With a thud, the knife-placeholder fell to the ground.

What the...! How...? Why...?

A thousand and one questions raced through Amy's mind. Yet no answers were forthcoming. Mostly because all she could feel, all she could think about, was:

He was kissing her.

He. Was. Kissing. Her. So hard she didn't know up from down. So heatedly it nearly blew her brains out.

Maybe 'e's not so bad at dirty fightin' after all...

Particularly since he made a move that meant fighting back was the last thing on her mind.

Are ye bloody nuts, Amy? Ye're just gonna let him sweep ye off yer feet? 'e's tryin' ta distract ye! Ye're supposed ta fight! Da moment ye lose yer focus, 'e'll—

Just then, he captured her hands between his. Whirling her around, he picked her up like a feather. A moment later, she found herself pressed against the wall, captured in his grasp.

Helpless. Open. Vulnerable.

And ye ain't supposed ta be enjoying dat! Get a grip, Amy!

That didn't actually sound like a bad idea. If only her hands were free, she could reach down to his crotch, and...

Not like dat, stupid! Not like dat!

The next instant, her last vestiges of thoughts were expunged as Lord Patrick's teeth tugged at her lower lip, eliciting an involuntary moan from her.

"Now," he murmured, "let's see who'll be the winner of this duel, shall we?"

In a blink, she was away from the wall. For a moment she didn't know where was up or down—then her back hit the carpet and the breath was knocked out of her. The disorientation lasted only for a second. That, however, was long enough for Lord Patrick Day to come down on her, pinning her to the floor with the weight of his body.

Holy...!

Amy felt him. Strong arms, iron-hard abs...every single muscle in perfect definition.

What's wrong with ye, Amy? It's yer job ta shag men! Ye've done stuff like dis ten thousand times!

But...had she?

Then why did this feel so very different?

"Well?" Lord Patrick demanded, his azure blue eyes gazing deeply into hers. How had she never noticed how much they resembled a glittering sapphire? "What do you think of that takedown?"

"T-takedown?" Amy managed to get out. "What makes ye think I'm taken dow—mmmmph!"

"This," His Lordship whispered against her sealed lips. "Or do you think differently?"

Think? Think? That was pretty bloody much impossible at the moment, thank you very much!

Polite gentleman that he was, he reciprocated her thanks. Generously. Lips. Hands. Firm but gentle fingers. They were everywhere, holding her, caressing her, driving her wild. And from within her, in response, rose up something even wilder. Some part of her that had been beaten down and wounded so often she didn't know she still had it.

Her chest throbbed.

What...what was that?

Another throb. More painful, and so much more wonderful.

Was that...my 'eart?

"Well?" the arrogant aristocrat's voice that suddenly sounded far too tempting for her liking enquired from above her. "Do you admit defeat?"

Amy's back stiffened.

Defeat my arse! And my 'eart can join da arse as well, stupid thing!

"What do ye think?" I shot at him.

Then I made my move. My knee slamming into his ribs in a most loving fashion, I took his breath away. Flipping us over, I slammed down on his abs, pinning him to the ground with my gaze.

"Do ye still think ye've won?"

He raised an eyebrow, muscles in his arms flexing as he raised them towards me. "You don't honestly believe you can hold me down, do you? I could slap you aside with just one arm."

"True," Amy agreed cheerfully, reaching behind her. "Which is why I won't be goin' for yer arms."

Lord Patrick stiffened. All of him.

"Let. Go."

"Or what?" Now it was Amy's turn to raise her eyebrow, a smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. "Ye'll make me?" Arm muscles flexing, she...squeezed, causing the expression on His Lordship's face to change in interesting and varied ways. "In case ye didn't notice, I'm da one on top 'ere."

Lord Patrick's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you are, are you?"

"Oh aye. I—"

Before she could get out another syllable, his hips bucked. Amy felt her grasp slip and she went flying with a yelp, sailing over him and landing face-first in the carpet. A moment later she felt something hard and immovable on top of her. Hard in one place, in particular, which was pressed up rather tightly against her and felt rather familiar. After all, Amy had been holding it in her hand just a few moments ago. Now, however, it was above her, pressing into her in a rather intimate area.

She blushed.

Not dis again! What da 'ell, Amy! Ye've 'ad more fellows visit Cockadoodle Lane dan ye can friggin' count! And now ye're freakin' blushing 'cause of a bit of snugglin'?

But this wasn't just a bit of snuggling, was it?

"And now?" The demanding voice from above and behind her drew her attention once more to Lord Patrick Day, the only real, living, breathing man who might possibly, perhaps, against all her instincts and life experience turn out to be a knight in shining armour.

My knight in shining armour, whispered a little voice at the back of her mind.

Hands took hold of her.

His hands tightened their grip. Before she knew what was happening, she felt herself being turned around. She should have struggled. She should have fought. That is what they were supposed to be doing, dammit! But...

She could still feel him.

So close. So warm.

And then she was face-to-face with him. A strand of blond hair tickled her cheek. Azure blue eyes bored into hers, pinning her to the floor as surely as his rock-hard body.

"Do you still think you're on top, Miss Amy Weston? Do you still think you're winning?"

Dragging together her scattered concentration, Amy glared back at him. "Aye!"

"Are you..." Leaning down, quick as a striking tiger, Lord Patrick placed a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth. "...sure?"

"A-aye...?"

Was it just her, or did she just sound not nearly as convincing?

"Really? Are you—" Another kiss, another corner. The featherlight touch sent an unbearably needy shiver down Amy's spine. "—absolutely—" And then came the final one. Full on the mouth. Fast and fierce. "—certain?"

"A...ay..."

Amy swallowed.

Why can't I say it? Why can't I get da word out?

Looking into his eyes, she found all the reasons she could ever want.

Reaching out, he captured her face between his hands, making her heart leap once again. "I claim victory," he whispered, not taking his gaze from the windows to her soul for an instant. As if he saw something important there. Something...precious? "And now, it is time to claim my prize of victory!"

With that, he closed the distance, and his mouth came down on hers.

***

Later that night, Amy lay awake on the mouldy mattress in her tiny apartment, staring at the ceiling. It was normally an interesting view, the mould and water stains providing a kaleidoscope of ever-changing patterns. So why was it that, now, all she was doing was stare past it into nothingness? Why was it that, suddenly, all she could see were the memories flashing past her inner eye?

I...

He...

What the...!

Swallowing, she reached up to carefully touch her lips. She could still feel the tingling there. Could it be that he...that he really...?

Yes. Oh my God, yes, he did.

And so did she!

She had kissed a man. And not because she was paid to. Because she wanted to. Because she needed to. Because she felt something between them.

'ave ye lost yer mind, Amy? Don't ye remember what 'appened with Nellie and dat bastard? Don't ye remember what 'appened with every other man dat ever whispered sweet words inta da ears of a lady of da night? Bastards! Lowlife liars, da lot of 'em!

She took a deep breath. Yes. Lowlife liars. She couldn't trust any of them! Certainly not a lord—and most especially not Lord Patrick Day!

Thump!

The noise from the floor beside her made her jump. Glancing to the side, she saw a cheap, tattered book that had slipped out from under the mattress, lying on the floor. On the crumpled cover, large, cursive letters proclaimed the title:

My Love, My Lord

Muttering a curse that would have made a sailor blush, Amy shoved the book under the bed again. Rubbish! Complete and utter rubbish! And she definitely wasn't tempted to read it again.

For the thirty-seventh time.

With plenty of tissues at hand.

Ye ain't exactly sounding convincin', ye know?

Crap.

Grabbing a blanket, Amy rolled over and cuddled into the mouldy straw of the mattress.

What da 'ell were ye thinkin', Amy! Kissing 'im like dat? 'ave ye lost yer mind? Or did it just move inta yer knickers?

Images flickered past her inner eye. Patrick fighting against her, his fists and elbows flying. Patrick slamming her into the wall, his hard muscles pressing into her. Patrick's mouth claiming hers. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that made her heart flutter, and her mind wander on strange paths where she saw hearts with fluttering wings and romantic sunsets.

Bloody book-inspired imagination!

Why was she suddenly obsessed with such useless fripperies? She was a down-to-earth girl! Literally, spending half her life with her back glued to the ground! How come all these silly notions had suddenly infiltrated her head?

Really, Amy? Ye need ta ask dat? Wow. 'ow smart.

She growled.

It was his fault! All of it! He had tricked her! Manipulated her! Done things deplorably underhanded just in order to win their spar. She was so angry! Enraged! And most of all...impressed.

Darn!

He's really taken yer tips about under'anded fightin' to 'eart, 'asn't 'e?

Yes.

And she?

She had folded like a house of cards. With cards showing rather lewd motifs of people in various kama sutra poses.

Growling, her fist slammed against the wall, causing the wall to dent inwards and nearly collapse. For a moment, Amy held her breath, waiting for the roof to fall.

It didn't.

Barely.

Maybe it was time to look for a new flat.

But that didn't touch on her immediate problem. She was supposed to have taught him a lesson in street fighting. Instead, he had taught her a lesson. Soundly.

She felt the sudden urge to pull that book out from under her mattress and punch the smiling lord on the cover in the face.

Then again, on the other hand...

Why punch a cardboard lord, when you had access to a real one?

A slow smile spread across her face. In retrospect, she had not quite lived up to expectations as a fighting teacher. She had been...negligent in her duties. Well, that just wouldn't do, would it? After all, she had to do her duty and properly prepare Patrick for the hazards of the East End. It would be such a shame if something happened to him!

Except in training, of course. After all, accidents were perfectly normal, right?

***

Slipping under the sheets, Lord Patrick sighed and sank into his soft mattress, smiling. He couldn't help it. Things had gone quite splendidly. Amy had seemed quite impressed by his progress. If things continued apace, their plan could soon proceed.

In the darkness, he reached out to touch a single finger to his lips and, already half dreaming, smiled. Yes, things had gone splendidly indeed. He was quite looking forward to seeing Miss Amy Weston again. He had a very good feeling about it.