New Storm Rising

05. Committee for the Romantic Rights of Crossdressing Secretaries

Out of the corner of my eye, I kept peeking at the implacable profile of Rikkard Ambrose. There wasn't a single little twitch on his chiselled face. Nothing whatsoever betrayed the little fact that he had just plunged the entire City of New York into chaos.

Unfolding the paper in my hand, I glanced down at the headline.

INTERNATIONAL SCANDAL UNFOLDS

Relative of the King of Spain Arrested for Illegal Slave Trade

Notable Personage calls it "Outrageous Act of Villainy" and demands their long-term imprisonment, along with confiscation of their property

"I wonder," I said, cocking my head at my dear employer, "who this 'notable personage' might be?"

"I couldn't say, Mr Linton."

"I bet." I felt one corner of my mouth twitch. "After all, this lovely country has this law that allows you to refuse incriminating yourself, right?"

"Indeed."

There was a pause.

"Are you seriously going to try and keep that ship?"

"What do you think, Mr Linton?"

"But...but that ship belongs to the Spanish Crown!"

"Do you think the Spanish crown is on board?"

"No!"

"Pity. Crown jewels tend to be worth quite a bit."

"Yes." Eyes narrowing, I lowered my gaze to Mr Ambrose' groin area. "I suspect most people do value their crown jewels rather highly. It would be a pity if something were to happen to them, wouldn't it, Sir?"

Shifting, Mr Ambrose directed a cool gaze my way. "Why do I get the feeling that you are less than pleased with me, Mr Linton?"

"Perhaps because your dick is in imminent danger?"

"We're married," he reminded me. "And on our honeymoon."

Dang it! He was right! What was a girl to do? He was being an unreasonable arse, and deserved a good kick in the bollocks, but...

Ehem.

Suffice it to say I still had a use for them.

Blast.

Oh well, I might as well make the best of it. Tonight, once we were settled in a nice, comfy inn and had found a room to be alone...

Images started flashing past my mind's eye, and warm feelings started rising up inside me. Ah, honeymoon, sweet honeymoon.

Abruptly, the coach we were sitting in swerved, and the feelings rising up inside me were replaced by other, much less pleasant ones, rising fast inside my throat. Desperately, I threw open the coach window and leaned outside.

"Bleeeargh!"

Correction: puke-flavoured honeymoon.

"I hope you are enjoying the view, Mr Linton?"

"Sh-shut up!"

Reaching back into the coach, I made some less than complimentary gestures at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, only to realize I had let go of the window frame and nearly toppled headfirst out of the carriage. Crap! Why was this happening? Why was I still seasick? I was on land, wasn't I? Or was I still on the ocean, riding in Poseidon's personal carriage?

In that case, Poseidon could go frig himself!

"Say," I groaned, clutching my protesting stomach. "Is there such a thing as landsickness?"