Worse? What could be worse than that?

Amy must have been able to read Patrick's thoughts on his face, because she gave him a humourless smile. "Don't worry, he did nothing to me."

His Lordship felt his shoulders sag in relief—until she continued: "Because nothing being done ta ye is quite as horrible as somethin' done ta yer friends, while ye can only watch, powerless ta prevent it."

A sigh escaped her lips. Pausing for a moment, she seemed to gaze off into the distance, as if the wall of the coach were transparent. The rage in her eyes had entirely disappeared, but somehow, the melancholy he now saw there was even more heart-wrenching.

"I 'ad a friend dere. Just one friend. She wasn't much older dan me and 'ad been dere only a few days longer, but she always looked out for me. Dat night, after me first time, she kept me goin'. She held me, comforted me, told me what ta do ta survive. Without 'er, I'd probably done meself in years ago."

Dragging in a deep breath, she fell silent. When, after a minute or two, she still hadn't continued, Lord Patrick screwed his courage to the sticking point and decided to ask.

"What was her name?"

A pause.

"Nellie. 'er name was Nellie. She was me best friend. Me only friend. And she...she..."

Amy broke off, her voice faltering. But she didn't really need to say anything else to convey her meaning.

"How did she die?" he asked softly.

"Not how," came her reply. "Who."

Oh. Oh dear God, no.

The realization came. And this time, Lord Patrick was fairly certain he was right.

"Compton."

Swallowing, she nodded. "Aye."

He gently squeezed her hand, having to fight not to clench his fingers into a fist. "Did he hurt her? Did he..."

"Hurt 'er? Ha!" Amy snorted. "Nah. Da exact opposite. 'e was so gentle. So sweet. So 'andsome. 'e came again and again, telling 'er dat 'e couldn't stay away, dat she'd bewitched 'im, dat 'e'd take 'er away and make 'er 'is wife. I could see it, da moment she fell in love with 'im. I was so happy. Me best friend 'ad found 'er one true love. 'er knight in shinin' armor. But she didn't even think of 'erself at all, ye know? Da moment she realized she was gettin' out of dere, da first thing she told me was dat, as soon as she's married, she was gonna 'elp me get free and find a nice man ta settle down."

Lord Patrick felt the soft hand he held in his own tremble. In grief? Rage? Or both?

"I gather that did not happen."

"Nah. Nah, it didn't." Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and stared through the coach window at the rocky hills whizzing by, as if they were her personal enemies. "It was so easy ta believe, though, ye know? He came back again and again, with sweet words and promises...never anthin' real, though. No food, even though we were half-starved. No money, even though we didn't 'ave a single penny. Guess dat should 'ave tipped me off."

Another tremor. Another deep breath.

"Den it 'appened." For the first time, she turned her head to look at him. The look in her eyes made him flinch. He had done his best all his life to be a good man. To help the poor. The helpless. The innocent. People who had nothing and no one to rely on. But still...he had been a nobleman all his life. He'd lived in mansions and palaces and was raised with a literal silver spoon in his mouth. He could never understand the things he saw in her eyes.

That didn't mean he wouldn't do his damndest to try!

Reaching out with his free hand, he cupped her cheek. "What? What happened?"

"What usually does when a woodpecker sticks 'is pecker inta somethin' more interestin' dan a tree."

His Lordship paled.

"You mean..."

"Aye." She nodded. "She got pregnant. Ye should 'ave seen da look on 'er face when she found out. She was so 'appy! She was jumpin' all around da room, blabberin' about 'ow she was gonna be da best mom ever, and 'ow her Fabian was gonna be so pleased when she told 'im."

She spat out the name "Fabian" as if it were a curse. Which, all things considered, it probably was to her.

"And was he pleased?"

"Oh, ever so much! I'd never seen someone smile so widely. Could 'ave used 'im for a tooth brush ad, ye could. 'e 'ugged 'er and told 'er 'e was gonna go straight to da church and was gonna take care of everythin'." Underneath Lord Patrick's fingers, he felt her hand clench into a fist. "And 'e did. Just not by callin' a vicar for da weddin'. Da next morning, da doorbell rang. Me friend opened da door ta welcome 'er love and da vicar who was ta marry dem—and instead, she found 'erself face-ta-face with two strong thugs and London's worst quack."

"No." Lord Patrick said, half prayer, half demand. "No."

"Aye." She nodded. "Aye. I'm not gonna tell ye what dey did ta try and get rid of da child. Mostly because I 'ave nightmares about it to dis day. But...I was dere. Da place we were in was far too cheap for each of us ta get a room of our own. And dey weren't gonna give me one just 'cause of a little thing like a bloody operation going on three feet away. So I sat in a corner while dey 'eld 'er down and cut and stabbed and...."

She shuddered.

"Later, when dey were done, I 'eard 'em talkin' outside da door. Dey said dat if da wench survived, she's supposed ta be sent ta Lord Compton. And if she doesn't....well, dere was a trap door at da back of da house dat opened straight inta da River Thames."

Tearing her hand out of his, she clenched it into a fist and slammed it into the upholstery hard enough to shake the entire coach.

"I still don't know whether ta loathe da supposed 'doctor' for being such a quack or be thankful for it," she muttered.

Lord Patrick hardly believed his ears. "Thankful?"

"Aye. 'cause whatever 'e did ta try and get rid of da kid, it didn't work. It cost me my best friend, but...it also meant dat da child survived. Or rather, I should say, da children." Glancing up at him, she gave a sad little smile. "Just before Nellie died, she named dem Flo and Jo."

Patrick felt a tug at his heart. Oh goodness gracious...

"She was so weak in da end," she whispered softly. "So pale and fragile. But ye should 'ave seen da look in 'er eyes! She was like a mamma bear! Ha! Bear? What am I sayin'? Like a lioness! She practically growled at me and shoved those two bundles of bedlam into me arms, ordering me ta take care of dem or she'd 'aunt me from beyond da grave."

"Ah." Lord Patrick nodded wisely. "Now I understand why you were so...intense in your investigation. I must say, I'm rather surprised you only tied me to my bed and gagged me. I would have thought you'd subject me to manifold tortures in order to find those girls."

She obviously tried to fight it, but Amy didn't seem to be able to keep her lips from twitching, even if just a little. "Aye. Aye, ye're right. Ye're lucky I didn't smash yer bollocks."

Then, after just a moment, all mirth drained from her face again, and moisture shimmered at the corners of her eyes.

Darn it!

He wanted to hold her. To pull her into his arms and wipe all that sadness away. But how could he touch her, after what she had just told him?

A ragged sob escaped her throat. And just like that, his emotions flicked from grief to bright, burning, absolute rage. He wanted to wrap his hands around the neck of the man who had put this look on Amy's face and wring the life out of him! He wanted to pull out his dueling pistol and put him down like the animal he was!

Right that instant, Lord Patrick Day decided what he was going to do.

And apparently, he wasn't the only one who had come to a decision. A soft womanly hand grabbed him by the shorthairs and turned him to face her so she could stare straight into his eyes. Within those emerald orbs, determination shone a thousand times harder than any gemstone.

"I'm going to get 'im!" she ground out. "I don't know 'ow yet, and I don't know when or where. But somehow dis is gonna end with me gettin' 'im!"

"No." Patrick's voice came fast. Hard. Absolute.

Her head whipped around to glare at him. "Ye 'ave no right—!"

He cut her off with a finger on her lips, his gaze burning into hers with a searing intensity. He would not back down on this! "No. You aren't going to get him. I am. I am going to get him for you, and then, after beating him within an inch of his life, I am going to drag him before you."

The corners of Amy's mouth once more twitched up. "And den?"

His answering grin was entirely ungentlemanly. But right now, he didn't give a crap! "Remember what I said earlier about manifold tortures?"

Her smile widened into an equally savage grin. "Ye know...for some fancy lord, I suddenly find dat I really like ye."

Lord Patrick knew his "engagement" was complete and utter fiction. He knew that, going by the laws of sanity, and probably those of the United Kingdom, a peer of the realm such as himself could never ever even think of being involved with a woman such as she was. But still, in a tiny corner of his heart, he couldn't help but realize that he loved this woman.

Reaching out, he once more grasped her hand. "Then let's go, shall we? After all, we shall have to deal with Compton somehow if we want to resolve this matter without hurting the girl."

Amy's grin widened. "Dat son of a bachelor 'as no idea what's comin' for 'im."

"No, he has not." Eyes flashing, Patrick clenched his fist. "Let's...how would you and your friends put it? Let's catch that bastard with his pants down! Faster, Everstone!"

"Yes, My Lord!"

The coach sped up and they raced down the road leading south.

***

In another carriage not too far away, a certain nobleman was reclining in his seat, a frown marring his aristocratic brow. Leaning out of the window, he sent a glare at the rustic scene whizzing by.

"You there!" he called out to one of the footmen riding behind the coach. "What are we doing in this godforsaken wilderness?"

"Um...this is where, according to the letter, that girl is supposed to be hiding out."

The nobleman let his gaze sweep over the landscape once more, then let it settle meaningfully on his servant. "Then. Where. Is. She?"

"Um...I don't know, My Lord."

"Incompetent fools! Of course you don't! You've been riding behind this coach ever since we set out! How do you expect to find her like that? Do you think she is hiding out in the middle of the road?"

"N-no, My Lord."

"Then start doing your job! You three, spread out and search the surroundings. Fire your guns if you find something. The rest of you stay with the carriage and guard me!"

"Yes, My Lord! Right away, My Lord!"

Turning away their horses, three of them raced off into the thick underbrush, while the remaining footmen remained crouching on the back of the carriage, holding onto the handles there. Satisfied with having taught the simpletons a lesson, Lord Fabian Evander Compton settled back into the plush seat. Just then, however, the voice of the driver came from outside, up on the box.

"My Lord?"

"Yes?"

"There's a forest path splitting off from the main road. Which way would you like me to take?"

Compton considered it for a moment, glancing out of the window—then nodded to himself. "The forest path. Like I said, our prey is hardly likely to be sitting in the middle of the road." A smile spread over his face, and he reached down to his belt, eagerly anticipating using it for something far more interesting than holding up his trousers. "Oh, this is going be fun. Ha! Daring to run away from me? I can't wait to see the expression on that brat's face when I get my hands on her!"

***

"So...what happened next?"

The two of them sat in the coach together. Very, very closely together. A faint voice in the back of Lord Patrick's mind was screaming at him that having a woman on his lap was not appropriate for a gentleman. Unfortunately, another, much louder voice (which sounded rather like Titus for some reason) was telling him to bloody go for it!

And, judging by the way Amy was snuggled into him, she seemed to agree. Her arms slid around him, and she placed her head on his chest.

"What happened next?" she repeated his question. Her voice was soft yet oh-so-very determined. "I got 'em out of dere, dat's what 'appened. Da first chance I got, I grabbed both Flo and Jo and jumped down dat hatch straight inta da Thames."

"You...jumped into the Thames? With two babies in your arms?"

She shrugged. "It was da only way dey didn't bother guarding. I guess dey thought nobody would be crazy enough ta jump inta a eighteen-mile-wide river in late autumn."

"I wonder why that would be."

"Da three of us nearly drowned dat day, but I got hold of a mouldy old plank. I used ta keep Flo and Jo above water, and somehow I got us to da shore. For hours, I wandered around until da three of us were nearly frozen and 'alf-dead. We'd probably 'ave frozen ta death dat day...or maybe just bin stabbed? Wasn't as if we were in any condition ta defend ourselves. Two bawling babes and a 'alf-dead whore...we were as good as gone." She took a deep breath. "Or at least we would 'ave bin, if not for 'er."

"Her?"

The expression on Amy's face softened. "Da Madam. Ironic, ain't it? After what 'appened ta me, bein' rescued by a brothel madam? Mind ye, she was no saint. But she gave me a roof over our 'eads, and a room with a lock on da door, where I could be sure da two little ones would be safe. Dere, I found a place ta call 'ome. Dere, I found friends willing ta stand by me no matter what." Lifting her head from where it had been resting on his chest, she sent him a ferocious glare. "But I never forgot! Never forgave!"

"Nor should you," he answered, trailing a finger down her cheek. "No sane person would."

She quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Are ye sure I'm entirely sane?"

On the surface, the question sounded light. Teasing. Flirty, even. But underneath all that, there was a hint of desperation. When he gazed into her emerald eyes, he could see a woman in dire need. A woman who had been beaten down by the world so often that she hardly knew anything but pain.

Reaching out, he caught her cheek in one hand. "I am very sure. And even if I'm wrong..." Leaning forward without even thinking about what the heck he was doing, he pressed a gentle kiss onto her lips. "You are my kind of crazy."

"I...I am?"

"Oh yes. Case in point, any other woman I know by now would be screaming and pleading with me to get them back to London for some tea and sniffing salts. You, on the other hand..." He stared straight into her eyes, challenging. "You are calculating various ways to catch Compton and grind him into dust, aren't you?"

She smirked, making him want to pull her into his embrace. He resisted, just barely. "Ye noticed dat, did ye?"

"So, my dear fiancée..." The words left his lips so easily, almost instinctively. He probably ought to be bothered by that, but couldn't seem to bring himself to care. "What devilish plans did you come up with?"

Her smirk widened. "Well...it occurred ta me..."

"Yes?"

"We've got to 'catch' da girl and bring 'er ta dat bastard, don't we?"

"Yes?"

"Well, da instructions say nothin' about what might 'appen after we bring 'er to 'im, do dey? If, say, we deliver da goods to 'is Lordship, and da day after, 'e 'appens ta fall down da stairs and break 'is neck...well, dat would just be a pity, wouldn't it?"

His Lordship could not help but smile in return. "Oh yes. Such a great pity."

"So nice we're in agreement."

"Do you perchance know where this man, this Compton, happens to live?"

"I've known where 'e lives for years."

"And have been stocking firearms and explosives, I'd venture?"

Amy's eyes sparkled. Lord Patrick had never seen anything more beautiful. "I don't know what ye could possibly mean, Yer Lordship."

"I'm sure you don't." Straightening, Lord Patrick slid her off his lap, no matter how regretfully. It was time to get down to business. "So, how exactly would you implement this plan?"

"Hm..." Stroking her chin, Amy put on a thoughtful face. "I know Compton. He's a paranoid bastard. Whenever 'e came to da bawdy 'ouse, 'e brought at least four guards with 'im. But 'e's also arrogant. I don't think 'e'll ever suspect anyone would dare ta attack 'im in 'is own 'ome. So we'll 'ave ta do exactly dat. We'll be able ta take 'im by surprise, and—"

She cut off abruptly as the coach came to a halt with a sudden jolt.

"Everstone?" Lord Patrick's head snapped up "What is going on?"

"There's another carriage coming towards us," the voice of the coach driver came from outside. "The path isn't broad enough for both. What should I do?"

Lord Patrick opened his mouth—but before he could say so much as one word, a shout came from outside.

"Make way! Make way for Lord Fabian Evander Compton!"

Lord Patrick stiffened. His eyes flicked over to Amy, who sat there, frozen. Only her eyes weren't. They were burning with murderous rage that would not be denied.

"Well...hell!" His Lordship spit out a string of curses with the vigor of someone who had his vocabulary thoroughly corrupted and didn't mind in the least. "So much for plans."

Amy's eyes flashed and reached into the folds of her skirts. He had an idea what she was reaching for. "So much for plans indeed."

There was no time to think. No times for plans or deliberations. They exchanged another look.

"Fight?" he asked.

The determination in her eyes blazed brighter than ever. "Fight!"

Never had he wanted to kiss her as much as in that moment. But he didn't do that. Instead, he did the only thing he could. Pulling out his dueling pistol, he slammed open the door and leapt out of the carriage.

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I really hope I did this chapter well, and dealt with such a dark subject convincingly. Please let me know what you think!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob