Page 108 of Storm of Bells
‘How…?’ Turning from left to right, MrAmbrose suspiciously inspected all corners of the room as ifexpecting a troop of helpful brownies to pop up out of nowhere.Then he turned towards me, his eyes fierce. ‘I know what this roomis supposed to look like, Miss Linton. It’s a store room, withcrates piled all the way up to the ceiling! The last time it wasused as a master suite was before I bought this place!’
‘Dear me.’ I cocked my head. ‘Seems you’renot entirely up to date, doesn’t it, Sir?’
‘How?’ Stepping forward, he grabbed me by theshoulder. Yet there was no accusation in his eyes. In fact, justthe opposite. ‘You didn’t leave the room downstairs for one minute!You were there the whole time that vicar kept us prisoners with hisblabbering!’
‘I gave precise instructions to the servants.I’m very good at giving instructions.’ I smiled up at him. ‘Ilearned from the master.’
In an instant, I was in his arms and wasbeing swept into the room. The backs of my legs hit the bed and Ifell over, landing among the downy cushions with a gasp. Two fistsslammed into the bed on either side of me. Mr Rikkard Ambrosetowered over me, caging me in.
‘Did you learn?’ His eyes sparkled withfrost. With a challenge. ‘Or are you the one trying to teach?’
Both. We’ve got to learn from each other ifwe want to become what we’re meant to be.
‘Maybe.’ An impudent grin flashed over myface. ‘After all, after two years I’ve probably learned all thereis to learn from you.’
Now his eyes didn’t just sparkle. Theygleamed. With terrible danger.
‘Indeed, Miss Linton?’
‘Indeed, Sir.’
‘So, you think there’s nothing I can do tosurprise you anymore?’
‘No. I—’
His hand shot out.
My heart leapt, expecting him to go forme—but his hand moved behind his back, holding something small Icouldn’t see. He let the object fly, and a moment later, the singlecandle extinguished, plunging the room into utter darkness. Hisfingers gently brushed over my eyes.
I sucked in a breath.
‘As they say,’ came Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s coolvoice out of the darkness, ‘turnabout is fair play.’
Then he was on me. Literally. His heavyweight pressing me into the mattress, robbing me of my breath inthe best, worst, most wonderful way imaginable. His lips, hot andcold, hard and soft, wild and precise, made their way up my neck,leaving burning kisses in their wake.
‘What were you saying about having nothing tolearn from me anymore, Miss Linton?’ The whisper was soft, cool,like a winter breeze.
How does he manage to talk like that whenall I want to do is scream and burst aflame? To scream for him tostop. To give me more. To do…something!
‘A-all right,’ I rasped. ‘That might havebeen a slight exaggeration.’
His lips found a certain spot right below myear, soft and needy and…
‘Slight, Miss Linton?’
Oh…
‘A-all right. A m-moderate exaggeration.’
‘Moderate?’ he hissed. Suddenly, he was nolonger next to my face. I knew that even in the dark because I felthim working his way through the folds of my gown. ‘I think you aremisusing the entries in your lexicon, Miss Linton.’
‘I don’t—aah…!’
‘You were saying?’
‘I…I…’
Suddenly, he was at my ear again. ‘Would youlike me to teach you another lesson?’ Burning a path across mycheek, his lips found their way to my mouth and silenced me. Whichwas a good thing, because right then his hand found another part ofme and…well, how should I put this delicately…
