Lord Patrick Day stared. The servants stared. The ladies in the tea salon stared.

Miss Amy Weston sat down in the seat next to His Lordship and poured herself a cup of tea. She picked it up and started sipping, with one finger sticking out as proper manners demanded. Or...as they would have demanded, if she'd used the little finger. She however, chose the middle one.

"Y-you..." Lord Patrick swallowed. Not that he had any saliva left to swallow. His mouth was dry as ancient Egyptian mummy's underpants in a five-thousand-year-old tomb.

"Aye, darlin'?" his lovely illusory lady friend asked, peering at him over the top of the tea cup. Her middle finger was still sticking out.

This wasn't an illusion. This wasn't a trick. She was here. Really here.

He was frozen. He was shocked to the core.

But...

Not nearly as shocked as his lady mother was.

"Patrick, dear," Her Ladyship the dowager duchess enquired, leaning over, a pair of sugar tongs held in her hand. Sugar tongs that Lord Patrick suddenly found strangely reminiscent of red-hot tongs fresh from the torture chamber of the Tower of London. The dowager duchess's eyes slid up and down the figure of Amy in a dress that only succubi from hell and Titus Irving would consider appropriate for polite society. "So, this is the elegant young noblewoman you were telling us about?"

He swallowed again. Maybe he could simply swallow his tongue. Then he wouldn't have to think of an answer.

"Well, ehem, you see..."

"Yup, dat's me!" Raising her tea cup to toast his mother, Amy downed the contents in one go, then pulled a face. "Ugh! Do ye 'ave some booze?"

Nobody seemed to have an appropriate response for that, Lord Patrick noted. His mother's friends would first have to collect their jaws off the floor, and as for his mother herself...well, she was far too busy burning holes into him with her searing stare of righteous rage.

"Patrick, dear?" Lady Henrietta Valentina Day's voice sounded about as dear as a serrated knife through the guts. "Why don't you come with me for a minute? I think we should have a little chat in private."

"Oh, on the contrary!" Lady Maeve leaned forward, her eyes gleaming, the greed for gossip practically oozing out of her. "Why don't dear Patrick and his ladyfriend stay for some tea, biscuits and a nice talk with all of us? I'm sure it'll be fascinating."

The dowager duchess sent her friend a glare that promised a fascinating trip to hell if someone didn't shut up right away.

Not that this deterred her friend in the slightest.

"So, tell me," Lady Gwendolyn enquired, leaning towards Amy with an utterly innocent smile on her face. Lord Patrick was pretty certain that, under the table, he saw her holding a pen and notebook. "What's your name? And your parents' name? What family are you from?"

"Me name's Amy," the beautiful, emerald-eyed disaster next to him answered, brightly. "I've got no clue who me parents are, and me family 'as always bin da other girls at da brothe—mmphmphmph!"

"Well, that's so very...fascinating," Lady Henrietta squeezed out, her hand pressed so firmly over Amy's mouth Lord Patrick was surprised she hadn't crushed the young woman's teeth to dust yet. "But now I really must take my son and his, ehem...ladyfriend away for a little talk in private." That was the point at which, as Lord Patrick had feared, she directed her gaze at him. "My son and I have a lot to talk about."

"Oh, no, my dear friend!" In a synchronous movement that had to have been practised, two of the middle-aged ladies clamped their hands around Lady Henrietta's arms, holding her down in her chair more tightly than iron chains. Broad smiles spread over their faces. "You just got here! And young Amy was only just introduced. Let's enjoy a nice, long afternoon tea together, shall we?"

Lord Patrick Day never thought anything could stop his lady mother. Not bullets. Not mountains. Not massive piles of explosives. And yet, here she was, being held in place by two smiling little ladies and a plate of biscuits.

"Really, I must insist that the three of us leave!" Lady Henrietta protested. "I just remembered that we have urgent matters to—mmph!"

"There you go, dear," Lady Gwendolyn said happily, withdrawing her skinny hand from where she had just stuffed a biscuit into her friend's mouth, effectively gagging her. "Aren't they tasty?" Then she leaned towards Amy, a corner of her mouth pulling up. "Now, young lady...you were saying?"

"Well..." Terror flooded through Lord Patrick at the impish smile spreading over Amy's face. "I guess I could stay for a little while longer to chat..."

And thus, the chat began.

Somehow, Her Ladyship the dowager duchess stayed calm, composed and conscious throughout afternoon tea. With every minute that somehow passed without a mention of the words "prostitute" and "brothel", Lord Patrick's sent more thanks heavenwards. With every passing second, his admiration for his mother grew. To have steered clear of the dangerous subjects all this time, all while apparently still not having realized what those dangerous subjects were...

Impressive rhetorical skills. Truly impressive.

Only...how long would it last?

Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. How the blazes was she still managing to ward off and steer around those enquiries?

Then again, this was the woman who once told the Prime Minister to shut up and find a real job.

Ding...ding...ding...ding...ding...dong...

The sound of the grandfather clock in the corner interrupted the unsuccessful inquisition.

"Well, will you look at the time?" Lady Henrietta exclaimed, taking advantage of the momentary distraction to slip out of her friends' grip. "Now it's really time to go!"

Lord Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. Or at least he was about to, when his mother's newly freed hand wrapped around his wrist with an iron grip.

"The three of us are going to have a little chat, son," she said, smiling. "Now."

Oh fuc—

—hsia. Yes. Fuchsia was a lovely color.

Not lovely enough to distract him from the current situation, however. Patrick found himself and Amy being towed out into the hallway, through the door and into a coach that somehow appeared at a snap of a ducal finger.

"Why, pray, are you grinning?" he hissed sideways at Amy.

"'cause I've never 'ad dis much bloody fun in me life," she told him with a grin that should have been illegal in most countries.

"Oh, you have, have you?"

Maybe he could do something about her smile not being illegal. He hadn't had dinner with the Lord Chief Justice in ages...

"You two!" Her Ladyship pointed towards the open carriage door. "Stop chattering! Inside!"

Lord Patrick was a proud, independent man who would never think of doing something like taking orders from his mother. So the fact that he climbed into the carriage instantly was surely pure coincidence.

Dinner with the justice would have to be postponed, apparently.

Soon, the three of them were settled inside the carriage, rolling off down the street. Silence pervaded the small space.

Deafening silence.

Lord Patrick had thought he would prefer not to speak for the next ten thousand years, considering the most likely conversation topic. But after sitting in that coach for five minutes, his mother's glare levelled on him, and Amy's grin lighting up one corner of the coach, he changed his mind.

Time to bite the bullet.

"Ehem...Mother, what happened back there....it might have seemed as if it had slight negative impacts on the family reputation, but—"

One finely manicured finger shot up into the air, cutting him off.

"Not one word." Her voice pervaded the interior of the coach like a deadly pestilence. "Not. One. Word. Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone were to overhear?"

Lord Patrick looked around the coach, completely empty but for the three of them, and considered mentioning the fact that they had already chatted about this in a tea salon full of nosy ladies,

"Ehem...certainly, Mother. Let's wait."

Far too soon and yet not nearly fast enough, they arrived in front of an unfamiliar house. Lord Patrick had no need to ask why they were here and not at his family's main town house. After what had just happened, if he thought his mother would be bringing him within ten miles of the place where his little sister lived, he would be very much mistaken.

The coach came to a stop. Her Ladyship's baleful glare fell on Patrick.

"Inside!" she ordered him. Then, turning to Amy, she took the young woman's hand. "Come inside dear, will you? We have things to discuss."

"Excuse me?" Lord Patrick protested. "Why are you acting as if this is all my fault alone?"

His mother sent him a very meaningful look. "You're a man. Of course it is your fault."

With that irrefutable argument, she put an arm around Amy's shoulder and gently led her towards the house and up the steps. Lord Patrick followed, somehow suddenly doubting that the following conversation would end up in his favour.

***

Amy had never had this much fun in her life. And for someone who had sex roughly thirty-six thousand times and was currently fully clothed, that was saying something. She let herself be led into the drawing room, where she found herself seated next to Lady Henrietta Valentina Day on a chaise longue, while the accused—cough, cough, Patrick, cough, cough—was condemned to sit on the footstool.

"So, my dear, we're all safe and sound now, completely safe," the dowager duchess told her in a gentle voice. Far too gentle, in fact. Amy frowned. Why wasn't the lady screaming at her, calling her a hussy and accusing her of seducing her son? What was she thinking?

"Merciful saints!" Shooting a glare at Patrick, Lady Henrietta patted Amy's hand. "I would never have thought that any son of mine would sink so low! To actually force himself upon the help...!"

Ah.

So that's what. Last time the two of them had met was in Lord Patrick Day's domicile, with her dressed as a humble maid. So now, the lady was thinking that he and she...

Amy had to work hard to keep the grin off her face. Never in her life had she been so glad for having dressed up in a sexy maid outfit.

"Mother!" Patrick protested. "I did nothing of the kind! She isn't—"

"Silence!" Pulling Amy into a protective hug, Lady Henrietta sent her son another glare. "You are still trying to deny your guilt after you had the gall to parade her in front of me? I remember now wondering why that maid outfit she was wearing that day looked so rumpled! And now I find out this is the reason? Shame on you, Patrick Day! Shame on you!"

"Ye mustn't be so 'ard on 'im, Yer Ladyship!" Amy protested, just able to keep from bursting out laughing. "'e's a good man, deep down, 'e truly is."

The dowager duchess patted her head. "I'm glad you think well of my son, child, but—"

"It's true, Yer Ladyship, I swear," Amy nodded fervently, a most earnest, innocent expression on her face. "Like, 'e always paid me extra after 'e was done with me, and...and 'e was very gentle da first night 'e spent with me, and—"

Slowly, very slowly, the dowager duchess turned her head back towards her dear son. "The first night he spent...?"

"Now, Mother," Lord Patrick started up, "it's not like it soun—"

"Did you?"

"Ehem, well..."

"Patrick Day. did you or did you not spend a night in this young woman's bed?"

Amy had to admit, watching the high and mighty Lord Patrick Day squirm like a squiggly squid was quite an amazing experience indeed.

"Well, um...technically, but—"

"Yes or no?"

For a moment His Lordship's facial expressions went through several highly intriguing metamorphoses. Then a single word came from his mouth which, unfortunately for him, was too damn honourable to lie. "Yes."

And then, hell descended.

"Patrick Day! Shame upon you! Shame! Taking advantage of an innocent maiden in such a manner! To think that any son of mine would do something to bring such dishonour to the family name! Wait till the rest of the family hears of this! Do you know what your aunts would say? Not to mention your grandmother, who may very well faint from the shock, and it'll be your fault for behaving in such an atrocious manner that—"

And thus it continued for quite a while. Amy leaned back to enjoy the show. The volume the dowager duchess managed to produce with only a single set of average female vocal chords was truly astounding. Patrick tried to get a word in edgewise quite a few times—Amy counted forty-four in total—before he finally succeeded.

"Mother! It's really not what it sounds like! It was quite innocent!"

"It really was," Amy hurried to confirm, eager, as was her duty, to protect the reputation of a good and honest man. "It wasn't at all like dat other time, when 'e took me to da sex dungeon."

One moment of silence.

Two moments of silence.

Three moments of si—

"What?"

If Amy had thought the hush that had pervaded the room before had been scary, she would now have to adjust her definition of the word "scary".

"Girl..." The dowager duchess's voice was oh so very gentle. Amy was truly thankful to this gracious lady who was so considerate to an innocent, helpless maiden such as herself. "Tell me how exactly you met my son, and what happened during your...courtship. Now, please?"

"Why, of course, Yer Ladyship!" Amy beamed at the dowager duchess. "I'd be 'appy to!"

On the other side of the room, Lord Patrick Day covered his face with one hand.

"Well..." Amy blushed. The ability to do that on command had taken a few years to train, but had turned out to be immensely useful. "It's a little embarrassing, ye know....and, well..."

"Don't worry, my dear." The dowager duchess patted her shoulder. "You can tell me."

"Well, 'e 'ad a little, ehem, embarrassing problem." Amy cleared her throat meaningfully. "'e 'ired me ta take care of it."

All true. No need to mention that the problem was an investigation into kidnapping criminal gangs, right?

"He...he hired you to..." Her Ladyship's hand clenched around the handle of her walking parasol. "What exactly happened?"

"Well, after I tied 'im to a bed—"

"What?"

Amy patted her hand. "Ye must understand, Yer Ladyship, some people are just like dat. Dey 'ave...urges. It's perfectly natural and nothin' ta be ashamed of."

Amy gave Lord Patrick an encouraging look, urging him to show his true self to his mother. For some reason, though, the collapsed form of the aristocrat hanging in his armchair didn't look very appreciative of her efforts.

"Continue," Her Ladyship said, emanating an aura of coming death and destruction comparable to an ancient, skeletal death-god. "Please tell me everything."

"Um, let me think, what came after dat...?" Amy tapped her chin, trying to remember. Of course, that wasn't very difficult, considering she'd already planned this conversation out long in advance, but pretending was such fun when you had an unfortunate lordly victim sitting nearby. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. "Oh, aye, of course! 'e made me give 'im... special lessons!"

"Gnrffmmph!"

The sound that came from Lord Patrick Day was truly intriguing. Amy might have taken the time to study his delicious facial contortions more closely, but she had a true story to report to the man's mother.

"I 'ad ta demonstrate ta 'im 'ow I'd put 'im flat on 'is back," Amy explained, a nostalgic look in her eyes as she reminisced about their first sparring session. "Then I got on top of 'im, and—"

Her ladyship's hand shot up, cutting Amy off.

"All right," the dowager duchess admitted. "Perhaps I don't wan't to hear everything after all."

"Ye mustn't misunderstand, Yer Ladyship," Amy hurried to assure her. "'e ain't shallow like all dose other lords. Dere's a special connection between us. 'e's always been so kind and gentle, and every time we spent a night together, 'e—"

"Every time? You mean to say girl, he has done it more than once?"

And voila, another blush on demand. Amy felt truly proud of herself. She was truly such a virtuous maiden.

Or at least she could make herself one, with some glue, papier-mâché and pink paint. Ah, the joys of handicraft...

"Aye, of course!" Reaching out, Amy clutched the dowager duchess's hands. "We've done it lots and lots of times! 'ow could I possibly say no to dis wonderful man? Ye know, I still remember da day when we first met..." A dreamy look entered her eyes. "I was lookin' around for a young orphaned girl I take care of when I can—"

This produced a series of oohs and awws from Lady Henrietta.

"—when I caught sight of 'im comin' 'ome ta 'is town'ouse. 'e...'e was just so handsome! I couldn't 'elp but follow, and even spied on 'im from be'ind a bush. And when...when da two of us met, it was love at first sight."

Up to this point, all Lord Patrick Day had done was sink deeper into his arm chair, trying to pretend he didn't exist. That statement, however, changed matters abruptly.

"Excuse me?" Shooting up as if bitten in the arse by an electric eel, His Lordship glared at her. "It was what?"

Amy gave him a hurt look. "Darlin'! Did ye forget da first time we met? Ye were speechless. Completely floored, don't ye remember?"

His mouth opened, and closed. Then opened again. It stayed that way, waiting for a fly to buzz inside.

"Well, yes! But that's because—"

He cut off.

...because I was tied to a bed and gagged.

That's what he'd been about to say, anyway. But a glance his mother convinced him that might not be the wisest of choices.

Amy smirked. Well, time to continue.

"And den..." Shyly, Amy glanced down at her feet.

"Then what?" The dowager duchess demanded.

Ah, suspense. An artform in and of itself.

"'e...took me out to da park. A moonlight stroll..."—to meet crooks and gangsters—"...a nighttime trip into town..."—for a knife fight with kidnappers and thugs—"and den, 'e even took me on two trips to da country!"

Amy gazed earnestly into the dowager duchess's eyes. "Ye can't imagine 'ow romantic it was, Yer Ladyship! A simple girl like me, suddenly treated like a real lady...it felt like a dream. Nah, it was a dream. Just rememberin' dat time when I stayed in me very own tower in dat duke's castle..." Amy put a hand on her pure little heart. "Dat night lit a fire inside me!" And more importantly, around me. But no need ta mention the burned-down castle, surely. "From dat moment on, I knew. I knew dat 'e wasn't just gonna use me and throw me aside like so many before." Leaning towards Patrick, she batted her eyelashes at him. "Ain't dat right, darling?"

From His Lordship's throat came a sound vaguely reminiscent of the croak of a half-strangled toad.

His mother's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that right, son?"

He cleared his throat. "Um...right. Quite right."

Amy beamed.

Lord Patrick's face twitched spasmodically.