Page 23 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
The words were laced with such cruel, ice-cold venom that you could hear the threat of eminent death echoing in every syllable.
“I’m an Officer of ’er Majesty’s law!” Growling, the policeman turned around. “Who are ye to interrupt me in the execution of…my…duty…”
His voice slowly trailed off as he came eye-to-eye with the man who had appeared beside us.
“The name,” a blissfully icy voice announced, “is Rikkard Ambrose.”
“Nglmp.” The very second the name dropped from my husband’s lips, all colour drained from the policeman’s face, and he froze in place.
Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, Mr Ambrose cocked his head. “But don’t let me interrupt you.” His hand gestured to a nearby figure, and a moment later, Karim appeared, sabre drawn. “You were speaking of executions?”
The bluebottle took a step back, his knees shaking ever so slightly. My husband had only been speaking a little louder than a whisper—yet somehow, some way, everyone in the park seemed to have heard him. The entire crowd of law enforcement officers stopped in their tracks. Suddenly, they didn’t look all that eager to enforce anymore.
“Um…Mr A-A-Ambrose?” one of the policemen squeezed out. “ThatMr Ambrose?”
“Is there another?”
Dumbly, the bobby shook his head. By the look of his uniform, he was a sergeant, and thus in charge here. A fact that he seemedto be very much regretting at the moment. “T-to what do I owe the p-pleasure of your p-presence?”
“Nothing special.” Mr Ambrose’s voice still dripped freezing poison. Only now, the toxicity had gone up by three hundred percent. Or maybe six hundred? I wasn’t that good with small differences. “You know. Mingling. Relaxing.” Reaching out with his free hand, he took hold of mine. “Spending time withmy wife.”
“W-wife?”
If the sergeant had been pale before, it was nothing compared to now. His face was pale as a pail full of milk.
“Yes.” Mr Ambrose took a step forward, placing himself right in front of me. I glanced down at my belly. No. Not right in front ofme. Right in front ofus. “Wife. As in love, honour andprotect.”
Sometimes, I really loved my husband.
“P-protect?”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose chose this moment to pull off his gloves. The fact that he decided to clench his fingers into fists and leisurely raise his walking cane was surely pure coincidence.
“Yes. Protect. From anything…” His gaze swept over the crowd of policemen. “…oranyone.”
As if on command, every single one of them took another step back. On second thought…there was no “as if” about it. One glance of his alone was more commanding than orders shouted by a thousand army officers.
“So…” Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned forward until his ice-cold eyes were only inches away from the sergeant’s. “Keeping in mind that I will doanythingto protect my wife…Tell me, what were you doing just now?”
The sergeant’s mouth opened. Then his eyes flicked to the banner that so far, none of the policemen seemed to have noticed. The banner that readRikkard Ambrose Foundation forWomen’s Suffrage and Equal Rights—stand up and live your dream!The sergeant’s eyes flicked back to Mr Ambrose again.
We were here to arrest your wife?
We were just about to beat your pregnant wife with a truncheon?
We were about to commit career suicide by attacking a charity event organized by Britain’s richest businessman?
I could practicallyhearpotential answers flick through his mind. Then he stepped back, and closed his mouth again.
“Um…nothing, really, Sir. Just passing through, you know? Relaxing a bit and all that.”
“And your…” Mr Ambrose’s eyes swept to the rest of the men. “…acquaintances?”
“Err…” The good sergeant raised a hand to scratch the back of his head. “Taking a walk in the park?”
Mr Ambrose stared at the man for a long, long moment—then nodded.
