"There, look ahead! It should be just five miles now." Lifting his gaze from the map, Lord Patrick pointed through the open carriage window, where they could see a wooden road sign pointing westwards. "Do you see? It says Collun—"

"Collundale? It's Collundale?"

Suddenly, His Lordship found himself holding a map of empty air, and nothing more. Slowly, he turned his head towards Amy. "I beg your pardon?"

"I told ye, I ain't in dis for free," Amy retorted, not lifting her nose from the map she had liberated for a second. "Ye can 'ave a pardon for two shilling and sixpence."

Lord Patrick lifted a lordly eyebrow. "I was referring," he enquired, "to why you misappropriated my map. What is so strange about this particular village that makes you all so on edge?"

A crunching noise came from the corner. Lord Patrick glanced over, and saw Karim thoroughly grinding down the top layer of his teeth.

"And since we're on the subject of strange things..." Leaning out of the carriage, he pointed to three coaches driving behind them. Iron-plated carriages with very silent, efficient-looking men inside them. "Who are they?"

"Colleagues," Karim growled.

"And why, pray, Mr Karim, are three carriages full of your colleagues from your employer's headquarters following us to our goal? I doubt we will have use for that many office clerks and secretaries."

That, for some reason, caused a snort to come from the bulky bodyguard. Without a word, he exchanged a look with Amy that seemed to exchange a silent message. Something very much akin to Poor fool. Ignorance is bliss.

Needless to say Lord Patrick was less than pleased about this.

They clearly knew something he didn't. They clearly knew each other well enough to exchange words without having to talk and...and...

It aggravated him.

No.

It...enervated him.

No...no, it...it pissed him the bloody hell off!

In the corner, a peacefully sleeping Titus gave a disinterested snore—which only pissed Patrick off even more!

Determined to get to the bottom of this, he shifted closer to the main culprit.

Yes, that is why I am doing this. There is no other reason at all for me moving closer to her. It's mere curiosity.

"Is something particularly special about this village named 'Collundale'? The name seems fairly common to me. It doesn't bring anything to mind." He stared at her, bringing to bear the full force of his aristocratic aura of authority.

Judging by the way the corner of her mouth twitched, it had about as much effect on her as an aristocratic avocado.

"Oh, da name ain't nothin' special. I'm more interested in da people who live dere."

People? What people? Could it be...a man?

And why, pray, are you worrying about that?

He cleared his throat. "What kind of people?"

"A certain...friend of mine?"

Now, Karim wasn't the only one grinding his teeth. His Lordship's gaze bored into her. "What kind of friend?"

Her eyes danced at her smirk widened. Heck! Did she know what he was thinking? No, she couldn't possibly know! His face was betraying nothing whatsoever. She couldn't possibly know.

"A...very good friend."

She knew. She bleeding knew! That little vixen! She was doing this deliberately!

***

What the hell was she doing? What the bloody hell was she doing?

Well, dat's pretty simple, luv. Ye're teasin' a Lord of da Empire who, right now, seems ta be jealous because 'e thinks ye've got a secret boyfriend.

Shut up! Shut up, inner voice! It was nothing of the sort!

She should probably stop this. Teasing His Mighty Magnificent Lordship was a lot of fun, but she should probably take a break, before it got out of—

"So...you have been to this village before?" Leaning forward, he stared at her with a strange ferocity in his eyes that looked almost...possessive? "You have a friend there? A close friend?"

—hand.

Well, so much for that.

She might as well go all out.

"Oh, aye." Amy winked at him. "Da two of us are...very closely acquainted."

Patrick stiffened. "You..."

"As is Karim, by da way."

That caused the men to choke on their saliva. Aside from Titus, who was still peacefully snoring in the corner.

"Mister. Karim?" They were only two words, yet they were filled with more ice-cold, righteous rage than would fit inside the arctic ocean. His jaw rigid, Lord Patrick turned to stare daggers at Karim. At Karim. The human mountain / walking arsenal extraordinaire. Whatever else might be said about him, Amy had to applaud His Lordship's most noble balls.

The big bodyguard straightened, a bristly manifestation of righteousness. "Closely acquainted with...! Woman! How dare you insinuate I would come in contact with such people! I have never indulged in such activities! I absolutely deny that—"

"Da Pussycat Palace?" Amy interrupted sweetly, unable to let this sweet chance go. "Ye encountered two of me friends dere. Dey even invited ye upstairs, remember?"

Karim, tanned, weathered, bearded Karim, blushed like a virgin on her wedding day. Patrick, meanwhile, looked like he'd eaten a royal crown full of pickled onions.

There wasn't really a need to tell him that all of those friends of hers had been female, was there?

Amy couldn't help it. She grinned. To hell with the tattered little remnants of her conscience! To hell with the fact they were heading towards danger and possible death. She'd learned long before now to enjoy the small pleasures in life, and do it fast because they wouldn't last long. This was simply too much fun! The way His Mighty Lordship was acting...it was almost as if he were jealous.

Ha! Aye, right!

Of course, she had no such delusions. He was probably just annoyed that there was anything plebes such as themselves knew which his mighty noble self didn't.

He definitely looked it. In fact, "annoyed" was putting it rather bloody mildly.

"So..." Eyes glittering like frost-covered steel, Patrick pierced her with his gaze. Luckily for Amy, she was used to being pierced. "You are familiar with the area, are you? You know the people, do you? Hm. Well, I'm afraid that won't be of much use."

"Aye?" Amy raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "And why's dat?"

He mirrored her, his aristocratic eyebrow rising in challenge. She had to admit, as far as raised eyebrows went, she was no match for him. His family had most likely trained him in the art from the age of three.

"You do not understand, do you? We are about to go up against a duke, one of the highest nobles in the Empire, second only to the royal family itself. We cannot simply march into his home like we did on our last excursion. The kinds of guards and protective measures he will have in place...well, suffice it to say that things will be very different from our encounter with DeLacey. We shall have to find some more inconspicuous method to gain access to his home. Some excuse such as a ball, a reception...anything that involves him inviting us in, instead of us invading."

Hm...where exactly was he going with this? Amy cocked her head. "Your point being?"

He cocked his head right back at her, eyes flashing with the arrogance of a born aristocrat. She found out why a second later. "My point being that if we want to find an excuse to gain entrance to his manor and scope out the situation, we shall need connections to the highest levels of society. You know as well as I that the kind of people you are acquainted with would be of no help to us in this situation."

Ah. So he was dissing her "close friend", was he? The noble lord was looking down on her measly connections?

Oh boy...this is gonna be good.

Amy raised her chin in faux indignation. "'ow dare ye insult me, Sir! I'll 'ave ye know that I'm quite well connected in respectable circles, especially the church! Why, I 'ave at least three abbesses among my acquaintances!"

His dignified glare was intense enough to evaporate water. "I do not think your 'church connections' count."

"Don't worry!" Reaching out, she patted his shoulder. "Me friends won't dissapoint. Just wait till ye meet dem. Dey'll blow you..."

His entire face flooded with color. Amy, knowing that patience was a virtue, waited patiently and then, when his noble ears were about to catch fire, finally added, "...away."

"You...you..."

But before His Lordship could think of what to say, Karim's voice cut him off, sounding entirely more serious than a few moments before.

"We're here."

***

The bodyguard's voice cut through Lord Patrick's irritation like a hot knife through butter. Why was he wasting time bandying words like this with a woman who clearly had no idea what she was talking about? It was pitiful, really.

"Miss Amy!" Shaking his head, he levelled a somber gaze at her. "We came here to accomplish a mission. This is not the time for bad jokes!"

"Jokes? How exactly am I telling jokes?" Amy's sweet voice enquired. Damnation! Since when had he started thinking that vixen's voice sounded sweet? "Ain't ye lookin' forward to my friend's 'elp?"

"Please! We are dealing with high society here."

Something flashed in her green eyes. "And dat means someone like me could never 'elp, does it?"

"Well..." he cleared his throat. "How shall I put this...I don't mean to insult you—"

"Really? Because for an amateur, ye're doing an excellent job."

"—but we are dealing with a duke, here, after all. A duke! Social standing is not something that can be bridged easily."

"Oh, ye think so? Look out of the window, mister."

Patrick glanced outside—just in time to see the railing of the bridge whizz by as they crossed a shallow little river. When he turned back, the grin on Amy's face could have swallowed a banana sideways.

He sent her a dark look. "I was speaking metaphorically!"

"Well, I bloody wasn't." Her eyes suddenly turned hard. "One more bad word about my friends, and I'll twist yer head off, understood?"

Beautiful...

Lord Patrick Day had never thought that was a word he would apply to a woman who had just threatened his life. But then...since he had met her, a lot of things had happened that he would never have expected. What he had said had been only reasonable, dammit! There was no way any friends she had would be of any use getting introductions to a respectable gentleman, let alone a duke! Unless that gentleman happened to spend a lot of time at a certain house of ill repute, in order to...

Abruptly, the coach came to a halt, cutting his thoughts short.

Which was probably a good thing.

Outside, the coachman leapt to the ground and pulled the coach door open.

Immediately, Amy picked up her parasol and sent a smile his way that gave him a strange feeling. Why was she smiling? Soon enough, her boasting would be exposed. Was that a reason to smile?

"Let's go see me friends, shall we?" She winked. "Dis will be fun!"

Twirling her parasol, she moved towards the door..

Your definition of "fun" differs quite significantly from the one found in the Oxford English Dictionary, I would venture!

Whether her friend turned out to be a debauched bachelor or a lady of the night, was there really any question as to where they spent the majority of their time? This was most definitely not his definition of "fun"!

"Wait just a moment!" Leaping up, Lord Patrick stretched a hand out, nearly slamming his head against the carriage ceiling. "You are not really going to take us to—"

Hopping out of the coach, she vanished.

"—that kind of place?"

Muttering a number of utterly unsatisfactory curse-replacements, Lord Patrick Day scrambled towards the door. Reaching out behind him, he shook Titus awake.

"Come on! Get a move on!"

Growning, Titus blinked in the sudden light.

"Mm...Lola darling, I had such a horrid dream. I dreamed some bastard came to drag me out of bed at five in the morning and—"

He opened his eyes.

"Oh crap."

"Good morning to you, too," Lord Patrick told his best friend. "Now move your posterior! She's getting away!"

Leaping out of the coach, Lord Patrick rushed after her. Behind him, he heard Titus mutter something that sounded like "Which is bad why exactly?", but His Lordship did what he usually did when his best friend opened his mouth and ignored him, heading straight after Amy. Outside, a pack of curious dogs and village children had already gathered, ready to pepper the new arrivals with questions and demands for sweets, when—

Thud!

A turban-bearing comet fell from the firmament with an impact that shook the earth. His gaze found his tiny victims.

"Depart. Now!" he growled.

Screeching, the children dispersed.

"Ye've got such a way with children, Karim." Emerging from behind the luggage rack at the back of the coach with a bag under her arm, Amy somehow reached up high enough to pat his shoulder. "I can't wait till ye 'ave little ones of yer own."

"Good." Adjusting his belt, Karim strode down the street. "It is senseless to wait for something that will never happen. Are you coming?"

"On me way, bushy beard. I'm on me way."

Wait, what? Lord Patrick stared after the two of them. Karim was willingly striding ahead, determined to go to...such a place? Karim? Granted, he had not known the man long, but you did not really have to get to know a brick intimately to know you shouldn't hit your head with it.

What the heck was going on?

"Wait!" Muttering a few words that were most definitely not in the Oxford English Dictionary, Lord Patrick grabbed a small suitcase with a few essentials from the back of the coach and hurried after the other two. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Titus following at a safe distance, clearly torn between fleeing from his heartless kidnappers, and the temptation of where they were heading.

Please, God! Please don't let it be what I think it is.

No. He should not bring God into this! The poor fellow didn't deserve to get mixed up in what was going to happen.

Glancing from left to right, Lord Patrick shook his head. England really is becoming degenerate! Even a small, lovely village like this has a bawdy house! What is this country coming to?

"Come!" Amy shouted, increasing her pace. "We're almost there!"

Really?

Patrick frowned, because...they weren't heading into a bad part of the village. They weren't heading towards the kind of shabby, shaky wooden hut that you'd normally imagine when hearing the term "country brothel". In fact, there didn't seem to be any shabby houses in this place. Not one. All the cottages were freshly painted, with not a single loose shingle on the roof. The local lord really had to be a generous, conscientious man. And the house they were heading for—

"This...?" His Lordship blinked. Then he blinked again, just to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Apparently they were not. Totally confused, he stared at the beautiful, thatched, two-story house that gave off an undeniable air of comfort and wholesomeness. "This is supposed to be a brothel?"

"No," Karim pronounced, darkly. "It's far worse."

In that moment, a man stepped out of the house. A diminutive man wearing black clothes, a black hat and, most importantly of all, a very particular kind of white collar.

This is it, Lord Patrick Day decided. Either the morals in the English countryside have gone to the dogs, or this place...this place is...

"Ah, visitors!" The reverend called out, a friendly smile spreading over his face. "Welcome to the vicarage!"

Lord Patrick's mouth dropped open. He watched, agape, as the lady of the night strode towards the man of God as if the two were the best of friends.

"You aren't from around here, are you?" The vicar frowned slightly, looking at Amy as if trying to remember. "But I could have sworn that..."

"Now, now, den, reverend! Don't ye remember me?" Beaming, Amy came to a halt a few feet away from the vicar. "Think back a minute, to 'er ladyship's wedding."

"To the wedding..." His brow furrowed—then abruptly, a broad smile spread across his face. "You don't mean...you...you're Miss Amy! You came with...oh praise the Lord!" Clapping his hands, he rushed back to the house. "Jenny will be so excited! I can hardly wait! You should have let us know you were coming! I'm sure my wife would have loved to prepare something special for you."

"Wife?" Patrick was almost two hundred percent sure his ears had deceived him. But, just in case, he had to check.

"Jenny, I've got a surprise for you!" the beaming vicar called through the open door of the supposed brothel. "You'll never guess who came all the way from London to visit you!"

"Ye don't mean—" An excited squeal issued from inside the house and, moments later, a beaming and very, very pregnant young woman in a flowery dress came waddling out at a prodigious pace, heading straight towards them, somehow managing to balance a toddler on each arm. "Amy!"

Lord Patrick Day stared. He knew they said 'seeing is believing'—but they were wrong! He saw it, but he most definitely could not believe it.

"That...that's a vicar's wife!"

Amy shrugged. "Told ye I was well connected in church circles."

"An actual vicar's wife!"

"Were ye expecting one made from papier-mâché?"

"I wasn't expecting one at all!"

"Tut, tut." Amy looked very disappointed. The expression almost looked real enough to make him think it wasn't faked. Almost. Piously, she folded her hands. "Ain't dere no faith in people nowadays anymore? Remember, Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews, 11:1."

"You...you...!" Patrick took a step forward.

"Yes?" Amy blinked up at him over her folded hands, innocently.

Lord Patrick stopped in his tracks. Tarnation! You couldn't exactly strangle someone for quoting Bible verses, could you?

Maybe just in this case! God is an understanding fellow. I'm sure he wouldn't mind...

On the other hand, the vicar might.

"Why so surprised?" Amy's oh-so-innocent eyes widened. "Were ye expecting something other than a vicar's wife? I wonder who could 'ave given ye dat impression."

His Lordship found his own teeth busy grinding like a miller's stone. He tried to stop—unsuccessfully. "A very evil, conniving person, I would say."

"Dear me! Ye should pick yer friends better."

Some distance away, Titus raised his hand. "I second that."

"My sincerest thanks for the sage advice." His Lordship sent the two a look promising vengeance. Amy, that little...! She had done this on purpose! And to judge by the look on Titus' face, if he wasn't colluding with her, he at least wasn't averse to letting himself be colludiated. However, before Lord Patrick could even consider enacting his blooming plans of revenge, he was interrupted by a female squeal.

"Amy, it's really ye!"

Clutching her two children like sacks of flower, the pregnant young woman rushed towards them.

"Nah, it's me evil doppelganger." Grinning like a loon, Amy thrust her arms wide. "Come 'ere, girl!"