Chapter 10
“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing, woman?”
These words had come from Ram, who was now stalking across the grassed area in the middle of the street, where all Crabbett Close activities took place, from what Ambrose could ascertain.
Squinting, Ambrose saw Flora, Ram’s wife. She was wandering around slowly, chatting to people. Her belly was enormous now, her baby clearly due any day.
“That man is ridiculous.” Ellen sighed. “Flora said he was such a wonderful husband before she became pregnant, and now she constantly wants to slap him because of his fussing.”
“Surely he is allowed to worry? After all, it is his child too,” Ambrose protested. “He cares for her, and…” His words fell away as Ellen stopped directly in front of him, thereby blocking his path.
“Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time, Ambrose. Not men.”
He thought he should nod, and he did so, twice.
“They know what their bodies are capable of while carrying a child.”
Another nod.
“While support is welcome, flapping about like a mother hen and watching a woman’s every move is not. So when the time comes that you are blessed with a wife who is carrying your child, remember my words, Ambrose.”
He dared not acknowledge Alex, who stood behind his sister with crossed eyes.
“I understand, Ellen,” Ambrose said solemnly.
His eyes then found Tilly, who was running around in circles with Lottie, Bram and Iris’s daughter. Would she one day be swollen with a child in her belly? The thought made him feel odd inside.
“Right, then, I believe there are to be new rules,” Mungo said. He was holding his wife Eliza’s hand. It was a strange thing to see because it softened the fierce Scotsman, even though he was still scowling.
Around the close, trestle tables were being set up with things they would be forced to consume, read, or do.
“Must I participate?” Ambrose said.
“You sound like Lottie when she’s weary,” Bram said.
“Whiny, do you mean?” Violet asked, overhearing. “He excels at that particular tone.”
Bram smiled at her. “Exactly that.”
Ambrose lunged at her, but she danced back out of his reach.
A loud throat-clearing had them all moving to the rotunda. Inside it was Mr. Greedy, who apparently had the loudest voice.
“We have a new rule for these games. You will be tied to each other, and as you collect a team member, they will then be joined by the wrist also,” Mr. Greedy was saying.
“What madness is this?” Ambrose muttered.
“The full Tibullus’s quote is ‘What madness is this, inviting sable Death by warfare? It always hovers close and comes unforeseen on silent steps.’ It is about the irrationality of risking one’s life in war for wealth,” Mr. Peaky said as he passed.
“Have no fear, as we are about to do neither and only have fun, my lord.”
Ambrose had been well-educated and was a member of the nobility.
These people had a way of leveling him. They cared nothing for titles, nor did they respect his long lineage.
They were better educated than many, and a man who was stoop-shouldered and dressed in layers of knitted clothing had just quoted Tibullus to him.
It was as if he’d stepped into some kind of odd universe when he came here.
“Your mouth is open.”
He looked at the woman approaching and felt that pull of something deep inside him. Almost a desperation that had only increased since that kiss they’d shared.
“Aren’t you constantly shocked or in awe when you are around these people?” Ambrose asked her.
Tilly turned on her heel in a full circle, the hem of her sable-hued coat opening to show him a flash of her cream skirts.
“They are wonderful,” she said with a smile that made her face come alive. “But of course, for someone with your pristine bloodline, who is buttoned up tight, it cannot be easy.”
“That’s an insult I refute wholeheartedly. Since the Nightingales have entered my life, I have done many unbuttoned things. I’ll add to that and remind you your birth is not a great deal different to mine, surely, madam?”
The smile slipped, and something dimmed in her eyes, then it was gone.
“Tilly—”
“We are to begin, and I am on your team, so you must perform better than you did last time,” she said, walking back to Lottie.
“They have sugarplums,” Alex hissed, setting off after her.
“Do we have any new participants?” Mr. Greedy called.
“Mavis’s cousin is visiting!” someone yelled. “Leonard is his name!”
Ambrose looked towards the exit of Crabbett Close. He could make a run for it, and who would stop him? Perhaps coming back here again might be a bit awkward, but he’d cope.
“I believe they have a list of people who have refused to take part, and it is committed to memory,” Charles said. “Clemmie Acton refused and thought closing his curtains would see him safe. It didn’t and took him quite some time to get back into the locals’ good graces.”
Ambrose sighed.
“Good man.” Charles clapped him on the shoulder.
He was to start along with the other men, plus Mavis, as they could hold their liquor better, supposedly. Ambrose had no wish to drink anything on those tables, except Mr. Peeky’s spiced rum.
“I believe Mrs. Acton is taking over the Douglas table and has made the treacle cake this year, following Mrs. Douglas’s recipe exactly,” Ambrose heard Bram say from beside him.
“I doubt that, but I applaud her for trying,” Leo replied.
The air was cooler now, and looking up, Ambrose thought there could be rain soon. Would that cancel the games? He hoped so. Farther up the close, a group of women, plus Theo and Clemmie Acton, waited.
“Why is Theo up there?” Ambrose demanded.
“He is on Mavis’s team and they cannot both start,” Ram explained. He then lunged forward on his left leg, then the right.
“What are you doing?”
“Warming up my muscles.”
“Why are they cold when you are wearing multiple layers of clothing?” Ambrose asked.
“Oh, you poor, simple-minded man,” Ram said, shaking his head.
“Muscles, unless stretched and warmed tend to break or tear,” Mavis said from the far end. She was stretching also.
“I do wonder if this oddness is catching,” Ambrose muttered.
“It is,” Gray said. “I refuse to end up pickled this year,” he added.
Mungo snorted, and the detective sent him a foul look.
“Go!” Mr. Greedy yelled.
He ran with the others, and of course Mavis already had a gap on them by the time he reached Tilly. She was waiting at the Alvin table for him. Looking from her to the two things on it, he said, “Select something, then.”
“How gentlemanly,” she mocked him, looking from the mug to the plate.
When another few seconds had passed and she had still yet to reach for anything, he grabbed the mug.
“I wanted that.”
“I gave you the chance. You did not take it.” He threw back the contents of the mug and then shuddered as it hit the back of his throat. The mutton fat lined his mouth and tasted vile, and no amount of gin could change that.
“Eat,” he said as she continued to stare at the plate he’d thrust at her. “If you do not make haste, Tilly, we will be last,” he pressed.
Ambrose watched her inhale and then exhale. Opening her mouth, she stuffed it in and then swallowed. The gelatinous consistency made her retch. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she kept it down.
“Nice?” Ambrose knew he was smirking now.
Her nose wrinkled, which made her look way too cute, and then the tip of her tongue appeared as she poked it out. The flash of heat was not welcome. Instead, he forced out a laugh.
“Hold out your wrists, please,” Miss Alvin said. In her hands was a blue scarf.
The woman then bound them together, and they were moving again.
“I will lead,” he said as Tilly lunged ahead of him.
“I can do it,” she snapped back.
Ambrose grabbed her around the waist and tugged her to his side.
“We will do it in unison.”
She muttered something which he could not decipher and was sure he didn’t want to.
The next table was the Varneys’. Tabitha had bright red cheeks, which Ambrose suspected were rouged.
“It’s amazing she doesn’t get an inflammation with her chest exposed like that,” Tilly said.
“Perhaps she is immune now,” he whispered back, which had her snickering.
“Hurry up, you two!”
Frederica Nightingale, also known as Fred, was to join their team now.
“What are you eating, Fred?” Tilly asked.
“Cake,” she said, hugging the plate close.
“Damn, I should have been quicker.” Tilly then lunged at the mug before Ambrose could reach it.
“Vi, don’t you think Ambrose would make someone a fine husband?” Charles asked his wife loudly.
Ambrose glared at him as Tabitha made a cooing noise.
“I’d marry him if I could, but unfortunately I’m taken,” Gray said.
“Seems he’s available, Tabitha,” Mungo added, smug now he was wed and no longer in her line of sight.
Looking around him, Ambrose noted he was the last single man, other than the younger men like Theo and the Acton twins.
“There is nothing for me to eat,” Tilly said, drawing Tabitha’s attention away from him just when Ambrose had begun to sweat. The woman was terrifying.
“I have a riddle for you,” Mrs. Varney said. She wore a bonnet that came down below her eyebrows. “What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?”
Tilly looked at Ambrose, who shrugged. Riddles had never been something he was good at. Violet was the sibling who could work those out.
“A cough,” Leo said in a feminine voice that was not even close to Tilly’s. Hers had a slight husky timbre to it sometimes.
“M,” she said.
“Correct. You may move on,” Tabitha Varney said, winking at Ambrose.
Fred was now tied to Tilly, and he to her. He moved first, and thankfully, they fell in behind him. If anyone in society saw him now, his reputation would never recover.
“That drink was rather nice,” Tilly said.
Her voice was mellower; perhaps the strength of the alcohol had softened her.
“And it did not have mutton fat in it, unlike yours, Ambrose.”
Perhaps not.
He shot a quick glance at the competition. Mungo was tied to Eliza and Anna. It happened so fast. Had he not been watching, Ambrose would not have seen the hand that pushed the back of Gray’s jacket. The man tripped and stumbled. His wife righted him.
“For pity’s sake, Gray, you’ve had a single drink!”
“I was p-pushed,” Gray said, outraged, turning to look at who the culprit could be. His eyes settled on Mungo. “You!”
Mungo increased his pace, towing Eliza and Anna with him past the outraged detective. Mavis, Theo, and a boy Ambrose didn’t know were in the lead.
Someone elbowed Ambrose, and he wheezed out a breath. His sister ran past Charles and Alex.
“Absolutely not!” Tilly said. “She is not beating us.”
“Agreed. Move it, ladies.” Ambrose increased his own stride.
Tilly drank the next mug before he could reach her, but he got the next.
“Are there more tables this time?” Fred demanded. “I feel like there are.”
“Oh for pity’s sake, Ram, a slug could run faster than you!” Flora yelled from beside them.
It was chaos. Children ran around screaming, and adults became more pickled as they drank alcohol. Ambrose had long since given up any inhibitions by the last table, which was where he would get the spiced rum. He remembered that had been by far the best beverage at the games.
“Mine.” Tilly lunged for it, taking him with her. Fred managed to stay upright by gripping the table for support.
He grabbed Tilly as she went down, pulling her upright and into his body. Everything stilled in that brief moment as they stared at each other.
I want you, he thought.
“What can you hold in your left hand but never in your right?” Mrs. Acton asked.
“This cake is delicious,” Fred said, having hastily untied herself.
Ambrose released Tilly and took a large step back, which simply brought her with him, but still, it broke the moment. What was wrong with him? This was Tilly. His little sister’s irritating friend.
“Winner, Mavis and her team!”
“Bother,” Fred said with her mouth full.
Tilly was trying to untie their wrists with too much haste and not enough care.
“Let me,” Violet said.
His sister was looking at him as she worked the knots, and the look in her eyes had the hair on the back of his neck rising.
“What?” Ambrose demanded when Tilly left, walking across the grass as if she had somewhere to be.
“What was that?”
“What?”
“You, holding Tilly and gazing into her eyes.”
“I definitely was not,” he denied. “Now go away. I want to eat some of that cake,” he said pointing to the plate on the table.
A shriek had him looking to where Tilly had gone, but he couldn’t see her. He’d started moving before he realized it. Looking around, Ambrose noted no one else appeared worried by the noise, so perhaps it was nothing. Still he kept moving.
“If you are looking for Tilly, she has taken the path around the back of number 11,” Anna said.
“I wasn’t, but thank you,” he lied.
When she’d gone, he took the path around the side of the Nightingale home and found Tilly staring at the side of the house with her hands clenched into fists.
“Tilly?”
She spun to face him, and Ambrose saw her cheeks were flushed.
“Are you all right?”
“Why did you follow me?”
He moved closer until there were only inches separating them. “I heard someone scream.”
“It wasn’t me, so you can go back to the gathering.”
He didn’t speak, just studied her, running his eyes over her face slowly, taking in every inch of the beauty he saw there.
“Ambrose,” she whispered, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she leaned into him.
This kiss was soft, an exploration of her mouth, and it had his head swimming in seconds. Ambrose cupped her cheek as his other hand went to her waist, needing to feel her closer, and those lush curves pressed into his body. He needed it like his next breath.
He swallowed her small sigh and took the kiss deeper as lust gripped him. Tilly laid her palm on his chest and there was no way he could feel the heat from her touch, but somehow, he did.
He eased her coat aside and slid his hand inside, desperate now to feel her. The thought of the heavy weight of her breast cradled in his palm made him hard. He wanted this woman with a desperation he’d never felt before.
A loud shriek suddenly pierced the air, and he pulled back slightly, looking to the right.
“Dear God,” Tilly whispered, wrenching herself from his grip. She then fled once more, leaving him hard, frustrated, and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.