They sat gazing at each other for a long moment—then Amy suddenly realized she was still holding his hand.

"Ehem." Quickly, Amy tugged her hand free.

Or at least meant to.

Her arm didn't move.

Traitor!

From under her lashes, she glanced up at him—and regretted it immediately. He was gazing at her. Amy had had plenty of men gaze at her before, but like this...?

He was staring not at her assets, not at her curves, but at her. Her eyes. Herself. Just...her.

And her hand still wasn't moving!

Unlike the heat inside her. It was rising. Slowly, but steadily rising up her neck. What...what was this strange feeling? What was happening to her? Was she...blushing?

"Miss Amy, I..." Patrick began—then abruptly cut off as, above him, the roof of the coach creaked under a certain someone's weight.

"By all means, do continue," Karim's gravelly voice came from above. "I'm used to conversations like this by now."

Yep, Amy. Ye're blushin'. Ye're definitely blushin'.

And she was still holding his hand. Why was she still holding his hand?

Well...

Maybe it wasn't so surprising, considering what had happened later last night.

Don't think about it! Think about kidnappings! Crimes! Brutal gangs! That's much easier to deal with than...than...that!

But how could she possibly not think about it? How could she possibly forget what had happened later that night, when he...

***

"Wonderful evening?" Angeline's eyes glittered at her brother as one would at a particularly irksome cockroach. One covered in dirt. And swimming in your soup. "It's bloody two in the morning!"

"Oh, um...then it's a wonderful morning, isn't it?" Smiling brightly, Patrick reached out and strategically pushed two of the cutest children forward.

"You...!" Angeline's eyes flared up, promising the fires of sisterly hell. "If the next thing you say is 'happy birthday', I am going to punch you in the bloody bollocks!"

At that, Amy received a sideways stare from Patrick. Smiling innocently, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Don't look at me like that! She picked up that one all by herself!"

He still looked adorably suspicious. But he must have decided now wasn't the right time, because he turned back to face his little sister.

"Well?" the tiny woman demanded, still looking as if she wanted to punch him. Gesturing, she pointed at the horde of ragged children. "What's your excuse?"

He hesitated—then, a determined look appeared in his azure eyes.

"I have none." Taking a step forward, Patrick bowed his head in front of his little sister until they were on eye-level, gently taking hold of her shoulder. "These children have been rescued from a horrible place, and they have nowhere else to go. Please help them."

"You...!" She did punch him, then. Not, however, to Amy's severe disappointment, in the aforementioned bollocks. "How am I supposed to refuse when you say things like that?"

He wheezed, and yet a grin spread over his face, carefree and innocent. Amy felt her heart melt just a little bit. And in one tiny corner of it, she found herself wishing that someone would smile at her that way.

"You can't, sister mine. That's the point."

Angeline jabbed him in the chest. "And I suppose you were the one who got them out of this 'horrible place'?"

"Let's just say I had a hand in the matter, yes."

"And they can't stay anywhere else?" Lowering her voice, she hissed, "It isn't as if you don't know that this isn't actually my place! What are mother and father going to say when they come back? Isn't there anywhere else?"

Her eyes for the first time flicked to Karim, who was towering in the background like a decorative bearded mountain with a turban-tipped peak.

"What about you? A big fellow like you must have a big place!"

"The Sahib does," Karim answered curtly. "And I shall defend it with my last breath against any and all invaders, no matter how tiny."

"What in God's name is a Sahib?"

"Someone ye don't wanna tangle with," Amy assured her—and then felt Angeline's eyes land on her.

Oops. Wrong time ta attract attention.

"What about you, Amy? Could you take them home and...?"

It almost hurt. The hopeful way Angeline was looking at her...

A mental image of her "home" flashed past Amy's inner eye. Take children there? She shuddered involuntarily. There was a very good reason why she had never taken Flo or Jo home with her. In order to take someone home, you first had to have a real home.

"Dat...dat wouldn't be a good idea, Angeline."

Patrick cleared his throat. "Well...I suppose I could always take them home with me." He scratched his noble chin. "Taking care of a dozen children shouldn't be that difficult, right? I should be able to do it without any—"

Amy and Angeline exchanged a look.

"Quick!" Angeline ordered, grabbing the closest child and pulling her towards the door. "Get inside, everyone, before something horrible happens to you!"

Patrick narrowed his eyes. "I have a butler, a cook, a housekeeper and two dozen maids!"

"Which begs the question: what does a single man without a family need those for?"

This time, Patrick didn't narrow his eyes, but rather his lips, which he chose to keep firmly closed.

"I guess that proves my point." Throwing the door open the rest of the way, Angeline gestured to the remaining children. "Quickly, inside!"

"Y-ye really mean it, Lady?" said a little boy, his eyes bigger than a pair of really expensive china saucers. Frozen at the entrance, he stared around the extravagant lounge as if he were stepping into Cinderella's castle. "Ye're really gonna let us into yer fancy 'ouse?"

"Of course I am! You need a place to sleep, don't you? What kind of person would I be if I just turned my back on you?"

Amy closed her eyes, working hard to resist the temptation to ram her head against the wall.

Dis family is gonna drive me insane! Are dey all descended from some biblical good Samaritan dat emigrated to England?

Maybe she should just introduce them to Ella and Edmund. Then they could all start a happy little club of do-gooders together and leave the rest of the world to normal people.

Except...

Amy watched as Patrick bent down to the wide-eyed boy and, in one swoop, picked him up and placed him on his shoulders. A wide grin spread across the boy's dirty little face, apparently very satisfied with his new two-legged pony. Then Patrick took Flo by the hand and...

And she followed him. Willingly. Smiling.

Maybe this sort of insanity wasn't so bad after all.

And maybe, a little voice at the back of her mind whispered as her eyes fell on an interesting little scene, I can even contribute a little bit.

Amy's hand shot out, closing around the slender wrist of a sweet little blonde girl.

"W-what is it?" the little girl gazed up at me out of wide, innocent doe-eyes.

Amy snorted.

"Put a sock in it, will ye?" She gave the girl her best I-know-what-you-know smile and, with a quick move, twisted her wrist. Various sparkly, valuable objects fell into Amy's open hand. "Or better yet, why don't ye put dat sparkly stuff in a sock, wrap it in nice gift paper and hand it back ta da owner?" She considered for a moment. "On second thoughts, maybe leave da sock out of da equation."

"Aye, Miss! Right away, Miss!"

The girl flushed, and hurried after the others.

From that point onward, the night descended into hectic, yet at least non-criminal, chaos. Amy watched as Patrick, Angeline and Karim chased around the house, pulling blankets, cushions, and children playing hide-and-seek out of the wardrobes in a frenzy. Amy, with her customary generosity, volunteered to be the general overseer, and threw herself into the strenuous task of sitting on the chaise longue, offering everyone valuable advice.

"When you told me you required my help to go after dangerous criminals," Karim growled, dashing down the corridor with two children under each arm, chasing a fifth, maniacally giggling one, "this was not what I thought you had in mind!"

"Dat should teach ye." Grinning, Amy gave him an encouraging wave. "Too much thinkin' is dangerous for ye."

It took a while to get all the children settled down. Mostly because they kept asking questions like "Why is dere so much food? Can we eat all of it?" or "What are dose fluffy white things on da bed? Are dey food, too?" But eventually, things started to calm down and the children were spread out over two beds in the guest rooms, and two sofas in the drawing room, Karim over another three.

As quietly as possible, Amy closed the door, throwing a last glance on the peaceful scene. Karim's snores rumbled through the door, making the whole house reverberate.

"Well, I suppose I'd better be gettin' 'ome."

Angeline whirled around to stare at her. "Amy! You can't possibly think that you'd..."

Amy blinked. "That I'd what?"

"Leave, of course! You can't possibly walk through the streets of the big city at this hour of the night! What if you were to encounter some disreputable character?"

Um...I'd say, "'ello dere! 'ow nice ta meet a fellow delinquent out 'ere!"

Her gaze flickered to Patrick. He knew! He knew what she was! He knew she couldn't stay here and spend a night in this nice, clean, reputable house. If she did, if the servants talked or Angeline's parents found out—

"Yes," he said, his eyes fixed on Amy. "You should stay here."

What?

"But...but...!"

"No buts."

Suddenly, she couldn't help grinning. "Not even if it's a cute one?"

His Lordship's face flushed Buckingham-red. "Out! Out, before you corrupt what's left of my sister's innocence!"

She batted her eyelashes at him, innocent as lamb convicted of multiple counts of wolfslaughter. "I thought you wanted me to stay da night."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, stepping forward, leaned forward and, in a voice so low only she could hear, whispered, "I do. Just not with her—but with me."

Amy's heart stopped. For just a moment, she couldn't breathe.

Damn 'im! Damn dat man! I was just jokin'. Why does 'e 'ave ta be serious all of a sudden? Why does 'e always say things like dat ta me? He can't really mean...

"That way," he growled, "I can keep an eye on you. You are too dangerous to be left alone."

Oh.

I'm gonna kill 'im. I'm gonna kill 'im with a candlestick and 'ang 'is bloody corpse from da Tower of London!

Quietly fuming, Amy followed him. He led her to a small, but lovely bedroom at the back of the house, overlooking the beautiful back garden. The walls were covered in literal wallflowers, and white lace curtains decorated the windows. Cautiously, Amy reached out to touch the pristine white bedsheets.

"This is the second guest bedroom." Patrick shifted beside her. "I know it's not very big, but...you should be all right in here, right?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "No, I'm normally used ta sleepin' on a golden king-sized bed in a luxurious palace. Of course I'll be all right! What did ye think?"

"Not very much, to be perfectly honest." He gave her a tired smile. "I'm exhausted."

Ye're not da only one.

"Really?" She cocked an eyebrow. "I feel fine."

One corner of his mouth curved up. "Of course you do. Well...I suppose I should leave now to find my own bed. It's time to rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow. After all, we have much to do tomorrow."

He didn't move.

"Aye." Amy swallowed and nodded. "I guess I really should see ye out."

She didn't move either.

Why the heck wasn't she moving? We had work to do tomorrow! There was a little girl waiting for their help! Probably more than one. We should get moving. Like, right now!

Then he did move. By taking a step towards her.

"I...I should really leave."

"Yes." She, too, took a step closer. Close enough to see things in his eyes she had never seen in the eyes of any other man before. A lump appeared in her throat. "Y-ye really should."

And of course, in the most perfectly logical response, he reached out and took hold of her hand. It felt like her arm had been set aflame.

Dis ain't funny! I ain't into burn play!

Or...or at least she hadn't been. Until now.

Swallowing, she interlaced her fingers with his. The heat spread all through her body, and an inexorable force seemed to draw her towards him. With every inch she moved, heat gathered inside her.

Oh, ta 'ell with dis! Burn play is fun!

He raised their interlocked hands. Higher and higher they went, until her fingers were only inches away from his face, and then...

Warmth.

Not heat. Not roaring flames. Warmth. And not even the kind produced by a body. No...the warmth she felt as she touched his cheeks was that of two hearts, beating in unison.

Oh aye, I'm sure dat's anatomically correct!

Shut up, inner voice!

It did shut up. But still, neither Amy nor Patrick moved.

"I should definitely leave," Patrick repeated.

"Aye. I guess ye definitely should."

His grip on her hand tightened.

Amy's didn't loosen either.

"Good night, Miss Amy," he said, showing about as much intention to move as a legless hibernating hedgehog. "Sleep well."

"Nighty night, Pea. Ye sleep well, too."

That did make him move. Taking another step towards her, he gazed down at her, his noble eyes blazing with delicious indignation.

"One day." He growled. "One day, I'm going to take that damnable nickname and make you eat it!"

"No problem." She flashed him a smile. "I eat pea soup every week."

Turning, he muttered something that contained the words "damnable wench" and "always the last word". Then he squared his shoulders and left.

Amy waited until his footsteps had receded down the corridor. Only then did she reach up to touch her burning cheek, where earlier his hand had rested.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Amy, what are you thinking?

The answer was rather obvious. She wasn't. At all. He was getting to her. No matter how much she tried to stop herself, no matter how much she told herself not to be a fool, he was getting to her! It was as if she'd suddenly turned into one of those soppy tarts in those books she didn't hide under her bed and definitely didn't read on a regular basis!

"Ha! Fat chance that'll ever 'appen!"

Mumbling insults to a certain someone who most definitely didn't resemble a romantic hero, she made her way to her bed and cuddled into the unfamiliarly soft—and yes, damn comfortable!—cushions and blankets. Slowly, she started to sink into darkness, and...

When she awoke, the moon she saw through the window had hardly moved in the sky. Amy wasn't really surprised to have woken up at this hour. Members of her particular profession weren't called "ladies of the night" for nothing. Usually, her hours lasted from three pm to five in the morning the next day. Going to bed at two could be considered an early night for her. Still...she usually had the ability to catch up on sleep anywhere and everywhere. She wouldn't have awakened this early, unless...

The creak of floorboards from outside the room made her whole body tense.

Was one of the brats up to no good?

Stupid question. They were children.

But...this didn't exactly sound like a child. In Devil's Acre, you didn't survive long if you weren't capable of hearing who was creeping up on you. And this was a man, no doubt about it. No mountain like Karim, but still heavy enough to put solid weight on every step.

What is going on?

Slipping out of bed on feet as light as a feather on a strict diet, Amy made her way to the door and pushed it open just far enough to peek outside. The shadowy figure of a man was sneaking down the corridor towards her room. Reaching out, Amy grabbed the poker from the fireplace and, sliding her hand around the doorknob, held her breath.

Whoever he was, he was coming closer.

And closer.

And closer.

And...now!

Slamming open the door, she swung the poker at the intruder's head. He ducked and, with an instinct born of years of not dying in the East End, Amy whirled, sliding smoothly behind him. In a blink, she was behind the bastard and had slipped the poker past his head, pulling it back against his throat with all her might, and—

"Rrrg...nnn...!"

"Die, bastard!"

"Gglllk...grnn...Amy...!"

She hesitated.

"Patrick?"