When we are ready to leave, we are pleasantly drunk. Ambrose tips the waitress generously and leads me from the bar.
It's late. There isn't a carriage in sight and most of the town has gone dark.
“We won't be able to find a ride at this time," I tell him.
“We could walk," he says.
“It's three miles. No, thank you." To prove my point, I sway unintentionally.
Ambrose tightens his grip on my arm, sliding his other around my waist. I stop walking and look at him.
“You can't keep doing that," I say.
“Doing what?" he smirks.
“Sending sparks down my spine."
He looks at me, his body close to mine. His fingers have tightened at my waist, I can feel them burning my skin. He glances at my mouth before raising his gaze to my eyes.
“We should find a place to stay for the night," he
