane’ was really all that needed to be said.
‘But where is Mr Linton?’ the captain enquired, glancing around in the coach, seeing only two other occupants. ‘Isn’t he coming back with us?’
‘He,’ my dear employer said with frostbite in his voice, ‘had to ride. I thought he deserved a lesson. His performance has been less than pleasing, lately.’
‘Indeed?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘You sang a different tune yesterday night when-’
A kick from Mr Ambrose silenced me. Probably better that way. The ending of that sentence would likely have given the good captain a rather nasty shock.
With three passengers, plus luggage, and a coachman and gigantic bodyguard on the box of the carriage, we travelled more slowly than we had done on our way to Newcastle. Still, only once did we stop at an inn. The sun was just rising high enough to peek over the trees when we continued our journey towards Mr Ambrose’s ancestral home.
‘Do you think anyone will be expecting us?’ I enquired as I caught the first glances of the huge manor house through the trees. ‘Did you send word ahead?’
‘And waste perfectly good money on a message that will only arrive a day earlier than us?’ Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look. ‘Don’t be absurd, Miss Linton.’
