Amy jerked back. In the very same instant, Patrick did the same—unfortunately forgetting that there was a floor behind his head.

Thud!

"Ow!"

"Ehem. Well..." Leaping to her feet, Amy staggered back. "I...I won. I definitely won. Knockout, right? So, we...we should stop now. We don't need to go on anymore, so...so I'll be goin' now. Aye. I'll be goin'."

Then she turned and ran, not even daring to glance once at Patrick, still lying on the floor.

Outside, the night slapped her in the face with a fist of cold air. Deservedly, most likely.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! What were ye thinkin', Amy?

Well, she knew the answer to that all right: nothing! Absolutely nothing! Zero! Zilch! Why the hell did she do that? Kissing him? Kissing him? Without getting paid for it?

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Aye, very stupid. Ye should at least have demanded three shillings and sixpence.

"If ye don't shut up," Amy growled at her inner voice, "I'll knock ye out and stuff ye down a drainpipe!"

She glanced up—only to come face-to-face with two passers-by, who had been standing at the corner of the street, chatting about the rise in cabbage prices. They stared at her, open-mouthed.

"Err...um..." Amy cleared her throat. "So what? I don't like cabbage! Piss off!"

And with that, she marched off down the street.

All too soon, she left behind the cheerful façades and pretty gardens of the West End. Because that's what it was: a façade. It didn't take long before she saw the sinister gothic silhouette of Westminster Abbey rise in the distance, and beyond...the real face of London.

Devil's Acre.

Home sweet home!

She took care not to walk directly from Patrick's sister's house to where she lived. Taking unfamiliar routes and meeting unfamiliar people was never a good idea in the East End. Instead, she took a detour towards the Pussycat Palace. She had to drop in anyway to inform the madam about her current situation.

"'ello?" Sticking her head through the front door, Amy saw Tammy behind the counter. "Is da madam in?"

Tammy grinned. "She is currently, um...unavailable."

"Unavailable?"

"Remember da other day when we graciously gave 'er da opportunity to relive 'er glory days?"

"Ye mean da day we went off and dumped all da work on 'er?"

"Aye, dat one!" She winked. "Seems like da customers 'ave developed a taste for experienced ladies. She's bin in great demand ever since."

"Oh dear."

"Aye."

"'ow...wonderful for 'er."

"Aye, ain't it? So...what brings ye 'ere? Ye so rarely grace us with yer presence deese days, Yer Majesty."

Amy majestically stuck her tongue out at her. "I've bin busy!"

"I bet. What's 'is name?"

"None of yer bloody business! Ye only need ta know dere's a client 'o's payin' me for...special services. I won't be in for a few days, maybe a few weeks."

"My oh my. Dat must be some client."

Amy swallowed. Her head gave a twinge, and only with considerable effort managed to maintain the devil-may-care smile on her face. "Aye. Aye, 'e is."

Although da bloody bastard 'asn't paid me a single penny so far!

"All right. I'll tell da madam. Ye go 'ome and rest."

"Aye. I'll do dat."

To judge by the way things are going, I'm going to need it.

Stepping back outside and closing the door, Amy turned and started towards home. All the way, no matter how much she gritted her teeth and tried to think of something else, anything else, her lips continued to tingle.

Did it...did it really happen? Did he kiss me, or did our lips just accidentally brush?

No. She'd been with enough men in the past to know the difference.

But why? Damnit, why? All the way through, ever since she'd met him, the bloody bastard had played the saint, even offering to "save" her from her "life of sin". Why would he now turn out to be like any other man, just interested in one single thing?

Really? a tiny voice at the back of her mind said. Is dat really what 'e wants? Maybe, for once, a man didn't kiss ye 'cause 'e wanted a woman for the night. Maybe 'e kissed ye 'cause 'e wanted ye.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

That dinner voice of hers needed a good whack on the head and a reality check!

Well...speaking of reality...

With a grim face, Amy came to a stop in front of a dingy five-story residential building. Or maybe residential building wasn't quite the right word. Storehouse for human garbage may be a more apt description.

Pushing open the door without bothering to unlock it—because there was no lock—she stepped into the hallway and began to ascend the creaking wooden stairs. Past doorways from beyond which came the sounds of crying babies, angrily cursing drunks, and, in one remarkable case, angrily cursing babies, she moved up to the very top of the building where, under the dripping roof, she came to a halt in front of a thin wooden door.

This one did have a lock. A padlock. She had made sure to install it, and make it a good one. It was one of the most expensive things she owned, for good reason.

Click.

The padlock sprang open as she turned the key. A moment later, she pushed open the door and stepped into her "flat". A corner of her mouth quirked up as she glanced around. Some flat. A single room with mould stains on the walls, a slim camp bed, and a candlestick beside the bed.

Her eyes stuck on the candlestick.

Damn! Damn candlesticks! Damn him! Her gaze flicked away—only to land on another mould stain, and then on the loose floorboard beneath which she kept...them.

I shan't look at dem. I shan't! I bloody shan't!

Folding her arms, she threw herself on her bed and turned to stare at a mildly interesting stain of mould on the wall.

Ha! I know what men are really like. Dose...things are complete rubbish! Reality doesn't work like dat! I don't really know why I bought 'em in da first place. I never read dem anyway.

Well...almost never.

All right, maybe sometimes! But not now! She was going to resist! She was going to...

Oh, bloody 'ell!

Muttering another curse into the mattress, Amy turned around, reached under the bed, lifted up the floorboard and pulled out a copy of that brand-new book she'd just bought after it had come out. What was the thing's name again...? Ah yes. Jane Eyre. A story about a young, orphaned girl who, after many misfortunes, finally finds true love with a rich, handsome man?

Ridiculous! Completely ridiculous! Such a stupid, unrealistic, idiotic book will definitely become a flop and vanish into obscurity!

Yes, definitely.

She was not going to read it!

....again.

...for the third time.

Definitely not!

Remember Nellie! Remember what happened to her! Lords of the day and ladies of the night don't mix! Get that into your thick head!

Shuddering, she remembered her friend's pale, lifeless face. She remembered those last, pleading words: "'e didn't mean to...'e cares. 'e really does. 'e'll come for those two...'e'll 'elp. Until 'e comes...please...look out for da two of dem. Please!"

Ha!

Until he comes?

It had been ten years, and he still hadn't shown up. Of course he hadn't. Lords and orphans don't mix. Not in books, and certainly not in real life!

Throwing the book into a corner, she turned away from it and snuggled into the thin straw mattress. Idiotic! Completely idiotic!

A few minutes later, a hand inconspicuously snuck out from between the folds and snatched up the book. A little bit of time passed, and the sound of pages turning could be heard in the little room.

"So..." A whisper pervaded the darkness some time later. "It 'as a 'appy ending, has it? Big surprise."

A bitter smile glinted in the shadows. But then again, why wouldn't there be? The heroine might be an orphan, yes, but she was a proper, respectable girl. Nice, well-mannered, demure and virtuous. Why wouldn't she deserve a happy end? Why wouldn't she find someone to love her for herself?

She was the type to be loved.

I, on da other 'and...

"Aye," Amy muttered into the gloom of the tiny abode. "Of course, 'e wants ye for yourself! Why not? Ye're such a great catch, Amy, ain't ye?"

Then she threw herself onto the bed. And if the blanket was stained with a drop of moisture here or there, nobody saw. It probably was the leaky roof.

***

The wall closest to Lord Patrick Day was currently very unfortunate.

Wham!

With an already aching fist, he punched it as hard as he possibly could.

Wham!

Again!

Wham!

And again!

That damnable female! What had he been thinking?

You wanted her. That's what you were thinking.

Sometimes, Lord Patrick really hated his fervent belief in truth and justice. Particularly truth. It was abysmal not being able to lie to himself when he really needed it.

But...doing that of all things? Kissing her?

No! It wasn't a kiss, right? Their lips barely met, technically. It didn't count.

Really? It doesn't count how soft her lips felt? How sweet they tasted? It doesn't count that you wanted to wrap the stubborn wench up in your arms and never let her go?

Lord Patrick ground his teeth.

It counted. It counted all right.

Being unable to lie to yourself was a truly horrible failing.

His Lordship hesitated. Should he...? He had never done anything like that before—had never felt anything like that before. Should he, perhaps, go to her and...?

Abruptly shaking his head, Lord Patrick marched out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Have you lost your mind? That woman has been taken advantage of her whole life! And now you've done the same, and your first thought is "Hey, let's do more of that! Sounds like fun!" Are you out of your mind, you fool?

Once again, he remembered how her lips had felt against his.

Well...yes, perhaps he was.

In front of his inner eye flashed the sight of Devil's Acre, followed by those bottomless green eyes, gazing up at him. So brave. So...vulnerable.

"Tarnation!"

Growling, he punched the wall again.

A moment later, Griffiths stuck his head in through the door. "Has the wall aroused your anger, My Lord? Shall I call a mason to have it repositioned to a more pleasing location?"

Lord Patrick sent him a look. "No, thank you!"

"Very well, Your Lordship. I shall be standing by in case you change your mind, Your Lordship."

Griffiths closed the door again. Lord Patrick kept glaring at it for a few moments longer—then turned away, his face grim.

Whatever that had been—a kiss, a moment of madness, or, worst, a moment of truth—it had to stop! He could not use her like so many men had used her before. He could never do this to her.

Besides...we mustn't be distracted. We have other matters to take care of. Much more important matters.

He glanced out of the window. Outside, the sun was setting in a fiery blaze. Soon, night would arrive—the time for secrets and shadows.

Speaking of important matters...

It's time.

"Griffiths?"

The butler popped his head through the door once more and cast a discreet glance at the lightly dented wall. "Yes, My Lord? Shall I call the masons now?"

"No! I'm going out."

"I see. I shall tell Everstone to bring the coach around, My Lord, and—"

"No." Marching past the butler, Lord Patrick snatched his hat and coat from the hallstand. Then he reached into a drawer and retrieved a particular item he had procured earlier: a soft, smooth, pitch-black mask that, when worn, would cover half of his face. The shop owner had wished him fun at the costume ball. Lord Patrick had not disillusioned him and told him the real purpose of the disguise. "Thank you, but Everstone's services won't be needed. Not this time. I shall be driving myself tonight."

And he strode out of the house.

***

In a dark alley somewhere in the East End, three masked figures gathered, gazing up at the shabby back wall of an old brick house.

"Is this it?"

"Aye, and—oh, Karim, take dat bloody mask off!"

"Why? The two of you both are wearing one!"

Amy and Patrick, both dressed in drab, dark clothes, glanced sideways at the huge Mohammedan. Above his mask towered his turban, while below, a massive, bristly beard extended down his chest.

"Ehem..." Patrick cleared his throat. "How shall I put this..."

"Yer disguise stinks?" Amy suggested.

Sending a piercing glare her way, Karim threw on a dark cloak to cover everything, including his head.

"Much better." Patrick nodded. "Now nobody will recognize you."

"Aye." Amy nodded. "Dey'll all think ye're da 'unch'ead of Notre Dame."

Karim's eyes narrowed into miniature sabre-blades. "Do you wish to stand here trading insults, or shall we set out?"

"Stay 'ere trading insults? Now, dat wouldn't be fair ta me, would it?" Amy batted her eyelashes up at him. "Considering 'ow much better me trade goods are compared to yers."

"You...!"

"...masterful merchant of mockery?" Amy grinned, then turned towards the wall and pretended to intensely examine the villain's hideout, deep in thought. It gave her an excellent excuse not to look at Patrick.

Don't look at 'im! Don't look at 'im! And definitely don't let 'im see yer red eyes!

Never in her life had she been so glad to be wearing a mask. If he could somehow read her thoughts on her face, or worse, the things she'd done last night...

Don't be ridiculous, Amy! Ye're a pro! Be'ave like it!

She had no time to waste on silly girlish thoughts. There was work to do!

"Come on, fellas. Give a lady of da night a leg-up, will ye?"

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Patrick move forward, as if by instinct—then instantly freeze. Their eyes met for a brief moment, before they both glanced away.

Damn, damn, damn! What's wrong with me? Why can't I even look at 'im? It was just a miserable little kiss! I've done things with men dat would make a brothel owner blush! A kiss is nothin'! Nothin'!

And...he seemed to think so to. The kiss was nothing. She was nothing. He didn't even look at her, let alone speak.

"Harrumph! If you ever tell anyone about this," Karim growled, abruptly interrupting her thoughts as he interwove his hands and held them out to Amy, "I shall sever your head and put it on a spike!"

"Spiffin'. I love shish kebab." Slipping her foot onto the stepping stone provided by the bodyguard, Amy grabbed hold of his shoulders. "Now...let's do dis nice and gentle, darlin'. You can do dat for me, can't ye?"

"Shut up and move!" Karim growled.

"Men are always in such a 'urry. Never 'eard of da sayin' 'Good things come to dose 'o wait.'?"

"Not," Karim squeezed out between clenched teeth, "in my employment environment."

"Imagine dat." Reaching up, Amy grabbed the top of the wall running all around the building and pulled. In a moment, she was atop the wall, pressing herself down flat. She might be a little bit distracted, but not in the least distracted enough to become careless. She knew what kind of place this was. Someone had to be keeping watch. If they caught sight of her...

Well, the less said the better. Literally. She ceased her banter and silently slid over the top of the wall, taking care not to make a single sound in the process. Lying on top of the wall, she peered down into the courtyard beyond. No one was in sight, but...

"Be quiet!" Amy hissed at Patrick, who was just about to climb up the wall. He froze in mid-motion, and so did Amy, listening intently.

Crunch...crunch...

Footsteps on the gravel!

"Quickly, get down!"

Instantly, Patrick let go and retreated. Amy followed suit. She leapt down from the wall and—

—and landed straight in Karim's arms, who promptly followed the relay race method and chucked her over towards Patrick.

"What the—!"

Amy's hand moved quick as a flash. Before she knew what was happening, her fingers were covering Patrick's lips. Lips that, not so long ago, had been...

No! No, don't think about it! Not now of all times!

Heart thudding wildly, Amy held her breath as the footsteps approached beyond the wall, her gaze fixed on Patrick's face. Patrick, who was holding her in his arms like Prince Charming might hold Cinderella if she'd lost both her shoes...

Your 'eart is pounding 'cause ye're in danger. Dat's da reason! Da only reason!

Crunch...crunch...

Slowly, as they stood there, frozen, the footsteps passed by. Only once whoever-it-was had vanished around a corner did Amy dare to breathe again. Her fingers flew away from Patrick's face as if they'd been burned.

"Let me down!"

He opened his mouth, eyes flashing, about to speak—then closed it again tightly, and lowered her to the ground without a word.

Amy swallowed. "Shall we?"

Patrick nodded. This time, when Karim stepped forward to help her up again, Patrick stepped towards her and offered her his interwoven hands. Quickly, Amy turned towards the wall.

My face is flushing because of the danger! Because of the danger!

Quickly, she stepped into his grip and vaulted up onto the wall again. Down in front of her, a courtyard stretched, so narrow and dark an alley cat wouldn't even have been able to see its own paws. Amy wasn't an alley cat, though. She was an East Ender. People like her were at home in the darkness. If that weren't the case, she'd have gotten a knife between the ribs long before now.

"Move!" Sliding down from the wall, Amy rushed across the courtyard until she stood pressed up against the outer wall of the building. Moments later, Patrick and Karim appeared next to her.

"Where now?" Karim whispered.

Patrick nodded towards the left. "According to the plans I acquired, there should be a door over there."

Karim nodded. "Let us move."

They darted off along the wall. "Oh, aye," Amy grumbled into the darkness. "Let's move. And let's ask everyone's opinion next time!"

Then she set out after them. It didn't take long until she found them standing in front of the aforementioned door, pushing hard.

"It's locked!"

"And do ye think it'll become less locked if ye give it a push? Out of da way!" Pushing Karim aside—a feat quite easily accomplished via Amy's patented secret method of pinching his butt—she knelt in front of the door, pulled a small leather pouch from her décolletage, took out various metal implements, grabbed Patrick's hand and slapped the leather pouch into it.

"Hold dis."

"Miss Amy, this...! This came...came from...!"

"Aye? Any complaints?"

She could feel Patrick's burning gaze on her neck. When he spoke, his voice was a burning fire. "None."

"Excellent. Then be quiet and stand still."

Carefully, she inserted two metal implements into the lock and began to fiddle with her fingers. Every now and again, she would reach up and switch instruments. Finally...

Click.