15. Honey, Take me to the Moon!

I've heard people say a couple's romance grows stale after marriage.

People are idiots.

It was a fairly easy conclusion to come to. Especially if you're lying on your bed, with a shirtless Rikkard Ambrose looming above you.

"Mrs Ambrose." Reaching out, he captured my face between his fingers. "Do you know how worried I was when I found you alone and unprotected in that den of iniquity?"

I considered this for a moment. "Adequately worried?"

To judge by the way his grip on me tightened, that was not the right answer. Or maybe it was. I guess it just depended on whether I wanted him to hold me more tightly, didn't it?

"You know," he whispered, his lips ghosting over my neck, down towards more interesting areas. My back arched, my breathing speeding up. "I've been trying to make you stay safe at home again and again. I've tried any number of methods. Threats. Bribery. Trickery. Nothing has ever worked with you." His lips reached my collarbone, eliciting a moan from me. "So I suppose that only leaves one way open to me."

"W-what?" I demanded.

"Why, trap you here, of course." His eyes burned into mine with ice-cold flames. His hand slid down my body, slipping between the folds of my dress. "With my skills."

How had ninety-nine percent of the female population of this planet neglected to try and marry this man?

Like I said. People are idiots.

"Now," he breathed against my skin. "Let's begin, shall we?"

I opened my mouth to respond—whereupon he took the chance to claim my mouth with his. His tongue teased my own, twirling and dancing. As if in rhythm to the same silent music, tingles were dancing all across my body, telling me to writhe, to clutch him closer and never let go.

I think I'm gonna listen.

No, I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. If he really was doing this to trap me, to make me into a compliant little wife and—

Just then, his hand found a certain spot.

"Aaah!"

Oh, to hell with it! Let's take a holiday from independence!

"Now, my dear wife, tell me..." His eyes bored deep into mine, promising heat from hell and pleasure from heaven. "Will you stay right where you are, nice and obedient?"

"O-of course not, I—aaah!"

"Would you like to rethink that?"

"I-I'm not that easily maniiiiiih...!

"Yes." A gentle kiss brushed the corner of my mouth. "You're so strong-minded. You'll be able to resist, won't you?"

"Y-yes!"

"So..." Something evil glittered in his icy eyes. "You won't mind if I dial up the heat a little, will you?"

Oh, heck!

"Now wait just a minute, I—aaah!"

"What was that?"

"Yespleasemorerightnow!"

"That's what I thought I heard. Now...let's get down to business, shall we?"

Somewhere in the background of my mind, I registered a soft noise. Like...from a pair of trousers hitting the floor.

And then he was there, on top of me. Cold. Hard. Indomitable.

Oh yes, let's get down to business! I love business! I want to be a businesswoman!

"Come," he told me, hovering inches away, his proximity nearly driving me wild. "Let me show you exactly why it was a good decision to marry me."

***

Cock-a-doodle-doo...

"Yes, please, more..." I mumbled, the dream image of Mr Rikkard Ambrose doing interesting things to my body. "Harder...harder..."

Cock-a-doodle-doo...

"Faster...!" The dream image became hazier as the cockerel crowed again, and I tried to cling on desperately, tried to stay in this wonderful world. "Harder, please, har—ah!"

Abruptly, I jerked awake and sat up, coming face-to-face with the real Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was already sitting up and watching me.

"Ehem." I cleared my throat. "The mattress is too soft. That's what I was talking about when I said harder. The soft mattress."

"Indeed?"

"Definitely!"

"Well then," he whispered, leaning forward until his lips brushed against my neck and the sheet covering his sculpted chest fell away, "I shall sell the mattress immediately so you can sleep on the floor. Since it's still quite new, we should get a good price for it."

"Nnnnnmaaaa..."

I could hardly recognize the whimper that escaped my throat as my own voice. I tried to get out some words, some meaningful response...

Nothing.

I was too bloody incoherent to tell him I prefer a soft mattress to a wooden floor to sleep on! That should tell you something about exactly how skilled Mr Rikkard Ambrose was with his lips. I graciously proceeded to allow him to further demonstrate his skills in that regard for the next quarter of an hour.

Finally, he drew away.

"Now," he breathed into my ear, "time to eat."

Oh yes! Yes, please...! Eat me! Eat me!

"So, put the water kettle on, will you?" Letting go of me, he sent me falling to the mattress with a thud. "I'll be waiting for breakfast in the dining room."

Then he got up and walked out of the room.

What was that thought I had about marrying this man being the best idea ever?

"Yesterday, you were the one to cook," I mumbled into the pillows, which were just so temptingly soft and warm. "I thought you were going to make breakfast?"

He cocked his head from where he stood in the doorway. Half-naked. "And I thought you wanted equality in marriage?"

Dammit! I hated it when my husband was right! That sort of stuff should be outlawed!

Grumbling, I heaved myself out of bed and slipped some clothes on. Trotting into the kitchen, I started to make some breakfast—which mostly consisted of my using a spoon to ladle butter and marmalade onto toast.

What, you thought I was going to try and actually cook stuff, let alone use a knife when my eyelids were still at half-mast? Yeah, I like my fingers far too much, thanks.

"Here," I groaned, dumping the plate with toast in front of Mr Eye-Candy-You-Can't-Eat-For-Breakfast.

"Hm." Mr Rikkard Ambrose gazed at the plate in front of him with piercing eyes—then nodded approvingly. "Swift, cheap and simple. Adequate. Though, next time, forget about the marmalade and butter."

I beamed. Look at that, there was someone on this earth who appreciated my amazing cooking skills!

Bending down, I pressed a kiss on his cheek. "I love you."

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Remove that marmalade stain from my face."

"Aww, but it looks so cute!"

"I am aware. That is the point."

I couldn't help but grin.

"Remove. Now."

My grin widening into a full-blown smirk, I reached for a napkin and dipped it into the jug of water on the table.

"Come here, Dicky Darling. Let me clean those itsy-bitsy specks off your sweet cheeks."

The look he sent me could have murdered the four horsemen of the apocalypse at ten miles distance. Sweet! We were off to such a good start. If mornings were always going to go like this, I was going to enjoy making breakfast for my husband.

I took my time cleaning my dear hubby's face. When I was finally finished, and he had decided to stop trying to freeze me with the mere power of his gaze, I sat down at the table once again.

"So...what now?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Mr Ambrose." I fixed him with a stern gaze, which, admittedly, was more difficult to pull off than usual with marmalade still covering my mouth. Quickly wiping it away, I resumed my stern gazing. "You were quite successful in distracting me yesterday. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten you still haven't told me what you've been up to recently!" I winced and shifted, blushing as I felt an ache in a certain spot. "Even if your distraction was really successful. Really, very, very successful."

He gave me a look. If not for the fact that not a single muscle in his face moved, it might be described as smug.

"Oh, stop with that, you!"

The conspicuous absence of smugness on his face grew. Choosing to ignore that little fact, I prodded his chest.

"Yes, yes, you've got quite the talent for distraction tactics. Nonetheless, I've noticed the fact that you conspicuously avoided mentioning anything specific about what you were up to in town yesterday."

There was a miniscule twitch on his face.

"What could you possibly mean, Mrs Ambrose?"

My finger bored into his chest more deeply. Ignoring the fact that it nearly broke off in the process—Darn chiselled pecs!—I glared at him. "I am your wife. I will not be left out. Spill!"

He looked at me for a long moment—then gave an almost imperceptible jerk of his head. Something that, in Ambrose terms, could feasibly be called a nod. An icy look entered his eyes.

"I paid a little visit to the mayor."

I frowned. "The mayor? Why?"

"Well...I had some things to discuss with Señor Velazquez."

My eyes widened. "Velazquez?" A Spanish name. "He's one of—"

"Them? Correct."

"Oh my." I smirked. "Let me guess. You were there to kindly offer campaign funds for his re-election?"

"How did you guess?"

I blinked. "Wait, you actually were there to offer him money?"

"Certainly." Mr Ambrose's hand came out of his pocket. Something glinting shot into the air and, after a twirl, landed on his open palm.

Blankly, I stared at the single penny.

"I was very generous," Mr Ambrose elaborated.

I stared at the coin for a moment longer—then a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. I knew my husband.

"So...what did you offer him if he didn't do as you said?"

The hand snapped shut, re-capturing the penny in a single instant. His gaze became even colder.

"I was even more generous. Much, much, more generous."

"And then?"

"I gave him a day to consider."

"You did?" I raised an eyebrow. "A whole eighty-six thousand four hundred precious seconds? Who are you, and what happened to my husband?"

Leaning down, he stroked a thumb across my cheek, his intense gaze boring straight into my eyes. "Someone taught him that there are things worth waiting for." Leaning back, he straightened, intensity shifting into iciness. "Besides, when giving people the chance to consider the repercussions of their actions, giving them additional time is not a bad idea."

So they have more time to shit their pants? Yes, very generous indeed, Mr Ambrose, Sir.

"Ah." I nodded wisely. "Do you think he's had enough time to think things over?"

For a long moment, he only looked at me consideringly. I could see the choices in his eyes. Make her stay, or let her come? Finally, he took a deep breath. Pushing back his chair, Mr Ambrose rose to his feet and extended his arm. "Why don't we go and see?"

Yes!

Taking his arm, I gave a small curtsey. "An excellent idea. Let's go, shall we?"

And I led him to the door.

"Go?" He stopped, halting me in mid-step. When I turned around, I caught sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose's posture, which was even stiffer than usual. "Go...as in, you intend to walk?"

I stared at him. "Of course. What else did you think I was going to do?"

"Ride a coach, of course."

My stare only got more incredulous. "You rented a coach? For money?"

"Naturally," he responded, as if this were perfectly normal behaviour for him. "You walked nearly five hundred yards yesterday. You've had enough exercise for this month."

I blinked. I'd heard of post-traumatic insanity, but post-coital insanity?

Well...there's always a first time, I guess.

Something occurred to me. If we did "it" again, would he start giving me days off? Would he give me a raise?

I grinned. This presented...possibilities.

"My feet suddenly feel really exhausted," I informed my dear husband, tightening the grip on his arm. "I hope you have a comfy coach?"

It was supposed to be half a joke. Well, actually, all of it was supposed to be a joke. So, when Mr Ambrose led me to the front door, snapped his fingers, and an amazingly luxurious, comfy coach rolled around the hill, coming to a stop in front of the log house, I was just a tad surprised, to say the least.

That was the moment when Mr Ambrose stepped forward, bowed down and unfolded the steps at the side of the coach for me to use, then held the door open for me.

"Go ahead. Please, be careful. Make sure not to fall."

He's behaving like a gentleman?

Yes. Definitely post-coital insanity.

"Why, thank you." And I let my husband help me into the carriage. Wonders never cease.

Soon, we were inside the coach and rolling down the dirt road to the town. Well, just dirt, really. Not a road. But today, nothing was going to muddy my mood.

"Fizzlewiz Fabulous Fitness Serum! The best medicine in the world to cure nausea, Nausicaa, nasty colds, the smallpox, the big pox, measles, typhus, yellow fever, red fever, black fever and pink fever!"

I take that back.

"How about you, gentlemen and ladies in the beautiful carriage? Fizzlewiz Fabulous Fitness Serum also helps against carriage-sickness and is...guaranteed...to..."

The man's voice slowly trailed off as Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned out of the carriage window until his face was roughly three inches from that of Mr Angus Angleton.

"You were saying?"

"Ehem, well..." The diminutive man cleared his throat. "I...I just noticed that there are some people over there who look like they really need medicine. Urgently."

"Agreed."

By the time Mr Ambrose pushed open the door of the carriage, Mr Angus Angleton had evaporated. Pulling open my door, my dear husband once again extended his arm to me.

"Why, thank you." Taking hold of his arm, I stepped out of the coach and glanced up at the building in front of us. It looked pretty much the same as the saloon, except for the rough wooden sign next to the entrance proclaiming Office of the Mayor, and the probable lack of sparsely-clad dancers inside.

"Well, Mrs Ambrose...shall we?"

I grinned. "Of course. After all, it would be rude to keep the mayor waiting, wouldn't it?"

And together, we stepped into the building.

The moment we did, the receptionist ducked behind the desk. "Don't shoot! The money is in the second drawer on the left!"

"Ah." I nodded. "Local customs. So charming." Stepping forward, I tapped on the desk. "No need to worry. We're not here to rob the place."

Cautiously, the young man peeked out from behind his chair. "Really?"

"Really."

"Ah, thank God!" Breathing a deep sigh of relief, the young man resurfaced fully. "After what recently happened at the jail, I thought the worst. Please excuse the overreaction, gentlemen." Dusting himself off, he sent us a relieved smile—until he caught sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Ah. Um. Mr Rikkard Ambrose. What a, ehem...pleasant surprise. I...we...um..."

I patted his shoulder with a wink. "You'd have preferred the desperados, wouldn't you?"

"Ye—no! No, of course not! It's just..." The poor receptionist glanced from left to right, as if searching for help or hope. But both had long since fled the place through the window. So had most of the other staff. I only spotted the coattails of a desperate fugitive slipping around the corner, before we were completely alone in the room. "Ehem...it's just...the mayor is in a meeting right now."

"I know," Mr Ambrose informed him. "With me."

And with that, he strode past the desk, straight up the stairs towards the mayor's office. The poor receptionist stared after him, mouth agape. Generous young woman that I was, I popped a piece of chocolate in and nudged it shut.

"Don't worry. He's always like this. Well..." I thought back to last night, in the bedroom. "Except for some situations, but I don't think you want to know about those."

Moving past the man, I hurried after Mr Ambrose. I caught up with him just when he pushed open the door to the mayor's office.

"Ah, Mr Mayor. Don't go climbing out of the window quite so fast. You must have forgotten, but the two of us had a meeting scheduled."

"Oh. Ehem. Well...now sat you mention it, Señor, I do seem to recall somesing of se kind." Pulling back his leg from over the windowsill, the pudgy fellow with the handlebar moustache straightened his vest and sidled towards his chair. Maybe to sit down, but more likely to put his desk between himself and Mr Ambrose.

"Let's get to the point." Stepping forward, Mr Ambrose flicked his thumb, sending a single coin whirling through the air, until it landed with a pling on the mayor's desk.

Ah, the nostalgia of that noise...

Unfortunately for him, the mayor did not seem to associate the sound with any positive memories.

"And?" Mr Ambrose took a step forward, clasping his hands behind his back, posture ramrod straight. "Did you come to a decision regarding my...generous offer?"

The mayor swallowed.

"I, ehem, did, Señor. I really did. I must say your offer of..." He glanced down at the single cent on the desk. "...generous campaign donations is very much appreciated, but..."

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "But?"

Behind him, Karim stepped into the room, towering over anything and everything.

"It...is not as easy as you have suggested. I...have my previous backers to consider, and—"

"Your previous Spanish backers?" Eyes intent, Mr Ambrose placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward towards Mayor Velazquez. "The diplomatic relationships between England and America are quite good these days. But America and Spain...? The world's mightiest democracy on the one hand, and a crumbling empire clinging to the last remnants of its power on the other. Add to that the little fact that the United States has been eying Cuba and secretly supporting righteous freedom fighters all over South America... How do you think they will react when they find out one of their elected officials has been taking campaign donations from Spanish officials?"

By now, sweat was running in rivulets down the man's temples. He really did take his role as mayor seriously. Providing this much water for a desert town, all by himself? How admirable.

"Um, Señor Ambrose, now listen here!" The mayor drew himself up to his full height. "You cannot just come into my office and accuse me of—"

"Oh, excuse me," Mr Ambrose cut in. "How could I imply such a terrible thing. My apologies."

The mayor sagged, relief spreading over his face.

"I shouldn't have said 'campaign donations'," Mr Ambrose continued, his eyes boring icily into the smaller man. "I meant bribes."

"Gfngrx," the mayor said.

"I heard you've been signing a lot of land grants recently." Reaching into his pocket, my dear husband pulled out a stack of folded, official-looking papers. Papers, I was pretty certain, he was not supposed to have gotten his hands on. With a thump, they landed on the desktop. "A piece of land, granted away, formerly owned by Mr Ellis Swan. Another piece of land, granted away, previously owned by Mrs Margaret Linden. Another piece of land, granted away, previously owned by a...Mr Rikkard Ambrose."

The flood gates opened, and the rivulets of sweat on the mayor's temples turned into massive waterfalls.

"Hm...a name just like mine." Mr Ambrose leaned forward a little more, until his glittering, arctic eyes were only inches away from the mayor's. "Odd. Considering I never sold a single inch of my land in this town."

"Well, you see, Mr Ambrose, sere, ehem...sere is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of sis, and it is...it is..."

"Yes?"

Velasquez opened and closed his mouth like choking goldfish, no sound coming out.

"So," my spiffing spouse resumed, continuing to spear the pudgy man with his gaze. "No answer to the accusation?"

Silence.

"I see." He gave a nod. "That is troubling. Well then...I must ask, as a concerned citizen, how such a terrible crime could possibly occur, and what you were planning to do in recompense."

At that last word, the door behind us opened, and more men stepped into the room, discreet bulges underneath their tailcoats betraying the fact that they were either armed or thinking of something very inappropriate outside a bedroom. My bet was on the former. The men took up posts on either side of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, fixing their dark glares on the poor mayor.

"Ehem. Um. I don't know...can't really say..."

"Not to worry." Reaching out, Mr Ambrose placed a reassuring hand on the mayor's shoulder. The fact that, underneath the pressure of his fingers, the man's bones seemed to be creaking, was surely pure coincidence. "I have the perfect solution for you."

"Y-you do?"

"Oh yes." He nodded, his grip tightening. With his other hand, he grabbed the land grant document with his name on it, crumpled it up, and tossed it over his shoulder. Karim caught it, and tore it into tiny pieces.

It suddenly occurred to me...was that the original?

I looked at Mr Ambrose.

Oh, it most definitely was.

"My solution is simple. From now on, you do whatever I say, whenever I say." Pulling aside the pile of documents, my dear husband once more revealed the single coin on the table. "As for bribes..."

Hope lit the face of the mayor.

"...you won't have to worry about those from me." Snatching up the coin, Mr Ambrose pocketed it once more. "After all, we wouldn't want you to be accused of corruption, now, would we? That would be so troublesome."

Velazquez almost crumbled under Mr Ambrose's glare. I grinned. The smarmy, corrupt little bugger was almost there. Almost ready to break. Any minute now. Any minute...

The mayor swallowed. "I—"

Just then, the door to the room flew open once again, and the receptionist staggered in, his eyes wide. Despite that fact, he didn't even seem to notice Mr Rikkard Ambrose, or, you know, the dozen or so armed guards inside the room.

"S-Señor Velazquez!" the young man gasped. "They...they're here!"

"They?" I demanded, although I already had a sneaking suspicion. "They who?"

"De Ravera," he panted, "and De La Fuente!"

----------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Did anybody notice that, besides so many maladies, the marvellous medicine in the above chapter can even cure King Alcinous' daughter from Homer's Odyssey? Five points to anybody who paid enough attention ;-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob