"Because we are heading to a factory."

I ground my teeth.

He doesn't even bother to deny it, the goddamn son of a bachelor...!

"Let me rephrase, then." I dragged in a deep breath. "Why are we heading to a factory?"

Swivelling his head towards me, Britain's richest business mogul sent me a stare as cold as the heart of an iceberg. "You asked me to find an appropriate place for the girl, did you not?"

I felt my heart plunge into a dark hole.

No.

No. This couldn't really be the man I married, right?

A sudden chill went down my spine, and dizziness started to overcome me. By the time it subsided, the carriage had stopped in front of a tall brick building with several towering smokestacks spewing black fumes into the air.

"Where are we? Where are we?" Leah eagerly demanded, jumping up and down in Mr Ambrose's lap.

The poor girl. I couldn't bring myself to answer her. Because what answer could I really give? That I'd torn her from her lifelong dream for this? To be forced to slave away in a factory for the rest of her life? By my own husband?

No! No, this could not be allowed! I would stop this! I had to stop this! Straightening my back, I turned towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose, opened my mouth and...

...ended up staring at an empty seat and an open carriage door.

The two of them were already gone.

Crap, crap, crap!

Cursing under my breath, I clambered out of the carriage and raced towards the spiky, wrought-iron gate of the factory. The gate that was already closed behind Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

Bloody son of a bachelor! Just you wait until I get my hands on you!

"Good Sir..." With effort, I forced a bright smile onto my face as I turned towards the guard at the gate. "Would you be so kind as to let me in?"

"And why would I do dat, eh?" Snorting, the man spat a chunk of chewing tobacco onto the street—then glanced down at my bulging abdomen. "If you wanna make some money for that brat in your belly, I'm sure there would be enough men willing to pay if you're nice to dem."

My smile flickered. "Why should you help me, you ask?" Cracking my knuckles, I stepped forward. "Well, let me explain exactly why..."

Five minutes and a repentant gate guard later, I hurried onto the factory grounds. I was just in time to see Mr Ambrose enter the main building, Leah right beside him.

Well...let's hope this is a meat processing plant. That would make it so much easier to turn Mr Rikkard Ambrose into mincemeat.

Full of determination, I quickly strode towards the factory entrance. The fact that, from the outside, my confident stride might have looked like a slow waddle was totally beside the point.

The inside of the factory, unfortunately, did not in any way resemble a meat processing plant. Apparently, I would have to turn my dear husband into mincemeat with my bare hands. Instead of dangling slabs of meat and numerous butchers with knives, the large hall was filled with work tables where people frantically worked on...wooden blocks? And...heads? And piles of what looked like horse hair?

What the heck?

Later, Lilly. Right now, you have a husband to eviscerate.

Eyes fixed on the distant back of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I stalked forward. He had come to a halt at the other end of the hall, in front of what looked like a supervisor's office. Without bothering to knock on the door, he pushed it open.

"Oy!" a gruff shout came from inside. "Didn't I say nobody should disturb me while I'm worki—ehem. Umm...oh. Mr Ambrose. T-to what do I owe the pleasure?

"I have found someone to fill the empty post I was informed about."

"I-is that so?"

Before Mr Ambrose could answer, I came up from behind him. "Stop right there!" My voice was a low hiss, venomous as a snake. "Are you seriously planning on doing this?"

He glanced back over his shoulders coolly. "There is no such thing as a free meal in this life, Mrs Ambrose. I work hard, and expect everyone else to do the same. Did you really expect me to simply support a leech for years to come?"

A...leech?

I looked at him for a long moment. Really looked. His cold eyes. His hard, emotionless expression. His chiselled, magnificently beautiful face.

"Yes," I told him. "Yes, I really did."

He turned away again. "Then I suppose you do not know me as well as you thought you did."

"No." Swallowing, I clenched my fists. "No, I suppose I don't."

What to say next? What to do? What could a woman do when she discovered that the man she had married was not who she thought he was?

Kick his arse, that's what!

Before I could execute that excellent idea, the factory supervisor appeared in the door of his office and decided to butt in. "So, Mr Ambrose, where is the man you've found for the job? Must be an extraordinary individual for such, ehem...strenuous work."

"Strenuous?" I demanded—and was promptly ignored. Fists clenching even more tightly, I felt rage build inside me.

He dares to ignore me? He goes and breaks his promise, forces a girl I put under my protection to slave away in a factory, and then he dares to ignore me? I'm going to—

"Man for the job?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head at the supervisor. "I never said it would be a man, did I? Here she is." And he pushed Leah forward. "Your new chief toy tester."

—strangle the bastard! And then I'm going to rip out his guts and...wait, what?!

"Are you sure, Sir?" The supervisor frowned, pointing at a pile in the corner. "We mostly produce boys' toys here, and I doubt a young girl would be suitable to—"

"Yay! Fun stuff!"

Abruptly, the supervisor found himself elbowed aside by a tiny female missile. It struck the pile and burrowed into it, resurfacing moments later with a wooden sabre in hand and a model ship in the other. With a delighted laugh, she stabbed the sabre forward.

"Arrr! Die, landlubber!"

"Yes," Mr Ambrose stated. "I am quite sure she is suitable."

Moving past his employee, my husband stepped towards the little girl, who was currently trying to arrange the pile of toy boats scattered around her into a formidable fleet. I was only vaguely aware of her or my husband right now, however. My mind was a bit numb, echoing with the words I had just heard.

Chief toy tester? Chief toy tester?

...

Factory work my foot! Oh that conniving, granite-faced son of a...!

"Girl!" Snapping his fingers, Mr Ambrose drew the attention of the mini-pirate.

"Aye aye, Captain?"

"I shall expect you to work diligently, understood?" He gestured at the mountain of toys. "You will be required to work all day long, testing all of these toys extensively!"

"Understood, Sir!"

"And I want reports in triplicate."

"Aye aye, Captain!"

"And if you start lazing around, you will be keelhauled!"

"Aye aye, Captain!"

Mr Ambrose scrutinised her for a moment before he finally gave her a brisk nod. "Adequate. Carry on, sailor."

Then he whirled around and stalked back the way he had come, past me and towards the exit of the factory. As for me? I sidled up to him, a shit-eating grin on my face.

"So, Mr Ambrose..." My grin widened even farther, turning from shit-eating to outright dungheap-devouring. "There is no such thing as a free meal in this life? You expect everyone to work hard?"

"Indeed."

Sliding an arm around his waist, I gave him a squeeze. "And you depositing a little girl in front of a mountain of toys is purely because you want her to work hard."

"Toy tester is a perfectly normal occupation."

"Naturally."

"And I shall pay her no more than the minimum wage for her position."

"Of course you won't. Let me ask...is there a home included with the minimum wage?"

A pause.

"The contract for a chief toy tester does indeed include a company flat."

"Which is situated where?"

Another pause.

"In one of the better quarters of London." A muscle in his face twitched. "Next to the flat of an old acquaintance of my mother's."

"And you only did that because it was in your standard contract."

The muscle in his cheek twitched again. "Indeed. What is the reason for these superfluous questions?"

"Oh...no reason."

Taking a deep breath, I leaned against him and slipped my hand into his.

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?

"I love you."

A moment of silence. Then...

"Likewise."

Smiling, I leaned against him. Yes. This was the man I had married.

Together, we strolled out of the factory, past the paling gate guard, and towards our carriage. For some reason, it looked a thousand times more comfortable than when I'd left it minutes earlier. The driver quickly jumped from the box and pulled the door open for us.

"Shall we?" Mr Ambrose asked, extending his hand to help me inside. His familiar, dark, sea-coloured eyes were gazing straight into my eyes—and through them, into my soul. In those eyes, I saw it. I would never have to doubt him like this again. Never ever.

I squeezed his hand. "We shall."

We spent the journey back in—you guessed it—comfortable silence. There wasn't really any need for words. All the things we wanted to say were in our eyes, and in the way we held each other. Most especially in the way Mr Rikkard Ambrose's hand rested on my belly.

Yes, comfortable silence was good.

Slowly, I snuggled closer to him, until...until...

"Mrs Ambrose? Mrs Ambrose, we're here."

I blinked, yawning. Had I fallen asleep?

Glancing out of the window, I saw that, yes, I had. There, right before me, was Empire House in all its monolithic splendour, and in front of it...

"Karim?"

I frowned. For a moment, I was confused why he would be out here in the cold—then I remembered. The prisoner. The interrogation.

Abruptly, I was wide awake. Shooting up, I clambered out of the coach, my husband right behind me. One glance at the triumphant gleam in Karim's eyes was enough for me.

"Is it done?" Mr Ambrose demanded before I could. "Is he ready?"

The bodyguard inclined his head. "It is done, Sahib."

"Adequate." Mr Ambrose motioned at the entryway. "Lead the way."

"Yes, Sahib!"

The walk inside and down to the dungeon seemed to take significantly longer than last time, although my impatience might have had a little bit to do with that. When we finally reached our destination, I saw two of Mr Ambrose's faceless drones in dark tailcoats and bowler hats standing guard on either side of the cell's entrance. The moment they spotted us, they wordlessly stepped aside. Karim opened the door and stuck his head inside.

"I'm back."

"Aaaahhh! Please, no! I'll talk, I'll talk! I swear, I'll tell you anything you want! Pleasepleasepleasedon'tcomenearme!"

"Hm, yes." I gave a nod. "I think you were right, Karim. In my expert opinion, he seems ready to talk."

Together, the three of us stepped into the room. There we found the Frenchman hanging from a hook in the ceiling, his eyes covered by a blindfold.

"Please! Oh, please, Sir! I'll do whatever you want! No more! Please, no more!"

"Oh my..." I couldn't resist. My inner Amy wouldn't let me. I winked at Karim. "Kinky. Very kinky."

The bodyguard sent me a look that could peel paint at fifty paces. "Sahib? Permission to fetch another hook?"

"Denied. Now get on with it."

Grumpily, Karim strode over to the dangling prisoner and tore the blindfold from his face. The man blinked in the sudden light, saw Karim's face—and screamed. After a moment or two, the screams subsided into whimpers, and the man's attention focused on trying to back away while his feet still weren't touching the ground. He wasn't having much success.

"PleaseDon'tPleaseDon'tPleaseDon't—!"

Karim snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the man shut up.

Wow. I smiled. He's good.

Then Mr Ambrose stepped forward, and the Frenchman nearly fainted in fear, all colour draining from his face.

Though not nearly as good as someone else I might mention.

My dear husband cocked his head.

"Well?"

He didn't demand. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

"P-please!" Monsieur FDM begged, sweat pouring down his neck. "Please! I'll tell you anything! Anything! Just don't..." He glanced over at Karim.

Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod, then looked at the man as if to say I'm waiting.

"Y-you were right. Right about everything." The Frenchman swallowed. "It was all a ruse, Monsieur. All a ruse to make you think Lord Dalgliesh was attacking your business. I...I'm not in the service of Lord Dalgliesh, Monsieur. In fact, I am not in anyone's permanent service. I am an...agent for hire, you might say. I was just returning from a trip to Bavaria when I was visited by a hooded man. He offered me an outrageous sum of money just to come with him and listen to a job offer." The man snorted derisively. "I should have known it was too good to be true."

"Yes." I nodded. "You should have."

Mr Ambrose gestured for him to continue. "Go on."

"I was brought to a luxurious, yet completely abandoned house at the edge of town. There, another man awaited me. He didn't wear a hood to conceal his face. Instead, he never showed himself at all, talking from behind a screen. He offered me a task. A simple task, it seemed. I was merely supposed to act as a go-between, to find some mercenary willing to play the rich businessman and organise a crew of pirates to attack some ships. It seemed simple enough. The pay was good. I agreed. But..."

Raising his head, he stared at us, his gaze suddenly sharper, revealing a hint of the man he had been before Karim had gotten his hands on him. A spy, infiltrator, and all around scumbag—but one who had survived for a long time.

"It seemed just a little too simple. If the things I had to do were so easy and risk-free, why all the secrecy? Why offer me so much money? Despite what you might think, I'm nobody's fool, Monsieur. Plus, I am not in the habit of doing work without knowing who I am working for."

"You investigated."

It wasn't a question. It was a cold, hard statement.

"Oui, Monsieur. I did. I was an acrobat in my youth. So it was a fairly easy matter for me to scale the wall at the back of the house and cross a few roofs. That's when I saw him. That's when I recognised him." An involuntary shiver racked his body. "And I realised why I had to take the job."

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

It took a while for me to figure out what to do with Leah. In the end, I think I have come up with a uniquely Ambrosian solution, don't you think? ;)

Two more chapters to conclude this book!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob