Mr Ambrose’s hands froze.

There was a moment of silence that really, really wanted to be pregnant, but couldn’t be, because I still had too many damn clothes on!

‘Karim?’

‘Y-yes, Sahib?’

‘You didn’t see anything.’

‘N-no, Sahib! I didn’t see a thing! I swear it! Al'hā jhūṭha la'ī māfa kara, atē mērē akha dī bēgunāhī nū muṛa kara sakadā hai!’

‘Indeed.’

‘I-is it safe to come out now, Sahib?’

‘Yes.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice sounded as cool and composed as if he had just been double-checking his accounting. His hand fell from my back, and only I heard the whispered word: ‘Moderately.’

I didn’t know whether to strangle Karim or laugh out loud. Since the latter was probably much easier to accomplish, I decided on that.

‘What is she laughing about?’ Karim demanded, still in the bushes. ‘Is she taking her clothes off again?’

‘No, Karim. You can come out of there now.’

‘If you say so, Sahib.’

The Mohammedan stepped out of the bushes, but didn’t remove his hand from where it was once more firmly clamped over his eyes.

‘I need my knapsack, Sahib. Where…?’

Mr Ambrose didn’t let him finish. Stepping away and leaving me bereft, he grabbed Karim’s knapsack from the ground, and a moment later, the massive sack hit the Mohammedan in the chest with a heavy thud. Karim didn’t so much as flinch, but grabbed the thing and slung it over his shoulder.

‘Thank you, Sahib. The way ahead is clear. Should we set out now, or do you wish to eat first?’

As if drawn by a magnet, Mr Ambrose’s dark eyes slid back to me. ‘I must admit, I feel quite hungry,’ he admitted, his gaze raking over my curves. ‘But I think it’s better if, today, we set out anyway.’

And, without one more word, he grabbed his knapsack from the ground, snatched up his hammock and disappeared into the jungle.

*~*~**~*~*

It took a while for my mind to resurface from the delirious whirlpool of passion it was leisurely bathing in. We had been marching for half a day, and still my mind was splashing around in pleasant daydreams involving Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s pectorals. When it cautiously peeked its nose through the surface for the first time and smelled the cold air of reality, it was quite a shock to me.

What had just happened?

What had I done?

Oh my God!

Had I just really rid myself of nearly all my clothes…and then, with him…and he had grabbed me and… with his lips, and his hands, and his…Oh my God!

What if Karim hadn’t come when he had? I didn’t know much about what went on between a man and a woman, but I did know that the side-effects included bellyswelling and babyproducing. Me? Have a baby? I shuddered at the very thought. To swell up like a balloon, suffer through incredible pain, and then, as a reward, be saddled with a screeching little monster that demanded all my attention and time? No, thank you! I already had one monster demanding all my time, and he, thankfully, didn’t screech!

Not that the idea of having a child didn’t somewhat appeal to me, in the abstract. It would be gratifying to have someone to whom I could pass on my beliefs in justice and equality. The problem was that, before we could get to justice and equality, we would have to get through a lot of smelly diapers. And that thought I didn’t relish at all.

Besides…what if it were a boy, and he grew up to be just like his father? The idea that I would have to deal with two tyrants at the same time, and they wouldn’t even need to pay me for it!

And aren’t you forgetting something, Lilly? What about the reaction of your dear aunt and uncle?

My knees nearly buckled under me - and this time, it wasn’t from overpowering passion. My aunt, Hester Mahulda Brank, was a social-climbing vulture with the heart of a frost giant and the conscience of a serial killer. Her husband gave even Mr Ambrose a run for his money in how much he detested spending any. Together, they would provide about as much helpful support to a struggling young mother as Judas did to Jesus. Only, they would probably be smart and demand more than thirty pieces of silver.

And as for making it on my own…to do that, I needed a job. One that I doubted very much I would be able to keep once I was six months pregnant. Mr Ambrose was allowing me to work for him in male disguise. I suspected he would be less amenable if I tried to work for him in male disguise with a huge pregnant belly bulging under my peacock vest. That sort of thing tended to hint at femininity.

Maybe you wouldn’t have had to work at all. It would have been his child, too, after all. Maybe he would simply have helped you out of the goodness of his heart?

Yep. That would have been so like him.

And if he would have? If he really would have?

Then I would have been in even bigger trouble. Because if Mr Rikkard Ambrose, against all the dictates of his nature, would actually have helped me without expecting anything in return, then that would have meant that there was more to this than the mad passion of two cooked brains in exotic surroundings. Much, much more. In this heat, Mr Ambrose might melt so far as to take advantage of me - but let me take advantage of him? Let someone get at his precious purse? Never!

If he had opened it out of his own free will, just for me…

I couldn’t even finish the thought. A shiver ran down my back at the weighty implications of such an action.

And you, Lilly? You keep wondering what he might do for you. But if push came to shove, what would you do for him?

A good question. So good in fact that, at the moment, I didn’t have an answer.

But there was one question to which the answer was crystal-clear.

Could I let something like this ever happen again?

No!

No, no, no, nononononono, and again, no!

I thought of the wild, irrational passion I had felt a few hours ago. It seemed very far away now. When logically weighed against all the ramifications, all the problems, the unresolved feelings and unspoken words that awaited us if this repeated itself, it didn’t seem like much. No, a few moments of passion definitely were not enough reason to risk my safety, security and future, let alone my self-esteem. Right then and there, I came to a firm resolution that Mr Ambrose and I were finished!

But then I felt Mr Ambrose’s gaze on my neck and remembered his hard body pressed up against mine, and I realised that some things might be even firmer than my firm resolution.

*~*~**~*~*

‘That’s it,’ I said, pointing excitedly ahead. ‘That’s the river!’

Mr Ambrose appeared beside me in a blink. ‘I can hardly see it yet through the trees. Are you sure it’s the same one that is mentioned in the manuscript?’

I bloody well hope so, or we’ll get hopelessly lost and we’ll end up getting eaten by cannibals somewhere in this green stew pot.

‘Yes! Absolutely.’

‘I see.’

‘We follow the river for ten miles, then find our next point of orientation.’

‘Acceptable. Lead on, Karim.’

Luckily, we didn’t encounter any cannibals along the river. If some were going to make a meal of us, however, they would have to hurry. Our supplies were dwindling rapidly, and our water flasks were almost empty. When I mentioned this to Mr Ambrose, he gave a curt nod.

‘Yes, I know, Mr Linton. I would have taken action before, but I wished to get as far ahead as possible of any pursuers first.’

‘Taken action? How?’

‘You’ll see.’

He wouldn’t say a word more. That night, when we made camp, Karim, at a nod from his employer, pulled out an axe and started chopping down saplings. Soon, he had four serviceable sticks, cleaned of bark and branches. Ramming them into the ground, he went over to his knapsack.

‘What are you doing?’ I wanted to know.

The only answer I got was a grunt. These days, Karim didn’t even glare at me anymore, due to my lack of clothing. At least he had stopped walking around with his hand in front of his eyes after he had run into a tree for the ninety-seventh time.

Karim returned with a large, folded piece of leather. As he spread it over the sticks, I saw that it had a little hole in the middle, that was now hanging at the lowest point of the construction. A raindrop from above fell on the leather, ran down the slope and slipped through the hole - just in time to drop into the bowl which Karim had placed beneath.

I was so fascinated by the construction that I hadn’t even noticed Mr Ambrose’s absence. Only when he returned out of the direction of the river, a four-pronged wooden spear in one hand, and a bundle of fish in the other, did I realise he had been just as busy as Karim, if not more so. I took in the sight of him, swallowing. Marching towards me in his tailcoat and tight trousers, carrying spear and fish, he seemed like a strange mix of master of civilisation and caveman. On most men, such a mixed look would have looked ridiculous. But one look at the way Mr Ambrose handled his spear was enough to make clear that this was one hundred per cent real. If civilisation collapsed tomorrow and he would have to make his way in the wilderness, I had no doubt he would be just as much master of the situation as he was in his office at Empire House, 322 Leadenhall Street.

I watched him while he cleaned and skinned the fish with efficient movements. It was fascinating, but also pretty unappetising. I couldn’t imagine ever eating something that slimy. But once he had gotten a fire going and the smell of roasting fish was drifting over towards me, water started to run in my mouth.

Good God! I’d had no idea that I was so hungry! Was one of those fishes actually for me?

I pondered the question.

Yes, it probably was. But Mr Ambrose would also probably deduct the cost for it from my wages. And since it had been fished by Britain’s richest financier, the cost was bound to be pretty high.

I sighed. There was no help for it. I might like to think of myself as independent, but here in the jungle I wasn’t. At least until I got Mr Ambrose to teach me how to make one of those spears. Resigned to my fate, I settled against a tree and closed my eyes to wait. I was in no hurry to find out how much Mr Ambrose would demand for half a roasted fish.

‘Here.’

My eyes snapped open.

He was there, in front of me. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, towering above me, his hand extended. And in his hand was a stick, still smoking, with the first two roasted fish.

‘W-what?’ I blinked up at him, in complete confusion.

He cocked his head. ‘Eat.’

And, with a look so dark and intense I was incapable of resisting, he shoved the stick into my hand. His eyes swept over me, from top to bottom, as if he wanted to check that all was still there, then he turned, marched back to the fireside and resumed skinning fish.

I sat there, with the stick in my hand, taking it all in.

Mr Ambrose had just given something to me.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose, uncrowned King of the Misers of Great Britain and Ireland, had just given something to me without demanding anything in return.

Well, well. Miracles do happen.

Deciding to postpone thinking about the immense theological-philosophical implications of this wondrous event until later, I dug into my fish. The taste hit me like a sledgehammer, and I leaned back, sighing in bliss. I suppose that, to many people, the fish would have tasted a little bland. But to yours truly, who had grown up on a diet of potatoes and dry bread in the household of her generous uncle, they seemed like the sweetest feast heaven could offer. In other words, almost as good as solid chocolate.

We continued along the riverbank, marching almost as fast as during the previous days, but making camp slightly earlier so Karim could set up his rainwater-catching contraption and Mr Ambrose could go fishing. The moment he picked up his spear that second evening, I was at his side, grasping the wooden shaft and halting him in his tracks.

His eyes zeroed in on me.

‘What do you want, Mr Linton?’

‘One of these.’ Meeting his gaze unblinking, I tugged at the spear. ‘Teach me how to make them.’

He cocked his head, his gaze growing more intent. ‘Indeed?’

‘Yes indeed, Sir.’

‘What’s the magic word, Mr Linton?’

I smirked. ‘Now!’

That clearly wasn’t what he had been expecting. For one moment, one single little moment, the muscles around his mouth seemed to twitch - almost as if he was tempted to laugh.

‘It seems like you’ve been paying attention, Mr Linton.’

‘I always do, Sir.’

He gave a hard tug, and his spear slid from my grasp.

‘I see. Well, then let’s get down to business. Get the small axe from your pack, a knife and twine.’

‘Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!’