"Patrick!"

Lord Patrick Day managed to bring up one hand, perhaps to wave at her. More likely, however, to push the poker far enough away not to suffocate within the next ten seconds. "N-nice to see you, too."

"What da 'ell are ye doin' 'ere at dis time of night?"

Not that she couldn't think of a reason. But this was Lord Patrick Please-deposit-ten-sticks-up-my-behind-because-I-like-the-one-that-is-already-in-there Day. He wouldn't sneak into a woman's bedroom at night unless the house was on fire, and even then he'd probably send a maid to the rescue. So why the hell...?

"Why da 'ell are ye 'ere?" Amy asked again.

Loosening her grip, she allowed him to slip from her stranglehold and turn towards her. The look in his eyes was not one of some bastard who'd come to force himself into the room of a woman at night. It was the look of a lost man.

"I...I don't want to be alone tonight."

The words stabbed right through Amy's heart.

She remembered that horrible place they'd just left. She remembered the things she'd seen and heard, and worse, imagined. It had made her feel cold. So cold inside, and—

And then Patrick's hand grasped hers, warming her.

I don't wanna be alone neither.

The words flashed through her mind before she could help it. Her hold on his hand tightened and, suddenly, he was stepping towards her, sliding a strong arm around her back. Without meaning to, she relaxed into him.

Relaxing? Relaxing?! Into a man? What da 'ell is wrong with ye, Amy?

Funnily enough, this didn't really feel wrong. It felt right. So very right. His rock-hard muscles, the beating of his heart only inches away from her...she couldn't tear herself away.

The door creaked and, before she knew it, they were inside the room. The door clicked shut behind them with finality. For a moment, Amy couldn't find the courage to raise her eyes to meet his. Then she felt a finger under her chin, and didn't resist when Patrick gently nudged it up until their gazes connected. The things she saw in his eyes...!

"I...I can't stop thinking about it. The terrible things we saw." Patrick's face darkened in a way that made Amy want to chase the shadows from his eyes. "The terrible things we might yet see."

"Shh...it'll be all right," she lied, reaching up to place a finger on his lips. The touch sent a spark all through her body. "It'll be all right."

He gazed straight at her with a stark expression in his eyes. "Can...can I stay? Just tonight? Can I hold you?"

Amy hesitated for just a second—then reached out and hugged him. His arms came up and, wordlessly, enfolded her. A lump rising in her throat, Amy realized she had never been held by a man before. Not like this. Not without funny business. Not without a single penny of payment. And yet it somehow felt more precious than all those other times put together.

"P-Patrick..."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "Not Pea?"

She glared up at him. "Just not tonight. It's an exception!"

Gently cupping her face, he nodded. "Just tonight, then."

Taking hold of her with a soft yet somehow inextricably strong grip, he manoeuvred her towards the bed and slowly lowered her onto the blankets. Settling down beside her, he slid one arm around her, pulling her close, until they lay facing each other in the dark, only inches away from one another.

"You..." His voice was rough. "Is...is this really all right?"

She nodded. "Ye ain't da only one who doesn't want ta be alone tonight. Hold me. Not anything else, just...hold me."

He gazed at her for a long moment—then determination flared to life in his eyes. Grabbing a blanket, white as an angel's wings, he wrapped it around the both of them, filling her with heavenly warmth. He was close. So close now. Amy felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her into his chest again. Swallowing, she glanced up at him.

"Be gentle with me," It was no more than a whisper. "It's my first time."

His grip tightened and a thumb wiped away the tear on her cheek as if it had never been there. Taking hold of her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I swear."

Amy's heart leapt. She watched, her blood pounding, as Patrick moved closer and closer, until, like a tickle of silk, his lips caressed—

***

Abruptly, a pothole tore Amy from her memories. It was probably just as well. Otherwise, she might well have remembered what had happened last night. Or, more precisely, what had not happened.

Da whole night! Da whole night, 'e...'e just held me! 'e didn't even try ta cop a feel! Don't 'e think I'm pretty? Don't 'e want me? And why da 'ell am I even askin' dat question?

Raising her head, she glanced at Patrick. Patrick with his clear, shining eyes. Patrick, with his strong, solid, innocent face.

Da whole night, 'e kept 'is word.

Damn him!

A bloody knight in shining armour! Dat's what 'e is! Or dat's what 'e thinks 'e is, at least! Why did 'e 'ave ta keep 'is word? And why am I both happy and pissed about it? Ah! I'm gonna strangle 'im! People like dat ain't supposed to exist in real life!

And most certainly not in her life.

But...

But what if 'e could? What if 'e and I—

"We're here!" Karim shouted, tearing Amy from her thoughts mid-way. Never before had she been so glad to be interrupted in the middle. Glancing up, she caught sight of a small but homely house with absolute absence of any gardening, two dozen forgotten newspapers stuck in the mail box, and a "Beware of the Owner" sign stuck in the scruffy lawn.

A bachelor pad among bachelor pads.

"Are ye sure about dis?" Amy asked, raising an eyebrow at Patrick.

"I am indeed." He nodded. "For what we're about to do, we need reliable allies."

"Which begs the question," she pointed out, "why are we 'ere?"

Throwing her a disparaging look, he pushed open the carriage door and climbed out into the cold. After helping her out of the carriage—damn and blast his manners!—he strode straight across the street towards the house they had stopped in front of, and knocked at the door

Time passed.

"Reliable allies, eh?" Amy raised an eyebrow.

"When he is sober," His Lordship qualified.

"Which 'appens 'ow often, exactly?"

Not deigning to reply, he raised his hand and hammered on the door again. Some more time passed in ominous silence. After a considerable wait, slow, dragging footsteps, reminiscent of a half-comatose zombie, came down the hallway on the other side of the door. Then, through the wood, followed the zombie's tortured groan:

"Is that you again?"

Patrick slammed his fist against the door once more. "Open up, Titus!"

"Go away!"

"We've got work to do! Pack your things, and make sure to bring a duelling pistol!"

"Would it make any difference if I mention that it's five thirty in the frigging morning?"

"Two pistols if you have them."

"I hate you!"

"You have ten minutes to pack."

"Or what?"

"Or," Amy interjected sweetly, "we'll come and get you."

"Ha! You and what army?"

Amy grinned. This was going to be good. "Karim? Would you be so kind?"

The huge Mohammedan came over. Helpfully lifting the letter flap in the door, Amy stepped aside for Karim, who bent down to send a glare through the opening.

"What the—! I'llbeoutinaminute! Happytohelp,always! I'llstartpackingrightaway!"

"So very kind of you."

They returned to the carriage and, low and behold, only a few minutes later, the dreaded zombie staggered out onto the street, with a conspicuously un-zombielike suitcase clutched under its arm.

Patrick smiled and nodded. "Welcome, my friend. I'm glad you're with us in our fight for justice and freedom."

"Go boil your head in horse piss!" was his friend's eloquent reply.

"I believe we've already bin introduced?" Amy incined her head due to lack of space for a curtsy. "We met at a charmin' little gathering of filthy criminals at night in the middle of nowhere, I believe."

He blinked at her, drowsily. "Really? I don't recall."

"Oh dear. Well, den 'ere's someone easier ta remember." Amy pointed towards the window, where a certain bearded mountain was visible. "Dis is Mr Karim."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Titus groaned. "Or at least I will be once I can get my eyes to completely open."

Karim raised an eyebrow.

Amy nodded.

Giving the sigh of a warrior preparing himself for death, he turned and climbed up on the box.

God! Were they now able to do wordless communication? That was scary. People might actually start thinking the two of them were friends.

Which, of course, they totally weren't.

Definitely not.

"Gee-up!" Karim called out. The whip cracked, and the carriage started forward.

"Congratulations," Titus grumbled, curling up in a corner. "You've gotten me into the coach. Now all you have to manage is waking me up." And he stuck his head between his arms, clearly determined to not awake until they arrived wherever they were going.

"Oh, I believe I might have an idea on how to do that," Patrick leaned forward, smiling the most benign, gentlemanly smile Amy had ever seen in her life. She didn't trust it one bit. "Let me tell you a little story. Last night, we..."

Then he proceeded to tell his friend all about what they had done and were planning to do. Soon, the honourable Titus Irving was wide awake.

"Are you bloody kidding me, you feckless little idiot?"

"I am neither spattered with gore nor particularly diminutive. And I am not joking."

"What were you thinking? What are the both of you thinking? What you are planning to do is..."

"Brave? Heroic? Necessary?"

"I was going to say bonkers!"

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "But it is still necessary, correct?"

Titus glowered at his friend. "Why. Are. You. Always. Right?"

"Because I am the best friend ever?"

"Up yours, arse hat!"

"Well, isn't this nice?" Rubbing her hands, Amy reached under the seat and pulled out a wicker basket. "Time for a little picnic. Who wants a ham sandwich?"

For some mysterious reason, the two others, involved in a glaring match, didn't seem particularly interested. So Amy just grabbed a sandwich for herself and watched as the outside world rushed by. A pretty sunrise, tasty ham and two men trying to glare each other to death while completely ignoring her...what a perfect morning.

She gazed out of the window at the houses whizzing past. At first, they were mere black silhouettes, towering before a starry sky. When the sun began to rise it tinted the world in a disgustingly happy shade of pink, followed by gold. Slowly, the houses became sparser and sparser, until they vanished altogether and were replaced by rolling hills, green meadows and ruminating cows.

After a while, Amy nodded off into sleep. She wasn't sure how—after all, deep down, she was afraid. Terrified, even. But for Amy, being terrified was nothing new. And she'd had to sleep at worse times, and in much worse places than this. When she awoke, it was bright day outside, and birds were twittering in the trees.

Trees.

They were in the country.

"'ow long?" Amy mumbled, shaking her head.

"Too long," Titus declared dourly.

"About four hours," Patrick answered, his voice calm. "We'll be travelling another day before we arrive in Somerset."

Their eyes met and held, a wordless message passing between them.

"How about we stop at the next inn for some drinks, a nap and some more drinks?" Titus suggested hopefully.

"No!" Patrick and Amy said at exactly the same time—then, before she could hold herself back, a smile flitted across her face.

"Aww, how cute," Titus grumbled. "When's the wedding?"

Amy's face heated. "Shut up!"

Titus chuckled and pulled his hat into his face, going back to sleep.

More time passed. The sun climbed to its summit and began to sink again, taking Titus's mood along with it. Deciding to have mercy on the poor fellow, Amy and Patrick finally decided to stop at a roadside inn.

"An ale! My kingdom for a mug of ale!" he rasped, stumbling out of the coach. "A mug of ale and a pretty serving gir—ahh!"

"Be'ave yerself!" Amy reminded him, and removed her parasol from where she'd stabbed it into the small of his back. "I came all dis way ta take down a pervert, not 'ave dinner with one!"

"Yes, Mistress," Titus grumbled, then ducked to avoid another swipe of her parasol.

The dinner in the inn passed quickly and quietly. None of them—except for a certain cheeky gentleman—had a very big appetite. They went to bed quickly, and if any of them lay awake late that night, none of them mentioned it the next morning.

As soon as the sun was up, Amy and the others dragged Titus out of bed—or, to be more precise, Patrick dragged him out of bed after informing her that, contrary to past evidence on the matter, she had no business being in a man's bedroom. Patrick also ended up paying inn bill, which Amy didn't mind in the least. It was a nice change having a man pay for a bed she didn't have to share with him.

Finally, they stepped out of the inn and approached the coach. In front of it, they halted and exchanged glances.

"So...today is the day."

"So it seems." Karim nodded.

"How about you change your mind and turn around?" Titus suggested hopefully. "I know a nice little seaside town around here where we could spend a few weeks relaxing and—"

The glares of the others shut him up, Amy's and Patrick's foremost among them. Titus boarded the carriage with a sigh, and the others followed, Karim clambering onto the box. A moment later, the coach once more rolled down the country road.

Later that day, the landscape began to change. The moment they crossed the county border into Somerset, the entire atmosphere seemed to change. A gloom appeared to hang over the entire land that pressed down onto everything and everyone around. She wasn't exactly sure how this could be. The lush countryside, smiling farmers, and quaint little cottages weren't really reminiscent of Dr Frankenstein's Castle or the Dungeons of the Marquis DeSade. Still...somehow it felt worse. Perhaps exactly because you could only feel it, but not see.

Amy glanced at Patrick. "So...where do we go from 'ere?"

"That way." He nodded down a road leading off to the left. "That should lead us to the town of Windrington. DeLacy's ancestral home should be somewhere beyond. That's all I was able to find out. He tends to be a very...private individual." His expression darkened. "Something which should have perhaps aroused my suspicions before now."

Reaching out, Amy squeezed his shoulder. "Don't blame yerself. Ye couldn't 'ave known."

"No." He gritted his teeth. "I couldn't have. But I should have."

She squeezed again, then let go and looked up, tapping against the roof. "Karim, did ye 'ear?"

"I did," came a grumbling voice from above, followed by the crack of a whip. "Hold on. Gee-up!"

The winding road travelled up into the hills. Soon, we reached a little hamlet and, knocking against the carriage roof, Patrick asked Karim to stop. Leaning out of the window, he hailed a shepherd leading his flock down the other side of the road.

"Pardon me, my good man. Can I ask you a question?"

The old fellow swiped his hat off his head and hurriedly bowed, almost looking as if he'd like to instruct his sheep to do the same. "Aye, My Lord! Of course, My Lord!"

"Is this Windrington? Is Lacy Hall around here?"

"Nay, My Lord." He scratched his head. "I don't know what da village is called. Truth be told, I ain't too sure if dis little place got a name. Never asked so far. No one 'as. But..."

"Yes?"

"I 'eard Lacy 'all is ten miles or so dat way. Me mother's cousin's boy works in da stables. Grand place it is, 'e says."

"Does he, now." Eyes glittering dangerously, Patrick inclined his head. "Thank you. Your help is very much appreciated."

He flicked the man a coin and, a moment later, the coach started forward again. Higher and higher up into the hills they went, and as they did, the tension in the air rose. Everyone could feel themselves getting closer to their target with every passing second.

"We're fast approaching!" Karim called from outside, and, out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw a signpost flash by. "Just another five miles!"

Instinctively, Amy's back straightened.

Finally. For Flo. For Jo. For everyone like them, in the past and in the future.

Time for the showdown. DeLacy, I'm comin' for ye!