Ronald Harrington, Duke of Arrendyle, stared at the valley beneath him. And stared. And stared. And stared. At the lush valley. At the people bustling around. At his castle.

Or rather, the thing that used to be his castle.

Many of his friends enjoyed opium and other drugs for their stimulating properties and the visions they would grant. He had never really wanted or needed such ethereal joys, preferring more physical entertainments. But now, he very much wished he were hallucinating. Otherwise, he would have to accept the sight in front of him as reality.

Down below, in the very centre of the valley, smoke rose from a wreck that did not even deserve the word ruin. Castle ruins were picturesque, and tourists paid good money to have a closer look at them. This place, however...it looked like people wouldn't go near it if you paid them! You could tell as much from the haggard-looking ducal steward who was currently yelling his head off, trying to get a mob of servants, paid for from His Grace's own pocket, to damn well do their job and grab some buckets to put the fires out!

None of them moved.

Not. One. Of. Them. Moved!

Rage flooded Arrendyle. How dare they? Useless, seditious traitors! Oh, he was going to eviscerate them! Destroy them! Grind them into dust!

Only...not just yet. Let them burn and choke themselves to death in his service first, as they deserved. Fists clenched, he stormed down the hillside, roaring with fury.

"What are you standing around for, you fools! Go get water and save what you can, or I'll have your goddamn hides! You have exactly three seconds to get moving, or you can kiss your future goodbye!"

Paling at the sight of him, the servants and guards, who just a moment ago couldn't get away from the smouldering castle remnants fast enough, now rushed forward, racing towards the deathtrap flickering with searing hot flames as if it were a candy shop on all-you-can-eat day. A vicious grin spread over the duke's face. Fire might be terrifying, but his men knew well it was nothing compared to the true terror that awaited them if they disobeyed his orders.

"Steward!" he bellowed, causing the man to scurry towards him like the despicable, scared rat he was. "Get your worthless arse over here!"

"Your Grace! I'm at your service, Your Grace! How may I be of assistance, Your Grace?"

"How?" Arrendyle snarled, jabbing one hand at the smouldering rubble, having to work hard not to jab his sword into the man in front of him instead. "How did this happen?"

"I...I cannot say for certain, Your Grace. The only thing I know is that we were awakened in the middle of the night by someone shouting...ehem...shouting..."

"Shouting what?"

The steward closed his eyes for a moment. "Shouting 'Get out or burn, you pedo bitches!' I believe."

"Get out or..."

"Indeed, Your Grace. All we could do was run. Somehow, the flames had already spread far and wide through the castle, and—"

"The castle!" the duke hissed, latching onto the important point. "The castle I left you in charge of! The castle which, upon my return, I find to be a smouldering wreck!"

"The, um, east tower is still standing, Your Grace."

"Is that so?" The duke's eyelid twitched. "And the other six towers?"

From the direction of the castle behind the steward came a crash, as stone crumbled and crashed to the ground.

The steward swallowed. "They, ehem...were not quite as fortunate."

"I see."

"And..."

"And?" His Grace's fists clenched. There was more?

"And...I'm afraid no one has seen the woman you, ehem...took in. Nor her childr—"

Arrendyle cut him off with an animalistic growl. "That's what you're worried about? That wench is of no consequence, you fool!"

"A-as you say, Your Grace."

"Enough of this senseless prattle! Guide me to where my valuables and papers have been stored. I must check them for completeness and—"

The look on his subordinate's face made him break off midway.

"Ehem...Your Grace...well, that is...."

"My possessions have been brought to safety," the duke said in a very quiet voice, "have they not?"

"Err...well..."

"Yes?"

"By...by the time I reached your office, it was completely aflame. One of the guards said they reached it earlier, but...but by the time they went in, your papers and possessions were already gone. We asked everyone who might have taken them, but...but..."

"But?"

"They, um...seemed to have disappeared somehow."

Disappeared? Disappeared?

Once again, the duke's feet moved without permission. The steward watched, agape, as his lord stormed into the smouldering remnants of his castle. Moments later, the smouldering foundations were shaken by an enraged roar.

***

"What was that?" Lord Patrick Day asked, his ears twitching. Even over the rattling of the coach wheels outside, he seemed to have heard something.

"Oh...probably just some animal in da forest."

Turning his head, His Lordship sent a piercing look at Miss Amy Weston. The smile on the young woman's face could only be called "innocent" by the standards of a seasoned succubus.

"Is that a fact?"

"Oh, aye." She nodded earnestly. "Probably some ugly pissed off snake who noticed some of its eggs missing." And, whistling innocently, she patted the large package that sat next to her on the coach bench.

"A snake that roars?"

"It's a very, very pissed off snake."

Leaning forward, Lord Patrick tapped the package. "And let me guess...that anger has something to do with that package on the seat next to you?"

She grinned. In a way that made Lord Patrick want to grab a vat of holy water and empty it over her head. The rest of him wanted to grab her instead and...do some things that were less than socially acceptable in public.

Control yourself, Patrick! Remember what's important!

"What is in there?" he demanded, unable to resist. She had been carrying that around with her ever since she had run into the duke's office. What within the seven circles of hell would be important enough for her to run off and take such an insane ris—

Oh.

"It's filled with money, is it not?"

She sent him a gravely injured look. "Whyever would ye think such a thing?"

"I couldn't say," he told her, being quite literally truthful. He could not say. Talking about how little money was left in his purse after a few weeks in her rented company would not be suitable for a Lord of the Realm.

"Well, it ain't money."

He blinked. "It is not?"

"No, of course it ain't!" She sent him a look that made him want to instinctively reach out to protect his wallet, along with his modesty. Pulling open the package, she revealed a large stack of papers covered in cursive and gothic writing. "Why da 'ell would I lug around coins if I can just snatch all 'is bank writs and property deeds?"

Lord Patrick's mouth dropped open, not quite sure if his ears had deceived him. "You did what?"

Her grin widening, she pulled open the package the rest of the way, and took out a stack of papers with alarmingly large numbers and big, swirly signatures. "Hm...lookie-lookie! Seems like I can retire from my night job now. Oy! What d'ye know? I own a castle now! And a Chateau in France. And da money...oy, Pea, do ye need a loan?"

Lord Patrick Day, Knight of the Order of the Garter and Peer of the Realm, felt his fingers twitch as he gazed into her vibrant green eyes. To strangle her? To grab her and hold her close? Maybe both?

"If things continue as they've been going recently, I might. For some reason, I've been spending quite a bit of money during the last few weeks."

"Ye don't say?" She gave him a commiserating look—then promptly held out her hand. "Ah, dat reminds me! Time for me payment for dis week."

That feisty little...!

Reaching into his severely depleted wallet, Lord Patrick pulled out a small stack of coin and put—put, definitely not slammed—it into her hand. He absolutely did not hear a girlish giggle from the corner of the coach where five little girls were sitting, watching the two of them.

When, after a moment, his attention refocused on Amy, he for the first time realized the expression on her face had changed. It was no longer filled with levity, but instead intense concentration and determination. She was gazing at the papers like a conqueror at the spoils snatched from the grasp of their worst enemy.

Which, a little voice at the back of his mind whispered, is exactly what is happening.

Realization struck.

"His secret fund," he whispered, his voice soft, but audible enough for Amy to hear. "This is his secret fund."

"Aye." Amy's eyes sparkled darkly, filled with intelligence and experience far beyond her years. "Difficult ta buy innocent girls on da underground slave market with yer official weekly payments from da 'ouse of Lords, ain't it? So irritating ta 'ave ta deal with nasty little things like bank records dat can be traced back ta ye. Much easier ta 'ave a secret little stash of income from hidden properties dat ye can use without anyone knowing." Stroking the papers, she looked up, straight into his eyes. "Let's see 'ow much dat bastard can still do without 'is precious treasure hoard."

Lord Patrick stared. He stared, not at the figure in front of him, but at the woman beneath.

He had met the noblest, most well-bred and accomplished ladies in all of Britain and beyond. So, how come during all these manifold and varied times spent in the company of noblewomen, he had never met anyone so audacious? So alive? So...amazing?

What a pity she was a commoner.

Really? enquired a taunting little voice in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Titus. If she is so common, then why, pray, are you staring at her?

Quickly, he turned his gaze away from her—only to meet the taunting gaze of Titus. Oh, and Jenny. And Cora, Grace, Leona, Jo and Flo, all of them with face-splitting grins. It was the first time time he could remember any smile being equally irritating to that of his best friend.

"What?" he demanded.

The seven seriously irksome people glanced between him and Amy, then smirked again.

"Oh, nothin', nothin'." Flo said, then started to whistle a melody.

"Aye, definitely nothin'," Jenny agreed, then leaned over towards her friend Lady Wetherston, whispering something into her ear, and starting to co-giggle in a way that sounded eerily familiar to Patrick. Why was he suddenly having flashbacks of conspiratorial mothers trying to pawn off their daughters on him at the Royal New Year Ball?

No. He was imagining things.

Still, for some reason he had to fight very hard to look out of the window instead of at Miss Amy Weston. And fight he did.

At noon, they stopped at an inn for a break. To judge by the look on the humble little innkeeper's face, their arrival brought him straight to seventh heaven. Nine carriages full of hungry guests? He was smiling so widely he might need additional teeth for his grin. Part of his elation might also be due to the fact that most of those guests were barely-dressed young women. His wife, however, seemed less pleased by that fact. And Patrick?

Well, he was far too preoccupied with the conspiratorial whispering that Miss Jenny and Miss Cora were engaged in. They kept throwing meaningful glances his way. Far too meaningful for his liking. When they all finally left the inn again, and everyone started to climb back into their coaches, Lord Patrick couldn't help but notice a rather obvious change...

***

Amy sat down in the coach and glanced to her right, down the empty bench. Then she turned to the left, looking down the empty bench—empty except for Patrick, that is. Lastly, she turned to stare at Titus, Jenny, Cora, Grace, Leona, Jo and Flo, who were standing in a grinning gaggle outside the coach door. None of them seemed to be interested in joining the two of them.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Why don't ye get in?"

Jenny shrugged, the picture of innocence drawn by an arm-amputated chimpanzee. "Oh...dere just ain't enough space in dere." She gestured at the half-empty coach—then turned to the other one behind her, which was about half the size of Amy's. "Dis other one is much much more roomy."

"Dat one's got Karim in it."

"'e's foldable," Jenny told her with a perfectly straight face.

Amy sent an intense stare over at Karim.

"That is correct," the Mohammedan confirmed, his face resembling the wooden totem of the god of grumpiness. "Very foldable."

"And what did she threaten ye with ta force ye ta say dat?"

Karim's face twitched. "Dragging me back to her old place of work for a, ehem...'strib tweeze' if I remember the term correctly."

He gave an eloquent shudder.

Eyes narrowing, Amy sent a withering look in the direction of her two friends. Jenny and Cora, who, to her great vexation, turned out to be wither-proof.

"What are ye up to, ye two?"

"We?" Cora batted her eyelashes. "Nothin' whatsoever."

"Exactly." Jenny nodded seriously. "We completely and utterly don't 'ave any ulterior motives for putting da two of ye in a coach together." She winked. "'ave fun in dere, ye two doveturds."

Then she closed the door, and locked it from the outside before Amy could protest. A moment later, the coach started rolling down the road, and she could hear giggling in the distance.

Inwardly cursing the hellish abominations normally referred to as "friends", Amy felt her heart speed up. What were those bloody idiots playing at? Why put her in a carriage alone with that arrogant noble arse—

...who lately doesn't seem ta act like such an arse anymore, does 'e? When was da last time 'e "accidentally" said somethin' insultin'?

Quite a long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that she couldn't quite remember.

Crap, why was she only noticing this now?

She was going to kill Jenny and Cora once she got out of here! If they thought just because of...certain recent events there was a snowball's chance in hell of something happening between her and a certain lord whose name she wouldn't mention—

"So..." A certain lord called Patrick chose just that moment to break the silence in the coach by clearing his noble throat. "About that, um...interaction in the tower, between the two of us—"

"Never 'appened," Amy cut him off before he could finish. "In fact, we were never even near dat tower!"

"I find myself in complete agreement with you, Miss Amy."

"And if anyone disagrees..."

"I shall sue them for libel," Lord Patrick told her. "My team of solicitors shall tear them apart."

"Err...do ye mean literally or figuratively?"

"Both can be arranged."

Amy suddenly felt she had been wrong about this man. He deserved her sincerest admiration.

"Great! So...we're agreed?" Beaming, she held out her hand. Just to shake on it, of course. They were coming to an agreement, after all. It wasn't at all because she wanted to feel her hand in his once more.

He took it, and shook. "Agreed."

A moment passed.

And another.

Strange...he still hadn't let go of her hand. But then, neither had she.

"Dere's nothin' between us?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

Yet one more moment passed. Still, neither of them had let go.

Amy bit her lower lip.

"What about da brats? Dey're witnesses."

"Hmm...you are right. Any ideas?"

"Bribes," Amy decided. "Huge, excessive bribes."

"I shall pay!" He told her instantly, clutching her hand more tightly. "Whatever it takes!"

"Ye're amazin'!" Her smile widening, Amy threw her arms around him, hugging him hard, feeling the tight muscles of his chest pressing into her, making her want to—

"Ehem." Patrick cleared his throat. He did not, however, move to free himself from her arms. Arms that were still tightly clutched around him.

Oh my God, what da 'eck am I doing?

"Um...well..." Coughing, she hurriedly retreated. "Well, like I said, we've got a deal. Nothin' between da two of us. Nothin' whatsoever."

Patrick nodded. "Agreed."

They spent the rest of the journey to London in companionable silence. And if they also happened to be holding hands for most of that time, Amy certainly wasn't going to mention it.

***

"Finally, you are back!" A relieved smile replaced the anxious expression on Angeline's face the moment she pulled open the door. Rushing forward, she hurled her arms around Amy, hugging her tightly. "The news of that bloody castle burning down is all over London! I was afraid God-only-knows-what might have happened to you!"

Amy grinned, hugging her friend back fiercely. "What, ta me? What do ye take me for? Some pushover young lady from da city who does nothin' but look after children all day?"

"Shut up! You're a stupid, stupid idiot, and you won't leave again till I've hammered some sense into you!"

"Yes, Mum."

"Shut up, I said! Did you bring me a present at least?"

"Of course! A big surprise. I'll show ye later."

"Hmph. Well, seems you're not completely useless, at least." Letting go of Amy, Angeline swooped in on her next victim, who just so happened to be her dear brother. "You reckless idiot! Don't you ever dare do something so stupid again!"

"And what, pray," His Lordship enquired in a most dignified and noble tone, "makes you think that I am responsible for a fire you happened to read about in the newspaper? Just because we were in the same county?"

"No, because you're my brother and I know you! Now shut up and let me hug you, stupid!"

Seemingly unable to find a suitable retort to that, he did just that. Though he did glare at the shit-eating grin Amy sent in his direction over Angeline's shoulder.

"Well, come in, come in, everyone!" Letting go of her brother, Angeline pulled open the door and gestured for them to enter. Ten minutes or so later, they were all sitting around the low table in the drawing room, eating biscuits and drinking from tea cups. Amy was trying her best to hide the whiskey she had poured into hers.

"So, you managed to get them all out? Everyone is safe?" Angeline demanded, after Amy had finished telling her everything. Well...nearly everything.

"Aye." Amy nodded. "Every single one. And left dat bastard a nice goodbye surprise, as well."

"So, what next? Find more witnesses? Anyone who can lead you to the hideout of the monsters who are behind all of this?"

Patrick shook his head. "No need. We might already have everything we need. With how many people we found this time, the witnesses we need could very well be among them. And even if they are not..." He patted his pocket, his azure eyes glittering darkly. "DeLacey and Arrendyle are only two of many. We still have plenty of names on that list to choose from."

From the look on his face, Amy got the impression he wouldn't be opposed to ticking them off one by one. Violently.

She grinned. So she did have a reason to like the nob after all.

"Then what now?"

"We'll 'ave to question the people we freed." Amy told Angeline. "All da people. But only after we've found a place for dose poor women and children ta stay."