"One wrong move," Amy hissed, "and I'll fire."

The snobby bastard stiffened and nodded. Apparently, he was going to comply.

Good. Excellent, in fact. Amy wasn't an expert sharpshooter, but even she was fairly certain it would prove rather difficult to shoot the bugger with the bronze candle stick she was currently pressing into his back.

Amy resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty hands on her dress. Bloody, stinking hell! This wasn't going exactly as she'd planned! He was going to take her to his sister's? His sister's? This had to be a trap! It had to be!

"Go!" She growled. "And don't ye dare scream!"

The miserable pervert gave a dismissive sound. "I am a man. I don't scream."

"Wanna bet?" She jabbed the candlestick into his back. "Move!"

Candlestick cocked and ready to fire, Amy manoeuvred him up the stairs. She felt like a little duckling trying to push a proud mustang, but she didn't let that deter her. Not for a moment!

Flo's counting on me!

"My staff is upstairs!" the miserable excuse for a man hissed. "What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Don't ye worry." Amy patted his shoulder with her free hand. "I've met yer staff. They're quite nice."

"You've what?"

Before she got a chance to answer, they stepped out into the corridor. Griffiths, the butler, and a well-padded, middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair were peeking out of the kitchen, watching them. Frowning, Prince Pervert leaned back towards her, lowering his voice.

"They...they're smiling. Why are they smiling?"

"Don't ask me. They're yer staff."

"My Lord!" The plump woman, probably the cook to judge by her apron, clapped her hands. "What a lovely girl!"

Amy slid her arm a little bit farther around the man's back to make sure all of the candlestick was hidden, and jammed the thing harder into his ribs.

"Ehem." Prince Pervert cleared his throat. "Y-yes, she is, is she not?"

"Smile," Amy hissed out of the corner of her mouth. "Smile wide!"

He contorted his face, showing his teeth.

The middle-aged woman bustled forward. More servants started peeking out of other doors, curiosity written clearly on their faces. "Ye should 'ave told me that ye 'ave a guest, and I'd 'ave prepared somethin' special! Won't ye introduce us?"

"Of course. Ehem. This is...is..."

"Amy." Beaming, Amy curtsied, making the cook blush. Amy was beginning to think the poor woman and the butler had no idea what sort of monster they served. She wished she could warn this nice lady, who clearly didn't expect such friendly treatment from her master's "guest." "Pleased to meet ye."

"Oh my!" Quickly, the cook sank into a wobbling curtsy. "Mrs Morris! At your service, Miss."

"At her service?" His Lordship demanded, sounding very lordly. He shut up after another jab with the candlestick.

"Certainly, Your Lordship." The old butler stepped forward, beaming. "Anything the young Miss demands, she shall get."

"Oh. She shall, shall she?"

"If I may be so bold, where are da two of ye goin'?" Mrs Morris enquired, eyes shining. She clearly had noticed the way Amy's arm was casually slung around her master's back.

He stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

Smiling, Amy shifted her arm until she was hugging the handsome, tall, strong man to her side, the candlestick now almost drilling into his liver. "We're goin' on a little stroll together."

"A little what?"

She jabbed!

"Oh, yes!" he wheezed. "Of course. A stroll. Your wish is my command."

"I'm so glad to hear that, dear." She flashed him a smile full of teeth. "Let's go, dear, shall we?" Amy started manoeuvring the reluctant lord towards the front door. Behind them, she heard the middle-aged lady's wishful sigh.

Ha! Sorry, Ma'am, but 'im and me? Dat ain't never gonna 'appen! Not in a million years!

With a click, the front door closed behind them. The instant it closed, the bloody pervert threw her a look of royal disapproval that only a true, blue-blooded English peer was capable of.

"You have no idea what you have done! Wait till my mother gets wind of this...!"

"I know exactly what I've done." Amy stared up at him, eyes narrowed. "I've gotten us out of dere without problems. What I wanna know is why ye care what yer mother thinks of ye, let alone yer 'ousekeeper. What does a bloody child-molestin' pervert like ye care for other people's feelings?"

His Lordship's eyes flashed, and his voice rose almost to a shout. "I am not a child-molesting perv—" Abruptly, he cut off as he noticed the middle-aged lady who had just stepped out of the house next door.

He cleared his throat.

"Oh. Um...good evening, Lady Hartington. How are you and your family?"

The woman threw him a look you would normally reserve for a cockroach on the sole of your boot.

"They're safe behind two locked doors!"

Then she fled back into the house and slammed the door, bringing the number of locked doors up to a nice three. Even right here, right now, in this situation, Amy was unable to keep the smirk from her face.

"Don't. Say. A word," Prince Pervert issued his royal command, his voice threatening death and destruction.

Fortunately, Amy was the one with the deadly candlestick. "Sorry, can't do that. Oy, ye over dere!" Slipping two fingers between her lips, Amy gave a horse-whistle. A nearby cab rolled over, and the cabby lifted his cap.

"'ello dere, Miss. Can I take ye and yer man somewhere?"

"Aye." Stabbing "her man" in the back with the loving care of a rampaging rhino, Amy shoved him towards the coach. "We're goin' to 'is sister's place, ain't we? Where was it again, darlin'?"

"22 Hill Street," her darling pervert squeezed out between clenched teeth.

"Aye, guv!" He held out his hand.

There was a pause.

"Well?" Amy raised an eyebrow at His Lordship, expectantly. "Pay the nice man, will ye?"

The man's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. Amy had to admit, if he weren't a completely and utterly disgusting pervert, right then and there, he might actually look cute.

"You expect me to pay for my own kidnapping?" he hissed.

Amy gave him her most charming smile. "Would ye rather pay for yer funeral?"

That seemed to convince him. Pulling a pretty thick wallet out of his pocket, he handed a few coins to the cabby. Hm...maybe, after freeing Flo, she should just take the thing, whack him over the head and throw him in the Thames. It would serve him right to wake up with a mouth full of crap-water, and, most likely, she had better uses for the dosh than a bugger who was in the habit of buying kidnapped children.

Reaching down from the box, the cabby held open the cab door. Amy was just about to climb in, when she glanced to the side and saw Gelda, sticking her hands out from behind a nearby bush and waving frantically in a what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing kind of way.

Shaking her head, fast, Amy hurriedly waved, gesturing for Gelda to get back into cover. If this thing didn't go as planned, it was more than enough that one of them got thrown into jail for kidnapping and illegal possession of a dangerous candlestick. No need for all of them to get involved.

The girls seemed to read the gist of what she was thinking. Gelda gestured at her with a big clenched fist, then stabbed a parasol towards her, and slashed a finger straight across her own throat. Then she grabbed her throat and squeezed, whereupon she stumbled back behind the bush.

Amy grinned.

I get it. If I don't get back safely, ye'll kill me in various and extremely painful ways. Ah, 'ow nice it is to 'ave wonderful friends.

If only I didn't also have despicable enemies.

"Let's go," Amy commanded and pushed her prisoner into the carriage. They settled into the hard seats, and the cab jerked forward, rolling away down the street.

The two of them sat in the coach silently, motionless and stiff. Now and again, Amy glanced at Prince Pervert beside her out of the corner of her eye, and found him doing the same. Damn him! Damn him and his dastardly handsome, haughty face! Amy didn't know what to say to that man—but even if she had, she wouldn't have said a word. Not to him!

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at him again. He was a tall man. It hadn't been so obvious while he was tied spread-eagled to an oversized four-poster, but now that he sat beside her, he towered over her. Combined with his broad shoulders and long hands, full of elegance and power...

Amy's hair stood on end.

Bloody 'ell! 'e could break me in 'alf! Why did I cut 'im free? Why?

More to the point—where was he taking her? Was it really to his...little sister?

The mental images that evoked were just too disturbing!

In far too short a time, in Amy's opinion, the two of them reached their goal. Heart pounding, she leaned towards the coach window. What would she see? The ruin of an old, Gothic castle? A prison with a dungeon far below, filled with the agonized cries of victims? Taking a breath, she looked out and saw—

A pretty, white, little picture-book house with a garden full of tulips and a small fountain, in which a duck with her three ducklings was happily taking a swim.

What the...?!

The devious bastard! Did he think he could hide the ugly truth behind this façade?

Ha! She'd tear off his mask for all the world to see.

"Move!" Amy commanded, kicking open the coach door. "Now!"

***

He was walking straight into danger, and so was the woman beside him! Lord Patrick knew it. He knew it in the deepest marrow of his bones. But could he do anything about it? Shuddering, he glanced at the façade of the house ahead as he remembered his last visit here, yesterday.

Patrick climbed out of the coach and marched towards the front door, deep in thought as he considered what to say.

Tentatively, he opened his mouth, facing the closed door. "Ehem...well...sister...I seem to have gotten involved in an affair that turned out to be difficult to deal with. Not that I couldn't, if I wished to, but...these things are not entirely my area of expertise, and...well, I am trying to do the right thing, but...but..."

Growling, he punched the wall. Damnation! What was the use?

He just reached out and rang the doorbell.

The ring of the bell had hardly subsided before the door was flung open, revealing the five-foot frizzy-haired powerhouse that was his little sister.

"Patrick! You remembered!"

"Huh?" Patrick blinked.

"My birthday!" Launching forward, she hugged him. "I thought you'd buried yourself in your work again and forgotten all about it! But you came!" Letting go, she bobbed backwards, gazing up at him with expectation gleaming in her eyes. "Well, come on! Show me!"

"Err...show you?"

"My gift! My gift!" She was almost hopping up and down with excitement by now. "Show me my gift!"

"Oh. Yes. Gift, of course." Patrick cleared his throat. God, he was in deep horse manure! He hesitated for one moment—then, reaching behind him into the coach, lifted out a struggling, scruffy little something and held it out to her with the best imitation of a smile he could manage. "Happy birthday, sister dear!"

"Let go of me, you bloody bastard! Let go!"

"Ow!"

Patrick pulled back the hand that had just been bitten—but when he looked up, he realized he'd be lucky if a bite wound was all he got today. His little sister was looking at him with that look on her face. That look which, throughout his childhood, had haunted his darkest nightmares and most of his waking hours.

"Patrick?"

"Err...yes, dear sister mine?"

"Why are you giving me a grubby child for my birthday?"

"Well, ehem...as to that..."

"Let me go let me go let me goooooo!" The girl Patrick was dangling by the shoulders kicked wildly, nearly hitting him in the stomach. Hurriedly, he held her a little farther away. "Dis bastard bought me! Did ye 'ear me? 'e bought me!"

Two piercing female eyes pinned him to the spot. "Brother?"

"Ehem. Well..." He gave her the bright, charming smile that had earned him the title of most eligible bachelor of London. "They were having a sale. How could I resist?"

"Patrick Day! Tell me what is going on this instant!"

"Well..." He cleared his throat again. "It's a long story..."

"I have time! Get your backside into the house right now!"

An elbow in the ribs abruptly pulled Patrick from his delightful filial memories.

"Oy! Prince Pervert!"

The young woman beside him—or perhaps she was a harpy straight from Hades, it was by no means impossible—jabbed her firearm into his back.

"Move, unless ye want me to fill ye with 'oles!"

"Charming as ever, I see."

"Shut up and shift yer arse! I'll see soon enough if ye're tellin' da truth. Ye'd better pray everythin' in dere is like what ye said it is. It's yer only chance ta escape un'armed."

"Unarmed? Actually, Miss, I must tell you that I rather like my arms, and—ow!"

"Move!"

"Yes, yes!" He swallowed, eyeing the front door with trepidation.

Escape unharmed? In this place?

This woman obviously didn't know his sister.

Pushing him forward, the young woman strode towards the door. Without the least bit of hesitation, she reached out and rang the doorbell.