Storm over the Caribbean

02. Facing the Music

"I swear, the place we are going to is primarily used as a domicile?"

"I did not lie," Mr Ambrose replied. "Technically."

I felt my fingers twitch. "Then what, pray," I enquired as I lifted one hand to point at the entrance door in front of us, "is that?"

Mr Ambrose followed my outstretched finger with his gaze to where, above the entrance of the luxurious house in front of us, a sign proclaimed:

Emerald Meadow Racetrack Hotel & Casino

(Access to Emerald Meadow Racetrack Not Included in Room Prices)

"In retrospect," he stated, "perhaps I should have had the sign taken down before we came here."

I gave him a sweet smile, the doom of all husbands with pregnant wives. "Oh no, why would that be necessary? After all, how could I possibly demand you stop making money for the benefit of your wife and your unborn child."

An arm came around me, pulling me close. "I am lucky to have such a kind and understanding wife."

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Have you perchance encountered something called 'sarcasm' before?"

He considered this for a moment.

Cocking his head, he sent me a challenging look. "Once. No one has dared to use it on me since."

"You...!" That actually sounded like something that might happen, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's charming personality considered. But, darn it, he wasn't going to get out of this so easily! My eyes narrowed. "No changing the subject, Mister!"

I was pissed! Not pissed for myself so much, really. After all, for most of my life, I had called a single room my home, a room I was sharing with my sister Ella. I didn't need a home to be happy. But my baby? That was another bloody matter entirely!

Plus, pregnancy might, possibly, be trying to make me just a tiny bit temperamental. Not that I would let that affect me. Nope, not at all.

"Let's get back to the bloody point, shall we? The point being that, after you decided that staying at a hotel is unsuitable, your first move is to stash me into a carriage and drag me to another bloody hotel?"

"Ah." Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised a finger. "A hotel that belongs to me."

"Which makes a difference how exactly?"

"I would have thought that was obvious. I do not have to pay for our room."

"Oh, it was obvious." I cracked my knuckles. All right, maybe pregnancy was influencing me a tiny little bit. But not so much it mattered, surely. "I just wanted to see if you are brave enough to say it out loud, Dicky Darling. Now, let's see if I can't get you to take your husbandly duties a little more seriousl—"

I was abruptly interrupted by the carriage door being pulled open. A distinguished figure in a butler's uniform appeared and bowed.

"Good evening, Your Ladyship. May I help you out of the carriage?"

I blinked. It took me a moment to realize I still hadn't stopped cracking my knuckles. Ears reddening, I quickly shoved my hand into the folds of my dress.

"Ehem...sure. Right."

"Thank you for your gracious acceptance, Your Ladyship." He extended his arm and, dazed, I took it. "We have the royal suite prepared for you. Would that be sufficient?"

"Um, yes, I think so."

"Marvellous. Please be so kind as to follow me, Your Ladyship."

Before I could get out so much as a single word, the butler manoeuvred me down the carriage stairs and along the path towards the front door. Suddenly, two dozen figures in servant attire stepped out from the shadows of the trees along the way, bowing deeply.