Be careful?

Just be careful?

Lord Patrick Day clenched his fists.

Why had he said that? Had he gone insane? It would make it seem as if...as if he and she...

As if you cared what happened to her, right?

Damnation! He couldn't...they couldn't possibly...!

Could they?

The sounds of voices from up ahead cut his dangerous thoughts short.

"Shh!"

Raising a finger to his lips, Lord Patrick halted.

"What is it?" Amy whispered from behind. Lord Patrick did his best to think of his potential bride shortlist and ignore the way her breath tickled the back of his neck.

"Listen! Don't you hear?"

They stopped and listened. Soon, everyone seemed to hear what he had heard.

"Show us yer cards, ye old bastard!"

"All right, all right. 'ere ye go..."

"Ha! I knew ye'd lose!"

"Cards?" Patrick frowned. "They're playing cards?"

Amy's face was grim beside him. "Apparently, kidnapping children can get borin'."

"So da two of us will get da first go at 'er?"

"Aye! I'm lookin' forward to getting' to know that little minx..."

"Or maybe not." Amy's jaw tightened. "Looks like playing cards isn't all they're planning on doing."

Lord Patrick felt his heart grow cold. Cold as ice. They couldn't...they wouldn't really...

Maybe it was foolish but, after all he'd heard, after all he'd seen at Amy's side, he still couldn't quite believe what was going on in the depths of London's shadows. This was England, for God's sake! England!

"Well, den, what are we waitin' for?" Chairs scraped across the ground, and footsteps could be heard shuffling off. "Let's get to it!"

Lord Patrick stood there for a moment, frozen, and then—

And then a figure dashed past him.

"Bloody stinking hell!"

He didn't waste even a single thought on the vile curse that had just escaped his mouth. All he did was lunge forward, trying to grab hold of Amy, before—

"Oy! Fart face!"

Too late.

Frowning, one of the men turned around. "Who the 'ell are y—"

Bam!

In a blink, Amy lowered her pistol, slid another bullet in and raised it up again.

"Damn single shots! So—"

Bam!

"—inconvenient!"

"Dratted female!" Growling, Patrick rushed into the guard room. All he saw was a flash of bare brick walls, an overturned crate and cards scattered on the ground, before his eyes zeroed in on the four men. One was already down, one was slumped against the wall, bleeding. But the other two...

Bam!

His Lordship aimed and shot before he knew what he was doing. The sneering gangster who had just been about to take aim at Amy flew backwards, crashing against the wall. His last compatriot was faster and smarter.

"No!" Amy yelled.

Too late! Dashing over to the iron lattice door that covered the entrance to what was, without a doubt, a prison cell, he shoved the barrel of a gun between the bars.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!"

Lord Patrick froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amy doing the same. Both of them stared at the small, hunched figures in the shadowy cell. One didn't need to be a genius to know whom they belonged to.

Dirty bastard son of a...!

How did he know this would work?

His Lordship glanced behind him. There, Flo and Aggy had appeared in the doorway, the latter still clutching her knife.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He should have told those two to stay out of sight. Now it was too late. That thug was undoubtedly the smartest of the lot. Within seconds of seeing the girls, free, unbound and armed, he'd realized that Patrick and Amy were not members of his gang, but a totally different kind of people. People on a rescue mission. People with morals, who cared if others lived or died.

People with a weakness.

"Aye! I thought so!" A disgusting, yellow-toothed smile spread over the thug's sorry excuse for a face. "Now drop yer guns, da both of ye, or dose girls will get it!"

He gestured his gun at the girls in the cell, who whimpered and shrunk back, pressing against the cold walls.

"Louse-infested, lilly-livered ratbag!" Amy hissed.

Lord Patrick Day privately admitted he couldn't have put it better.

"Do it!" The thug growled.

Slowly, Amy lowered her gun, her eyes flickering with green fire. His ears pounding with blood, Lord Patrick followed suit.

"I said drop! Now!"

Gnashing his teeth, he let go. His pistol dropped onto the dirty floor with a clang.

"Ye too, Missy!"

Amy didn't react.

"Are ye deaf? Do it!"

Still, no reaction. His Lordship frowned. She seemed to be staring at the man with the gun. No...not at him. Past him!

"What if I don't do it?" Amy challenged. "What if I just shoot ye where ye stand? Ye're da only one left!"

The man narrowed his eyes. Sweat started appearing on his brow, and his breathing quickened. "Ye wouldn't dare! Ye're 'ere for dose little rats! Ye want dem alive!"

"Are ye sure?" Amy took a step straight towards the man, holding his gaze with hers—holding his attention! "What if I don't give a crap? What if I just wanna see ye dead?"

"Ye're bluffin'! Ye won't—"

"Now!" Amy cut him off.

The man scowled. "Now wha—aaagh!"

A scream erupted from the man's mouth as the captive girl, who had been steadily sneaking closer to the lattice door without him noticing, grabbed his hand and sank her teeth into his wrist. The pistol twisted upwards and fired, the bullet harmlessly hitting the ceiling.

"Get 'im!" Amy yelled.

Lord Patrick did not need an invitation. He was already moving before the words were out of her mouth. Leaping forward, he and Amy each grabbed one of the man's arms, slamming him against the iron bars of the door.

"Get...his arms...behind...his back!" Patrick wheezed.

"I'm tryin', ye bloody numbskull! Dis bugger ain't a ladybug, ye know!"

The big thug's scarred face twisted into an ugly grimace. Growling, he pushed his massive arms forward, trying to shake them off. Out of the corner of his eye, Lord Patrick saw one of the man's hands reaching out, trying to grab her throat.

Suddenly, his world twisted and trembled.

"No, you don't!" Patrick barked, slamming his knee into the massive man's side. The thug grunted and jerked, but showed no other signs of pain. Damn him!

"Is she yer ladyfriend?" He sneered. "Nice-looking tart! Once I'm through with ye, I'll lock 'er in one of our cells and 'ave a nice, long night with 'er. We'll 'ave a lot of fun together!"

"No, ye won't, ye bloody arse!" His Noble Lordship bellowed, suddenly finding his language lessons very useful. "I'll rip yer guts out and—"

Rrrip!

Both of them were interrupted by a sudden noise. The thug's face slackened. He glanced around from right to left—but saw nothing. Neither did Lord Patrick. What in the name of...?

Suddenly, His Lordship remembered something. He looked down—and there stood Flo, a rusty knife pressed against the thug's paunch. It was buried to the hilt.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Ye'll 'ave ta get in line, perv."

Lord Patrick smiled. He was starting to like this little girl. And considering the knife in her hands, he very much hoped it was mutual. "I don't mind."

"Good!" Not even blinking, Flo twisted the knife and pulled it free with practised ease.

A shiver went down his back.

Good God! She's just four years old! Four years!

In that moment, Lord Patrick made a vow. No matter what, he would not let this little girl and her sister go back to live on the street. And if he had to kidnap her? So what! He'd done it once already! Practise makes perfect!

"Ye...ye damn little—"

The hulking man made a grab for Flo, but before he could grab hold of her, Patrick rammed his knee into the man's now wounded gut. This time, he got a reaction! Groaning, the man keeled over—but instantly rolled around, producing a dagger in his hand.

Bam!

The knife froze in mid-movement. Out of blood-shot eyes, the man stared up at Amy—then, slowly, his eyes moved to the smoking gun in her hand.

"I told ye I wouldn't let go," Amy whispered, eyes glittering. In that moment, her free hand reached for Flo, pulling the little girl against her. "I'll never let go!"

Lord Patrick felt a tug at his heart. She was simply...beautiful.

Thud!

Even the bastard on the floor seemed to agree, considering how he was staring at her, slack-jawed and eyes wide open. Then again...a corpse couldn't very well assume another expression.

Dragging in a deep breath, Amy jerked her head towards the cell. "Let's get dis bloody thing open, shall we?"

"My pleasure, My Lady." Bending down, Patrick tore the ring of keys from the fallen thug's belt and stepped towards the lattice door. But he stopped the instant he saw the children beyond the bars retreating in fear.

"Do not fret, young ones," he told them, his voice earnest. "We have come here with honourable intentions, and we would not dream of harming you. We shall take you to a place of safety where there will be food, warm clothes, and plenty of nice people who will take care of you."

For some reason, that made them take another step back.

What is going on? Wasn't I kind and gentle enough?

"Oh, get out of da way, ye dolt!"

An elbow sank into his side. Stumbling away, he saw Amy march past him towards the lattice door. Coming to a halt, she pulled the mask that she had worn the entire time off her face. "Now listen 'ere, ye miserable pack of misfits! We're yer only chance of gettin' dis door open. Reinforcements from dose bastards," she jabbed at the unconscious and dead men on the floor, "might be comin' any moment. Do ye still wanna be 'ere when dey arrive?"

The dirty children on the other side of the door threw uncertain glances at each other. Finally, one of them stepped forward. It was the girl who had bitten the fiend's wrist earlier. Her eyes flicked from Amy to Lord Patrick with suspicion.

"Ye...ye've really come ta get us out of 'ere?"

"Yes," Lord Patrick Day said, injecting his voice with honour and virtue.

"Not really," Amy said.

"What the...!" Whirling towards her, His Lordship shot her a glare. "What are you saying?"

"Well, ain't it the truth?" She just shrugged. Shrugged! Fixing her eyes on the girl beyond the bars, she took a step forward. "We've come 'ere ta get someone else out. But, since ye're 'ere, too, we might as well take ye along." She cocked her head. "Do ye want to come or not?"

There was only an instant of hesitation—then her eyes landed on Flo, who was snuggling into Amy's side the whole time. Abruptly, the girl nodded. "Aye!"

Amy stepped towards Lord Patrick. Grabbing the key from his hands—of course, without asking first—she turned towards the door and shoved the key into the lock. His Lordship saw the girls hold their breaths, clutching each other's hands so tightly their fingers turned white. The door sprang open. Lord Patrick knelt, giving the children an encouraging smile.

"Don't you worry. You're safe now."

Beaming smiles spread across their faces. Cheering, they rushed out of the room, and...

...past him?

Upstairs?

One of them took the time to glance back and wave—then they vanished around the corner.

"Where in God's name are they going?" His Lordship demanded, whirling to stare at the fast-retreating backs of the children.

"Far away from 'ere, I'd imagine," Amy shrugged, sticking her head into the cell to check if there was still anybody in there. "As far as dey can go."

"But...but..."

"What?" Amy turned towards him, a sympathetic expression on her face, like a teacher who had to tell her favourite first-grader that Father Christmas wasn't real. "Did ye think they'd come with a masked stranger, just because 'e said they're safe?"

"Um...well..." The honourable Lord Patrick Day thought about it for a moment. And another. Then he slammed his fist against the wall. "Dammit!"

"Couldn't 'ave put it better meself." She patted his shoulder. "But look on da bright side. At least ye won't 'ave ta bring yer little sister any more belated birthday presents."

A memory of his sister's expression when he had showed up at her front door with a certain little girl flashed past Patrick's inner eye. Involuntarily, he shuddered. Well...it probably wouldn't be too bad for the girls to run away, right? After all, they might have concerned parents to return to, or friends who—

"Oy! Ye there!"

Patrick turned towards the voice—and found himself staring down at the girl who had helped them earlier. No...not helped them. Saved them. She was studying him intently. A small boy peeked out from behind her.

"Who are ye?" she demanded, eyes narrowed. "Ye ain't from no rival gang of dose bastards 'ere!"

Self-consciously, Lord Patrick Day pulled at his gangster mask, straightening his spine. "Yes, of course we are! I mean, aye! We have...I mean, 'ave...oh, fiddlesticks!"

The girl gave him a pitying look. "Give it up. Who are ye?"

Taking a deep breath, Lord Patrick chucked away his acting lessons, squared his shoulders and bowed. "I am a noble of the empire and a gentleman with honest intentions, young lady. Please feel reassured."

The girl stared—then exchanged a glance with Flo and Aggy. "Is dat bugger for real?"

Flo rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately, aye."

His Lordship opened his mouth to say something about the use of the b-word by children, when Amy emerged from the cell and closed the lattice door behind her.

"Empty," she said. "And none of da girls who ran out matched da girl's description ye gave us, right, Flo?"

Depressed, the girl nodded. "Leona ain't 'ere."

Lord Patrick placed a hand on her shoulder. "There still is the other side of the building. Maybe Mr Karim has found something."

As if summoned by her words, the big Mohammedan appeared at the door, his face grim, and the rest of him blood-spattered.

"What is it?" Flo demanded, her eyes wide. "Ye didn't find—"

"I found a number of children, and they are more or less all right."

"And da bastard who runs this place? Whitlock?"

"He was not unfortunate enough to encounter me. I do not think that he is here."

"So, everything went rather smoothly." Lord Patrick frowned, since the scowl on Karim's face still had not disappeared. "Then why...?"

The Mohammedan's scowl deepened. He looked like an extremely disgruntled giant who hadn't had any fresh humans to eat in at least a week. "I told them they are free. I opened the cage and told them they could go, and nothing bad would happen to them!"

"And...?"

Karim's knuckles cracked as he balled his massive fists. "For some reason, they didn't believe me! Apparently, they prefer to stay inside the cage!"

A strange noise came out of Amy's direction. Lord Patrick had once been present when his Mother's old friend, Lady Beverly, had tasted some frog's legs at a soiree held by the French Ambassador, and the gentleman next to her happened to suddenly tell a very funny joke and, well...

The noise coming from Amy sounded a bit like that. "Y-ye don't say."

"Wipe that smirk off your face, woman, and come with me!"

"Why?"

"I...I need...I need your..."

For a moment, Lord Patrick closed his eyes, completely filled with sympathy. Poor man. He understood exactly what Karim was going through right now.

"Come on." Amy stepped closer. "Da word starts with 'h'. Ye can do it. Ye ain't a cockney."

Karim sent her a glare that would anyone wish for a solid cage to hide in. "I. Need. Your. Help. Please."

Amy opened her mouth—but what she wanted to say, Lord Patrick never found out. Suddenly, somewhere above their heads, on the ground floor, a door crashed open. A moment later, heavy footsteps sounded.

"What da 'ell is going on 'ere?" A bellow came through the creaky wooden ceiling. "Brown? Jenkins? Where da bloody 'ell are ye? If ye don't get yer arses over 'ere, I swear I'll cut off yer bollocks, or my name ain't Gordy Whitlock!"

Lord Patrick's eyes narrowed.

They all exchanged a look.

"I think," His Lordship said, "we're all going to need help."