"Why, pray, when a man was washed ashore on this island a few days ago, did he claim to be part of the crew of a merchant ship belonging to my employer? A ship that, according to him, you personally sank?"

I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose. How the heck was he going to get us out of that one?

"Because I did."

Ah. Apparently he wasn't.

Lachance stiffened. "What! Why?"

"For more money."

Was today Be-Suicidally-Honest Day? If it had been Mr Ambrose's intention to stun Lachance and his cronies into silence, he had certainly succeeded. Nothing could be heard except for the sound of the sea and the chirping of the crickets in the background. By the looks on the faces of Lachance and his subordinates, they had been expecting a long and elaborate explanation in order to escape imminent death. If so, they were to be severely disappointed.

"Pardon, mon ami?" Lachance's fingers were twitching, slowly moving in the direction of his gun. "What did you say?"

"Did I not speak clearly?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "For. More. Money."

Another moment of silence. Then...

"My apologies, Monsieur. I had simply assumed that you would be at least slightly reticent to admit stealing from your employer. Apparently, this is not the case."

"Indeed," Mr Ambrose responded. He did not seem in the least worried about pissing off the men with guns. In fact, he seemed to be actively trying! Why the heck...?

Oh.

Just then I noticed: all the guns that had previously been pointing at us, were now exclusively pointed at him.

Blast! That daft, blockheaded son of a bachelor! How could he do something so stupid, so insane, so...

...loving?

Shut up, stupid inner voice.

But what exactly did he mean to achieve by putting himself between me and two dozen loaded guns? Was he planning to block all the bullets with his body? Did he think he was made out of rock?

...

On second thought, cancel that question. He might actually have a point.

Not that this made me worry any less, though. Carefully, I positioned myself in Mr Ambrose's shadow in such a way that I could slip my hand underneath my tailcoat without being seen. Inch by inch, it moved closer to my pistol. I was not going to just lie down and die for that bastard Frenchman!

"You...!" The word that escaped Lachance was nothing more than a hiss. "Do you know what I do to people who betray me?"

"Pay them even more money?"

The Frenchman's entire body jerked, as if he were barely resisting throwing himself at my husband. And not the same way I did on my wedding night.

"Maybe I won't finish you off immediately, mon ami." The man's dark eyes flashed. "Maybe I'll leave your remnants for my men to take care of. Would you like that?"

"I doubt very much that will happen."

Lachance stepped forward. One gesture to his men, and they tightened the ring around us. The Frenchman smiled. "You're awfully confident for a man about to die."

"I am not about to die."

"Oh?" Lachance's smile turned into a sneer. "You're two against two dozen. Do you have reason to think you can win?"

"No." Mr Ambrose shook his head. "Not yet."

"Huh?"

That was when Mr Rikkard Ambrose pulled a pocket watch out of his tailcoat pocket and let it snap open. What the heck was he doing?

"Three...two...one..."

"Aaarrr!"

That sound. That sweet, sublime, piratical sound. A broad smile spread across my face as dozens, no, hundreds of raggedly dressed men armed with sabres, pistols and cutlasses flooded around the corner of the path leading to the beach, roaring their heads off. Before anyone could even blink, the first gunshot sounded and the first of the Frenchman's goons went down. The next fell over with a cutlass in his back. The others whirled around—only to get another round of lead in the face. A mere few seconds had passed, and, aside from us and the pirates, Lachance was the only man left standing.

"Now...you were saying something about me dying?" Eyes glittering coldly, Mr Ambrose stepped towards the suddenly rather pale Frenchman. "I do not like these conditions. Let's renegotiate our contract."

Did I mention that I have a badass husband?

***

Ten minutes later, we were safely on the high seas, and Monsieur Lachance was tied to a mast with a gaggle of grinning pirates around him. To judge by the look on his face, he very much did not appreciate the view.

Hm...I had no idea that pirates were this useful. Should I bring some of them back to London? I grinned. I know a few people who would benefit from being tied to a mast on a pirate ship. My twin sisters, for instance...

I was abruptly torn from my fantasies of standing cackling over Anne and Maria, armed with a cutlass and wearing a suitably piratical eyepatch, by a muffled growl coming from the direction of the mast. Glancing up, I caught sight of a certain Frenchman trying to chew through the gag in his mouth.

"What was that?" Mr Ambrose cupped a hand behind his ear. "I didn't quite catch that."

The pirates all around burst into laughter.

"Grrng! Agrrmrr! Mmmphrrg!"

"Well, if you wish to talk, who am I to stop you?"

Mr Ambrose snapped his fingers. One of the pirates leapt forward and tugged the improvised gag from the tied-up man's mouth. Our prisoner spat and coughed for a moment, then lifted his head to glare at my dear husband.

"Merde! What the hell do you think you are doing, you fool?"

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "Watching a tied-up man rant uselessly?"

That resulted in a slew of French swear words, though none were nearly as inventive as the ones I'd heard from various sailors around the world. Shaking my head disappointedly, I wondered whether I should suggest a few better curse words to the poor man. To judge by the look on Mr Ambrose's face, the man was going to need them.

Finally, the rant ended, replaced by a steely glare.

"I demand to know what is going on, you filthy pirate!" Lachance hissed. "Why did you turn traitor? Why did you take me? Just for a measly few hundred pounds more? You fool! If you think you can get a ransom..."

"Oh, I will get something from you all right." Reaching into his pocket, Mr Ambrose pulled out a knife and twirled it between his fingers. "But it will be something much more valuable than a ransom."

"Really? If not money, then what? Are you going to let your pirates torture me for your sick amusement?" Lachance sneered. "You really are nothing but a barbaric, brainless thug."

"Oh no." Mr Ambrose shook his head. "I'm not going to let my pirates torture you."

"Really?" Lachance's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Really." Eyes darkening, my husband took a step towards his prisoner. "Some things a man just has to do himself. Men!"

"Aye aye, Captain!"

"Leave me alone with Freddie and our guest. We have things to discuss."

With some rather evil chuckles, the pirates vacated the area. Moments later, we were alone.

Inwardly, I smiled.

"Clever," I admitted to my dear husband in a whisper. "It's the perfect pretence to get rid of the pirates to have a private chat with our guest."

Glancing towards me, Mr Ambrose sent me a look, his eyes glittering with icy cold. "Who says it's only a pretence?"

It was then I remembered that the man tied to the mast had played a role in threatening the life of Mr Ambrose's wife and child. A shiver went down my spine. Oh my. I really didn't want to be in Monsieur Lachance's shoes right now.

The Frenchman, however, did not quite seem to have realized the situation he was in. How did I know this?

Well, the way he spat at my husband's feet was a pretty good hint.

"If you think you can get away with this, you are very much mistaken, scum! You, petty little pirate, have stepped into something that is far beyond you! I have powerful friends! My employer will—"

"Ah, yes, your employer." Cocking his head, Mr Ambrose took a step forward. "Let's talk about him."

The Frenchman's eyes narrowed. "Why? So you know exactly how much merde you are in, pirate scum?"

I couldn't help it. The snort of laughter escaped me before I could suppress it. The irony!

"Not exactly." Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes were calm and serene, and yet, somehow, held enough ice in them to freeze an entire continent. "I wonder...when your master ordered you to obtain the services of a pirate fleet, did he tell you why he wanted those pirate raids to happen?"

Lachance frowned. "That is above my pay grade, and yours, you snivelling traitor! All I know was that they were to target the Ambrose Shipping Company."

"Indeed." Another step forward. "And tell me, did I ever mention my name to you?"

"Of course you did! It's Rockface!"

"Oh, that is just a pseudonym I use for my less-than-lawful activities. My true name..." Leaning forward, he lowered his voice to a whisper as he approached Lachance's ear. "...is Mister Rikkard Ambrose."

The Frenchman hadn't flinched at the sight of the knife. He hadn't blinked when faced with heavily armed pirates. But the moment those words left my husband's lips, Lachance's face went white as a sheet.

"Y-you...you c-can't be..."

"Indeed I can." Leisurely, Ambrose started sliding the knife over the front of Lachance's lace shirt. "So, you understand why I might be very interested in your employer's name. Why I might be very interested in discovering who sent a saboteur aboard my ship, made me shipwreck, and almost killed me in the process."

And my wife and child.

The words remained unsaid. He would not risk speaking them while I still remained incognito—but I could see them in his eyes, blazing with cold fury.

"I-I assure you, Mr Ambrose, I had nothing to do with that! That was organized by another agent who—"

"How much?" Mr Ambrose cut him off, quite literally. The blade of the knife rested against Lachance's neck. "How much is Dalgliesh paying you?"

The Frenchman blinked. "Who?"

Mr Ambrose studied the Frenchman's face for a long moment—then he glanced over at me, who had been doing the same. I nodded.

"So...it really wasn't him."

I frowned. "But I thought you told me once that Dalgliesh was your only serious competitor. The only one who could, or even would try to, pull off something like that."

"Indeed he is." My darling husband gave a curt nod. "My only serious competitor—within the British Empire." Abruptly, he withdrew the knife and began to circle Lachance, like a lion stalking his cornered prey. No...not like a lion. Like a hyena. Because a lion's prey might still have a chance to escape and survive, but Lachance was already a carcass. He just didn't know it yet. "You know...I found it rather strange from the beginning. British pirates in an area where the British do not have much power or influence? Even their secret backer is stationed on one of the few British colonies out here. But then we infiltrate the manor, meet the man, and...voila, he's French."

I felt something click. "You mean..."

"I mean this has been a charade from the beginning. Whoever set this up wanted us to believe an Englishman was responsible. It is well known in the business world that Dalgliesh and I have a certain amount of rivalry between us..."

I snorted in a not-very-ladylike manner. Calling the relationship between my husband and Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh a "certain amount of rivalry" was like saying the Βritish Empire had conquered a few bits and pieces of land here and there.

Mr Ambrose sent me a censorious look for the interruption. "...and it was only a matter of time before someone was stupid enough to take advantage of it."

"Stupid?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"Stupid. For two reasons." He raised a finger. "One. How do you think Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, majority shareholder of the East India Company and unofficial tyrant of an entire subcontinent, will respond to being used as a scapegoat in another's schemes?"

"Oh." Slowly, very slowly, a devious smile spread across my face. In the background, I could see Lachance's face grow another shade paler. "Oh boy."

"Indeed."

"And the second reason?"

That was when Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes met mine, and I couldn't help but shiver. "How do you think I will respond to this?"

I thought Lachance couldn't get any paler. I had been wrong. My smile widened. Right now, I wasn't feeling particularly charitable towards the French.

"Now..." Slowly turning towards our captive, Mr Rikkard Ambrose pierced him with his deadly gaze. "Only one question remains."

"It does?" I enquired in a faux-innocent voice, playing along.

"Indeed." He took a step towards the man tied to the mast. "We know everything was planned by a Frenchman. The question is...which Frenchman?"

Lachance's face was still devoid of colour, but resolute. "I will tell you nothing."

"Is that so...?"

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally—then he whirled around and strode to the railing. There, he stood, gazing out over the ocean.

"Mr Linton?"

"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?" I responded, instantly slipping into the familiar role of dutiful secretary and torture assistant.

"I have always been one to efficiently utilize available resources, have I not?"

"You have, Sir."

There was a long moment of silence. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see sweat starting to trickle down the Frenchman's neck.

"You know..." he finally continued, "some years back, when I was in China, I learned about an interesting interrogation method."

"Indeed, Sir?"

"Oh yes." Mr Ambrose's fingers started tapping a simple rhythm on the wood of the railing. Tap, tap, tap. "All you would have to do is tie a man down, place a bucket full of water with a hole in the bottom over his head, and let the water droplets fall." Tap, tap, tap. "It won't kill him. It won't even injure him in any way. But the constant repetition, the sleep deprivation, the mental fatigue will break anyone. All you need is plenty of water. And look..." Turning to face me and his victim, his eyes the darkest shade I had ever seen, my dear husband gestured at the ocean. "Look what we have here."

I couldn't help but smile again. I had a sudden feeling that, soon, we would have a lot of information on our current enemy number one.

--------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

We're fast approaching the climax of this story. Ten chapters left till the end of the book! :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob