‘Don’t waste time up there, Mr Linton! Get a move on!’
‘I will, in a moment, Sir. Just one thing. What colour was the flag of the Brazilian Empire again?’
‘Yellow and green, why?’
‘Because then I think we have a problem.’
Exotic Exertions
There was silence from the bottom of the tree for a moment, while I tried to follow the progress of the Brazilian soldiers through the thick foliage. Then:
‘What kind of problem, Mr Linton?’
But I didn’t answer. That was because, in another direction, I had caught sight of a different group of coloured specks, moving in the same direction. Blast!
‘Mr Linton! What kind of problem?’
‘The double kind!’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Out of the way down there! Secretary incoming!’
As fast as I could, I slid down the trunk of the tree, not caring if I tore my chemise or even my hands. We had more important things on our hands than a little blood!
Karim had stepped well back - probably to avoid glimpsing up my fluttering undergown as I raced towards the ground. Mr Ambrose, however, had no such compunctions. He stood right where I had left him, his face like an ancient Mayan statue, his eyes flashing like icicles.
‘Step back!’ I yelled, hurtling towards the muddy ground.
He just gave me a look. He didn’t even need to open his mouth, and I still understood: Not a chance in hell!
Just at the right moment, he stepped forward. His arms came up and closed, tightly. The impact knocked the breath out of me. For a moment, I thought I would have been better off landing in the mud than on his stone-hard form. But then we toppled over, rolling through leaves and over roots, until we finally came to a rest and I ended up, panting heavily, on top of his perfectly sculpted chest, my eyes staring into his, my lips only inches away from his mouth.
Correction: this was a million times better than the ground.
Bad Lilly! Bad! No time for that now! Tell him!
‘Soldiers,’ I panted, only able to get out the one word right then and there.
‘What?’
‘Soldiers, Sir! The Brazilian Army. And I think the rebels, too! They’re after us, heading our way.’
I had never seen any man get out from under a girl so fast. Well, to be honest, I had never seen any man get out from under a girl at all, but I imagined that most would be pretty reluctant. Not Mr Ambrose. He was out from under me and up on his feet in half a second, leaving me lying in the dirt.
‘What are you waiting for, Mr Linton? Up on your feet! Karim, get the horses and take Mr Linton’s knapsack for now! We have to move fast!’
‘I can bloody well carry my own knap-’ I began, but cut off with a yelp when Mr Ambrose grabbed my hand and jerked me to my feet.
‘Not now, Mr Linton! Karim, get moving! We’re going west!’
*~*~**~*~*
We marched all day long, and I suspected we would have marched into the night as well, if there hadn’t been the danger of getting hopelessly lost in the dark. Mr Ambrose, marching at the back, was like a hellhound on our heels, dictating a pace so gruelling I could almost smell the gruel in the air.
With every step I thanked God that I had thought of removing my corset a few days ago. I should have thought of that days earlier. The freedom of movement without the horrid thing was a blessed relief - or at least to me it was. To Mr Ambrose, whose eyes almost never left me - not so much. Without the tight corset, certain parts of my anatomy that had been constrained before were now, um…how should I put it delicately…? Free to move. Yes. Free to move. A movement which Mr Ambrose seemed to find quite fascinating.
By the end of a heavy day’s marching, neither of us had enough stamina left to do much besides lie flat on the ground. But even so, the little noises he sometimes made when marching behind me, and the stares he gave me when we both lay in our hammocks, totally exhausted - they drove my blood to the boiling point and made me wish Captain Silveira and his merry men to the devil, along with their rebellious counterparts! No matter that Mr Ambrose remained absolutely silent. His eyes said more than a thousand indecent words.
We kept this up for five days. Five inconceivably long, endless, torturous days. Finally, I’d had enough.
‘No more! I can’t…! No more..!’
Panting, I fell to my knees in the mud. My hair was plastered to my face in a sweaty tangle. My chemise, once a pretty white, was now a wild mixture of greens and browns. My legs ached as if someone had shoved red hot irons up the soles of my feet, my chest was heaving, desperately seeking for air, and I was hardly able to keep my eyes open.
‘Get up, Mr Linton!’
‘Can’t! Too…much!’
Marching around me, Mr Ambrose planted himself in front of me. ‘We have to go on! We can’t afford to stop now! If we don’t manage to give them…the…slip…’
His voice slowly trailed off.
Raising my tired eyes, I glanced up at him and saw his eyes were fixed somewhat lower than my face, right about where my heaving chest was located.
‘Mr Ambrose!’
‘Hm?’
‘If we don’t manage to give them the slip?’ I prompted.
‘Ah. Yes. Of course.’ He shook his head, and his eyes snapped back to my face where they belonged. ‘If we don’t manage to give them the slip before they catch sight of us, we’re lost. If they’ve come this far to chase us, they won’t give up now.’
I tried to rise to my feet - I really did! But to no avail. My legs would not cooperate.
‘I’m sorry,’ I panted. ‘I…can’t! I’m not used to this. I’ve never walked more than a stroll in the park now and again. This is too much.’
I waited for him to snap at me, to make some scathing remark about the weakness of women - but he didn’t. Instead he did something that I would never, ever in a million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine years have expected of him:
He bent down and picked me up.
Picked me up as if I were a feather.
Picked me up as if he were the hero of some cheap romance novel, and I the helpless heroine.
Ha! Fat chance!
‘Put me down!’ I demanded. ‘Put me down this instant!’
He ignored me.
‘Karim? You’ve been scouting ahead as usual, haven’t you? Where’s the nearest river?’
It took Karim a moment to react. He was too busy staring slack-jawed at his employer clutching a semi-dressed female in his arms.
‘Err…um…yes, Sahib. Yes, definitely. About half a mile to the northeast.’
‘All right. We’ll have to try the same river trick to disguise our tracks, and hope that it works better than last time.’ He glanced down at me, sharply. ‘Can you hold on for that long, Mr Linton?’
‘I could, but I won’t! You can’t carry me for half a mile! I should know - I have to carry myself around all day, every day! I’m damn heavy!’
Most men would have tried to deny it. Most men would have said something like ‘Oh no, darling, you’re as light as a feather!’
But this was Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
‘I won’t disagree with you there. What do you stuff yourself with to get like this?’
Did I have enough strength left to strangle him? My arms were already around his neck. It shouldn’t take much energy to shift my hands a bit and squeeze. But then - if his neck was as hard as the rest of him, the actual throttling would probably be beyond my meagre strength.
‘None of your business!’ I growled. ‘Now put me down! I’ll hide in the bushes! Run! Take the manuscript and get out of here! I’ll be all right on my own! I’ll-’
I started to loosen my hold around his neck.
He moved so fast I didn’t see it coming. One moment I was preparing to let go, determined not to be a millstone around his neck, not to hinder his escape - and the next he was kissing me, his lips fervent and unrelenting
. All thought of letting go evaporated. Raising me up in his arms as high as I would go, he clutched me to his chest, kissing the breath out of me, devouring my mouth as if his life depended on tasting me.
When he finally broke away, my body had turned to goo in his arms, and my brain to molten mush. He gazed down at me, and I gazed back up, whatever protests I had been about to make before long vanished from my mind. His perfect, chiselled face was so close, his eyes incredibly dark and intense as they stared into mine.
‘What were you saying?’ he enquired, cocking his head.
I blinked. ‘Wrgsfgl?’
‘That sounds about right.’ He tightened his grip on me. ‘Hold on!’ he commanded.
And what did I do?
I nodded like a good little damsel.
‘Adequate. Let’s go!’
And he marched off into the jungle, the helpless maiden tightly clutched in his arms.
God! If Patsy ever got wind of this, I was never going to live it down!
*~*~**~*~*
‘That is it. We’re safe.’ Closing his eyes, Mr Ambrose sank against the tree behind him and let himself slide down onto the ground. ‘Or at least as safe as we’re going to get.’
‘Err…good.’ I cleared my throat. ‘You can let go of me now.’
Yes, everyone, you heard correctly. I was still clutched in his arms. He had refused to set me down when we reached the river, wading through the current with me held tight as if it were nothing. Even when I had told him that I was fine now, that I’d rested enough and gotten my strength back, the damn man wouldn’t let go of me! Bloody chauvinistic, insufferable, arrogant son of a bachelor! How dare he treat me like some damsel in distress? How dare he care that much about me? How dare he look into my eyes like that and make me feel all warm and gooey inside? That was simply not fair!
Which reminded me…He still had his arms around me.
‘I said,’ I informed him once more, just in case he hadn’t heard me the first thirty-seven times, ‘let go. Now!’
‘I heard,’ he told me, his eyes still closed. It didn’t show on his face, but carrying me had taken it out of him.
‘Then why won’t you let go?’
‘Firstly,’ he murmured, ‘because you are my secretary, not the other way around. And I will never take orders from you.’
‘And secondly?’
Slowly, his eyes drifted open - and my breath caught. I had been wrong before. Very wrong. The lazy look he was giving me through half-closed lids was anything but sleepy. It was ravenous.
‘Because I don’t want to,’ he growled.
I swallowed.
‘Why?’
Leaning forward, he slowly, casually brushed his lips against my cheek, then moved on to my throat, making me quiver. ‘You have to ask that?’ he whispered against my skin. ‘After I’ve had you in my arms like this for hours upon hours, moving about, shifting against me in your shift, muttering no end of your little spikey complaints and shooting your tantalising, ear-burning insults at me, you ask why I can’t let go?’
A noise erupted from the back of his throat that was like no other I had ever heard.
‘Most men,’ I whispered, ‘wouldn’t appreciate being insulted.’
His eyes, cold and hard as steel, met mine. ‘Do I look like most men to you?’
‘No,’ I admitted.
Still clutching me in his arms, he rose to his feet, moving slowly and powerfully. His face was only inches away from mine now, his gaze holding me captive as surely as if he had me in iron fetters. Carefully, he set me down on my feet. But he didn’t let go of me. His hands clutched my face as if it were the most precious gem in the world and he had acquired the exclusive mining rights for a hundred miles in either direction.
‘Mr Linton- Lillian…’
The sound of my name on his lips was a shock to me. I tried to remember whether he had ever said it before, but couldn’t. Maybe once or twice, when he hadn’t been completely in his right mind. Was he in his right mind now?
Bloody hell, who cares if he’s in his left, bottom or upper one? Grab the chance by the balls, Lilly!
I licked my lips.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Don’t ever ask me to leave you behind again!’ Pressing his eyes tightly shut, he leaned forward until his rock-hard forehead rested against mine. ‘Do you hear me? Not. Ever.’
‘Y-yes, Sir.’
‘I’m not wasting money on an advertisement for a new secretary.’
‘No, Sir. Of course not, Sir.’
‘And I need you because you are the one who deciphered that damn manuscript.’
‘Certainly, Sir. Just as you say, Sir.’
‘And…and I need you because…because…’
He opened his mouth - then closed it again. Then opened it once more.
‘Yes, Sir?’ I enquired, my voice hardly more than a whisper.
His only answer was a tortured growl. A millisecond later, his lips came crashing down, making his point more clearly than the world’s most eloquent speech. Pushing me back up against the tree he claimed me, devoured me like a raptor its prey. The exhaustion of the last few days fell off me like dust, shaken from my shoulders. My arms snaked up around his neck, pulling myself against him, hard.
Last time had been too sweet, too gentle to fully appreciate it. But now, with our passions unleashed and burning like the stallions of the sun god before the fall of Icarus, I couldn’t help but notice what a difference the missing corset made. Where before there had been a thick, stiff wall between me and Mr Ambrose, there was now next to nothing between my soft spots and the hard lines of his body. A faint, faraway part of my mind noted that it should have been uncomfortable. After all, hard bunks were uncomfortable, right? Hard floors, too. And the body of Rikkard Ambrose was harder than both put together. So it should have been uncomfortable.
Emphasis on ‘should’.
His body was the hammer to my anvil. With every skilful strike of his tongue, every blow delivered by his lips, the passion between us was forged more tightly, connecting us in ways I could never have imagined. My hands, exploring his arms, his chest, his everything were desperately trying to shove him far enough away to remove the barrier of his clothes, and at the same time desperate to pull him closer, pull him against me, into me, until the distinction between our bodies vanished and we became one.
It was more than lust or desire, more even than need. Knowing that this hard, implacable man would never leave me behind, would stand between me and any danger that threatened sent an (entirely unfeminist, but blast, nonetheless searing hot) thrill through me. He cared! He cared enough to pick me up and carry me when I needed help, and to set me down on my feet again when I was ready. Not that I approved, of course! I could take care of myself, thank you very much, and I would whack him over the head if he ever tried to do anything like that again. But somehow, right now, I didn’t want to whack him over the head at all. Quite the contrary, in fact.
My hand slammed against his top hat, sending it sailing into the bushes.
‘What are you doing, Mr Linton?’ he demanded against my mouth, his muscles mashing into me.
‘Removing the non-essentials!’ I panted. ‘Clothes! Off! Now!’
He froze.
‘Mr Linton…I don’t think…’
‘Admirable!’ Grasping the topmost of his buttons, I slipped it through its hole. ‘Not thinking is exactly the thing to do right now!’
‘Mr Linton! If we go on now…I don’t know whether I will be able to stop myself before…before…’
‘Don’t worry, I will! Is a knee to the groin all right as a stop signal, or is that too subtle for you?’
All the answer I got was another growl as he claimed my mouth again.
Oh, well, a girl always has to do the hard work herself, it seems. Throwing myself into the kiss, I let my hand slip down his chest, searching for the next button.
My fingers were halted in mid-movement by a metallic click. It t
ook me a moment to realise why that sound was so familiar. Then I remembered. I had heard a sound very much like it before - whenever Mr Ambrose cocked his gun. But…both of Mr Ambrose’s hands were very much occupied right now.
I froze.
‘Well, well,’ came a slightly accented voice from beside me. ‘What do we have here?’
Brazilian Standoff
My eyes had slid half-shut during the last few minutes of passion. Now, I opened them very slowly and carefully. The first thing I saw was Mr Ambrose, standing even stiller than me, like a statue hewn from bedrock. The second thing I saw was the gun pressed to his head.
‘Did you really think,’ came the voice of Lieutenant Louis de Alvarez, ‘that we would let a treasure like the one you are after slip through our fingers? Oh no. War is a costly business, my friend. Now, hands up, both of you! And don’t try any tricks!’
We both followed the order with reluctance. Cautiously peeking past my raised hands, I let my eyes wander from the pistol, along the arm that held it to the figure of Lieutenant de Alvarez. The little man didn’t look particularly impressive next to Mr Ambrose, but his gun was loaded and his arm perfectly steady. That more than made up for his diminutive size.
He smirked. ‘We had the chance to study that manuscript of yours a little before you managed to escape. What a marvellous thing you’ve discovered there, my friend! And do you know what?’
Mr Ambrose’s mouth was the thinnest of thin lines. ‘No. What?’
‘We came to the conclusion that we can make much better use of the gold than you greedy Englishmen. So, hand over the manuscript now, and you’ll have the thanks of the Piratini Republic.’
To judge by the look on Mr Ambrose’s face, he cared as much for the thanks of the Piratini Republic as for mashed snails in garlic sauce.
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then you’ll have a bullet in your brain. Or maybe, I should put one into the head of this lovely young lady here instead?’
‘Please do. Her head is worth much less than mine.’
I bridled at his words. I knew of course that downplaying my importance was the wisest course of action to take, that the less important Mr Ambrose made me out to be, the safer I would be. But he didn’t have to sound so bloody convincing, damn him!