Striding away from the casino, the Honourable Titus Irving calculated how much money he had lost. Then he calculated how much of it had actually been his. When, in regard to the second question, he came up with a beautiful, round zero, a satisfied smile spread across his face. Ah, spending other people's money was such an amazing hobby! He would have to do it again sometime.

"Hmm..." he mused. "I wonder whether that old house key Patrick gave me back in our university days still works...?"

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. "I have had to sit and watch you doing more than three dozen illegal things because, unfortunately, it was necessary," a certain bodyguard's voice growled in his ear. "If you even think about doing one thing that isn't while still in my presence..."

He let the sentence trail off meaningfully.

"Oh, ehem..." Titus cleared his throat. "I was merely thinking I could help look after the children who are currently staying at my dear friend's home. They are such darling little girls. They could use a steady influence in their life."

"Ah." Karim gave a grave nod. "Then that's even more reason for you to stay away from there."

"You...!" Titus raised a hand to jab the other man—then remembered who the other man was and quickly thought better of it.

A bushy eyebrow rose. "You were saying?"

"Um, nothing. Nothing."

"That's what I thought."

"You're no fun, you know?"

"Correct."

"Don't look so proud of that!" Grumbling, Titus sent a glare at the bearded mountain—then sighed. "Harrumph. It isn't as if you're the only one like that, though." Gesturing back at the casino, he shook his head. "You know, I really pity Patrick! He'd never do anything like this. The poor fellow simply doesn't know how to have fun." Titus gave another sigh—then brightened up. "I know! We should go visit him and tell him all about our success."

"Success?" Karim echoed as he stared poisoned daggers at the slave auction invitations peeking out of Titus' pocket. It was pretty clear that this was not how he would define "success".

"Why, yes! Good news should always be quickly delivered, as the pregnant nun said to the bishop!"

Karim's hand twitched. The fact that it seemed to move towards his sabre was surely a pure coincidence, right?

"I heard he had something planned," the bodyguard squeezed out. "Surely, it would be best not to disturb him?"

"Ha!" Titus gave a snort. "That one, something planned? He hasn't gone out without duress in the last decade! Trust me, right now he's probably sitting on his mother's chaise longue doing something perfectly, mind-numbingly respectable and boring."

***

Lord Patrick Day stared down at the green-eyed seductress lying beneath him, her wild strands of hair spread out across the chaise longue. In those bright green eyes of hers, he could see the shock, he could read the thoughts racing through her mind: Surely, this can't be him? This can't be Lord Patrick Day, pinning me down, determined to ravage me?

He smirked.

Before she could get out so much as a squeak, his mouth plunged down and sealed hers with a kiss. A kiss that was in no way like the one they had shared before. Before, he had been teasing. He'd been trying to fool her into thinking he would take her.

No more!

His lips parted hers with irresistible force. Without a second's hesitation, he started to ravish the mouth of the young woman beneath him. The mouth of his...fiancée. Dammit, that just sounded so right! And he had cursed again! Bloody hell, he was supposed to be a frigging gentleman! He wasn't supposed to bloody curse!

But, right now, he didn't give a flying fig what he was supposed to do. He only cared about what he wanted. Or rather whom.

"You wanted something new from me, didn't you?" he demanded, his voice nothing but a raspy whisper. "Well...let's fulfill your wish, shall we?"

And, without the slightest hint of hesitation, he reached down and ripped open the top buttons of her dress. Deep at the back of his mind, there was a voice screaming at him what the hell he was doing, but he didn't hear a single word of it. His ears were roaring with the blood pounding through his entire body.

There was another voice he was hearing loudly and clearly, though. A voice that roared Take her, take her, TAKE HER NOW!

The sight of her in nothing but a corset straight from a brothel's "Sweet Seduction" collection didn't exactly help. She was lying there, completely defenseless, the sunlight making her skin shine golden. Her emerald eyes were staring up at him, wide with shock and...desire?

What's so strange about that? Your woman wants you, Patrick.

What? No! She wasn't his woman! She wasn't—

His eyes were captured by her emerald orbs, unable to look away.

Maybe postpone the self-recrimination session till later.

"Well now, my dear fiancée," he breathed, hovering over his prey, "what kind of scandalous thing would you like us to do?"

Her eyes sparkled—with challenge. "Why don't ye pick?"

The message was clear in her eyes: As if ye could ever come up with something ta scandalize me.

He smirked. True, he was a gentleman. True, he was a man of honour. But one thing was for sure: he was not one to ever back down from a challenge.

"Your wish is my command, My Lady."

The rrrrrripp noise of her skirt being torn off in one go echoed through the hallway. Amy glanced down, where half a dozen petticoats still covered her legs. Then she glanced up at Lord Patrick, raising an eyebrow.

"Is dis supposed ta scandalize me?"

"No." The smile he sent her was wicked and victorious. "This is!"

Then he grabbed her arms, slinging the silken fabric of the skirt around them and pulling it tight. With a twist and a tug, her hands were bound, and she was helpless. To judge by the way she was staring up at him open-mouthed, she was also quite a bit surprised.

"Y-you...how...?"

"I read the books you brought for my sister," he admitted shamelessly.

After having to ask his servants to remove a ginormous pile of human feces from his rosegarden, His Lordship's sense of shame had considerably diminished.

"Let me go at once, ye bloody bastard!"

"Oh no, I don't think so." Slowly, a grin spread over his face. "I still have to pay you back for that one bondage session, remember?"

Her cheeks blushed. Actually blushed!

Yes! Victory!

"That had nothing whatsoever to do with...that kind of thing! And you know it!"

"Do I?" he breathed, bending down until his lips brushed over her bare flesh. A thrill of triumph shot through him as he felt her shiver beneath him.

"Aye!"

"Hm...the bard has a very appropriate quote for this. Ever heard of the saying The lady doth protest too much, methinks?"

"The lady plans to doth quite a few things!" She threw a glare at him, twisting and turning to escape her bonds. No matter how much his lordly breeding tried to prevent it, he couldn't help notice the movement did...interesting things to her cleavage. "This lady doth plan to strangle you! As soon as I get out of dese bloody bonds!"

Smirking, he placed a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth. "Are you sure you want to? Are you sure you'd like me to stop?"

"Yes!"

Another kiss, farther down, on the softest spot on her throat he could find. "Really sure?"

"Y-yes?"

"Really? Really..." A third kiss, right in the center of her collarbone. He heard her suck in a breath, and she arched beneath him. "...really sure?"

"Y...y...y..."

Her voice trailed off into nothingness. Then, slowly, haltingly, she shook her head.

No.

The unspoken word, relinquishing all resistance, hung in the air.

"Well, then..." An entirely unlordly grin spread over Lord Patrick's face. "Time to do something scandalous."

And he jumped her.

***

Later that night, much, much later, Lord Patrick lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Because he definitely was not going to look at the half-naked young woman lying beside him.

Oh God oh God oh God, what have I done?

Unfortunately, his conscience saw fit to answer.

You jumped into bed with a prostitute in your mother's house, that's what.

No! No, it didn't count, right? Most of it happened on a chaise longue instead of a bed, after all.

Deep in the recesses of his skull, he heard his conscience cackle.

"Shut up!" he growled.

All he got in answer was a low snore. Flinching, he glanced sideways at the figure of the peacefully slumbering young woman beside him—then immediately looked away again, his face turning beet-red.

Donotthinkabouther! Donotthinkabouther! Especially do not think about her without clothing!

Luckily, she was still wearing her last layer of underwear. Through some miracle, he had scraped together enough good sense before that fit of madness completely overtook him and he went all the way.

Why resist? She's your fiancée. She's yours.

Lord Patrick clamped down on the urge, shutting up the whisper in the back of his head before it could overcome the tattered remnants of his conscience.

Tentatively, almost tremulously, he reached out to touch Amy's cheek. In her sleep, she gave a small, satisfied hum, and nuzzled against him.

He felt a tug in his heart.

My fiancée...

Suddenly, the whisper in his mind didn't sound nearly as lascivious as before. Instead, it felt...warm.

Maybe, just maybe, his mother wasn't completely wrong when she—

"He-llooohoo," a sweet, melodic, motherly voice drifted in from the foyer. "I'm so sorry I'm back so late, Amy Dear. My friends at the tea salon kept me for ages. But just wait till you see what I've got to show you—"

It only took one moment of frozen terror for Lord Patrick Day to realize who had just entered the house, and whose footsteps were now swiftly approaching the door to the hallway.

Crapulous!

When, roughly thirty seconds later, Lady Henrietta Valentina Day stuck her head in through the door, she found the sleeping form of Miss Amy Weston, wrapped in a blanket and snoozing peacefully on the chaise longue. A smile spread over the dowager duchess's face. Poor dear! She must have practiced so hard she fell asleep before she could even finish changing for bed. What a virtuous, industrious young woman. She truly would be the ideal daughter-in-law!

She had just stepped towards the young woman with the intention of calling some maids and having her carried to a bedroom, when she caught a whiff of some strange odour. Strange. Was that a faint smell of...feces?

***

When Amy awoke next morning, she instinctively reached out to the other side of the bed—only to feel a sting of disappointment when she found nothing but cold, empty blankets.

Of course he was gone! Why wouldn't he be? He was a man! Him using her and then tossing her aside without a single word...that's what she should have expected!

Except...

He didn't use her, did he? He stopped, just before succumbing to temptation. In the end, he behaved like a gentleman.

Ha! As if dat matters! He still ran off without a word!

Her angry fist punched the pillow—only for her ears to twitch at a strange sound. Like...crinkling paper?

Confused, she leaned over and caught sight of a small scrap of paper lying on the pillow. Snatching it up, she lifted it to her nose, and read.

My dear fiancée,

My sincere apologies for not being here. I did not think you would have appreciated the shotgun wedding that would have resulted from my mother finding me sleeping next to you.

I should not say this, let alone write it. But I wish I could have stayed.

Patrick

Fiancée. He had called her his dear fiancée. Amy felt her heart clench, almost painfully. Dammit! Why did her heart pound this fast? This whole engagement farce was all supposed to have been a joke, right? Nothing but a jest she came up with on the spur of the moment to tweek His Lordship's noble nose. Did he actually mean that he...that he and she...

A knock came from the door.

With a yelp, she crumpled up the note and shoved it up the sleeve of her nightgown. She had to fight her instincts to shove it down her throat and swallow it instead.

"Miss?" a chipper voice came from outside. "May I come in?"

"A-aye." Straightening her back, Amy put a smile on her face. And if she instinctively thought of last night to make it seem truly believably happy, it was a pure coincidence. "Please come in."

A maid opened the door and stuck her head into the room. "Good morning there, Miss. Her Ladyship sent me to tell you that breakfast is nearly prepared. Would you like me to help you dress?"

Amy blinked. Well, this was a first. Usually, people only wanted to help her undress, and weren't nearly so polite about it.

"Err...um...aye, I'd like dat. Thank ye."

The maid beamed. "It's no trouble at all, Miss. Now, what dress would you like this fine morning? The blue satin? The green silk?"

"Tell me...will Lord Patrick be present at breakfast?"

The smile of the maid widened slightly. "Why, yes, I do believe he might be present."

The smile on Amy's face slowly turned into a predatory grin. "Well, then help me pick out a dress that is irresistible to men, will you?"

The maid's eyes twinkled evilly. Amy had a feeling she was going to like this girl.

---------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case you were wondering who "the bard" is - that is a nickname for William Shakespeare. The quote in question comes from Act 3, Scene 2 of his famous play, Hamlet.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob