Through narrowed eyes, Lord Patrick Day watched the street below. Right now, he was very glad they had decided to observe this place before taking action. They had been right to be cautious. There were already guards stationed around the venue of the auction. Oh, they didn't look like guards. They wore completely mundane clothes and didn't move according to a regular patrol schedule. But he knew. He'd spent enough time in the East End to see the signs: the furtive glances left and right, the bulges under their coats where there shouldn't be any, and most of all, the eyes. Passers-by didn't have eyes like that. Not unless they were passers-by in a colony of serial killers.

This was the place. This was where it was going to happen, he was sure of it. Soon. Soon, the time for the "auction" would be here. The time when all their months of work, their countless days and nights of training, fighting, and investigating, would at long last be rewarded. Finally, they were going to take down those sons of bachelors!

And yet...

He just couldn't concentrate on it. He couldn't concentrate on anything except the woman crouching beside him at their observation post. The beautiful, brave, vivacious woman. His fiancée.

He still couldn't quite believe it. But it had happened. It had been announced to the whole of London's high society. There was no going back now.

As if you wanted to.

He tried his best to ignore that cheeky voice at the back of his mind. Especially because, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't disagree. He wanted her. He wanted her all to himself, and if any stuck-up fool from the so-called "high society" had something to say about it, they could take their objections and stick them where the sun didn't shine!

In that moment, Lord Patrick Day came to a decision. He was going to have to make a visit to the vicar of his local parish. Or better yet, the Archbishop of Canterbury. After all, if Lord Patrick Day, heir to the dukedom of Exeter was going to reserve a church, he might as well do it in a manner befitting his station.

"Oy!" An elbow buried itself in his side. "What are ye day-dreamin' about?"

"Ehem." Hurriedly, he cleared his throat. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Well, stop waistin' time on 'nothing' and start focusin' on what's goin' on down dere!"

He did as requested, just in time to see a tiny figure dressed in rags shuffle around a street corner. He had to admit, even from up here on the roof of a nearby building, Flo made an impressively pitiable urchin.

"A...a few coins, please? Just a penny or two, Sir?"

"Piss off, brat!" One of the passers-by lashed out, nearly kicking the little girl who held out her hand towards him before she ducked out of the way. He never noticed the quick glance the girl cast through the door he was supposed to be guarding.

"P-please, maybe just a bite of bread or somethin'? I'm s-so 'ungry and—"

"I said piss off! Now!"

The little girl only barely ducked under another kick. Casting a last, desperate glance at the man who had denied her help, she dashed off down the street.

"Damn, she's good." Amy whistled.

"Makes me wonder what she has had to live through to become this good," Lord Patrick added, darkly.

He glanced sideways at Amy and, to judge by the look on her face, she didn't have to wonder. She knew. And she didn't like it at all.

Before he could stop himself, his mouth opened.

"Amy?"

"Aye?"

"How do you feel about adoption?"

She jerked. For a moment, it looked like she would turn towards him, but she remained in place, very deliberately staring at the street down below.

"Ye mean...adoption as in a married couple adoptin' a kid?"

"Yes. One, or two..." What the heck, Patrick? What do you think you are doing? "...or maybe five." Close your mouth! Close your mouth now!

There was a pause. Lord Patrick almost felt his heart stop.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why would you ask that? Why would you—

"Dat sounds nice."

His Lordship nearly toppled off the roof.

"W-what?"

"Adoptin'. I'd like dat." Was that a hint of red he saw on her cheeks? "It's just...da place I live in ain't exactly fit for...ye know."

He couldn't help but smile. "Would a mansion be more suitable?"

This time there was red on her cheeks, no doubt about it.

"Aye. Aye, I'd wager it might be."

Just barely, Lord Patrick managed to restrain himself from shouting out in triumph. Just barely. He wanted to. He wanted to roar, to cheer, to hold her close and show off this amazing woman to the world.

Have you gone crazy? A small voice at the back of his mind, which sounded like his snobbish great-aunt, demanded. Why value this woman so much? She is a creature from the worst cesspits of this city!

He looked sideways at her face. A beautiful face with eyes that had seen far too much.

Yes. Yes, she is. And from that cesspit grew the most beautiful flower ever. A flower with thorns.

He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"I'm...glad you like the idea," he whispered. "Then maybe we could—"

"Oy!" A voice interrupted from right behind him. "What are ye two talkin' about?"

For the second time today, Lord Patrick Day nearly toppled off the roof. Turning around, he sent a glare at the innocently smiling Flo.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"We're on top of a 'ouse," she cheerfully pointed out. "Not inside one."

She had a point. Not that he would ever admit it.

"So..." Flo's smile widened. "What were ye talkin' about?"

And he was most certainly never ever going to admit that!

"Ehem, well...just mundane things. Home life, you know."

"Lunch recipes? Mantlepiece decoration?"

"Ehem. Yes. Something like that."

"Let's not waste time with small talk right now, shall we?" Amy suggested, and Patrick decided she was truly the most amazing woman in the world. Could anyone else have such perfect timing? "Spill, Flo. What did ye find out? What's goin' on down dere?"

"Well, ye were right about dat dump down dere." The little girl jabbed a finger at the luxurious townhouse below. "It's definitely da place we're lookin' for. I saw cages through da doors, and da nice fellow who tried ta kick me 'ad gang markings."

Amy nodded.

"Good." The expression on her face, however, didn't really agree with her words. "Now we'll just 'ave ta wait for Leona and—"

Just then, the head of a little girl appeared over the edge of the roof, at the top of the fire escape. "Did I miss somethin'?"

"Nothing important!" Patrick and Amy chorused simultaneously.

One corner of Patrick's mouth quirked up. That clinched it, didn't it? They were meant for each other.

Leona, however, seemed less than convinced

"We were just talkin' about Flo's investigation," Amy told her. "'ow did things go on yer end?"

"Spiffin'." She smirked. "We found a house dat was bein' painted on da other side of da road from da target. So, me and Aggie waited till da painters went on a lunch break and climbed up da ladder ta look inside da courtyard of dat place." Her grin faded. "Didn't like what I saw. Didn't like it at all."

Lord Patrick felt a chill in his chest. "And what was that?"

"A stage." The words were squeezed out between gritted teeth. "For sales."

The chill in his chest turned into a frozen tundra.

"I see."

Lord Patrick Day's gaze landed on the guards who were still patrolling below. Then and there, he decided he was going to rain down fire and fury onto those worthless excuses for humanity.

"So, now dat we know, what are we gonna do?" Flo asked.

With narrowed eyes, Lord Patrick Day stared down at the large house below. His target.

"Now? Now we're going to pay a visit to Inspector Ian Pritchard. I'm sure the good inspector would just love to assist us in our quest for truth and justice."

***

Inspector Ian Pritchard growled as he pressed the cold slab of meat against his still-swollen cheek. It was his third this morning. And he had a feeling it wouldn't be his last. One of his constables, who had just entered his office to place a pile of documents on his desk, threw him a commiserating look.

"The wife, Sir?" Reaching out, he patted Pritchard's shoulders. "Don't worry. I've got da same problem. Every time I forgot ta clean my boots before comin' inside or put my feet up on da table..." He shuddered. "Well, suffice ta say it ain't pretty."

"Constable?"

"Aye, Sir?"

"Get the hell out of my office!"

"Aye, Sir! Right away, Sir!"

The constable fled the room, and Inspector Pritchard gave a sigh of relief. Pressing the slab of meat more tightly to his discoloured cheek, he reached for the topmost paper on the pile of documents. At least he wouldn't see any action for a good, long while. Instead, he would be sitting in here doing blissfully boring paperwork. That meant it would be a long time before he would have to see them agai—

"Yoo-hooo! Inspector Pritchard!"

He froze.

No. No, no, please God, no!

The door to his office opened a few inches, and Amy Weston stuck her head into the room. "'ello dere, Inspector! It's so good ta see you again."

Apparently, God hated him.

"Guess why we're 'ere?" the woman piped up, that asinine cheerful smile still on her face. Behind her, Inspector Pritchard saw Lord Patrick Day appear in the doorway.

His eyelid twitched. "To punch me in the face again?"

"Sadly, no." Stepping in the room, Lord Patrick removed his hat and gloves. "We can do that later, though, if you like."

"I'll pass, thanks." Pritchard leaned forward. Oh, how he wished he had a fresh, cool slab of meat for his face. Then he could take the old one and hurl it at this fellow's far too un-punched face. "Now out with it! What do you want?"

"Ah well, since you ask..." Miss Amy Weston rubbed her hands. The inspector suddenly got the impression that he shouldn't have asked. No, he definitely shouldn't.

"What?" he asked, wearily.

In answer, the "lady" glanced at Lord Patrick. The nobleman reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the inspector's desk.

"What is—?"

"Read it."

"Why—"

"I said read it."

Grumbling, Pritchard did as ordered—and felt his face turn white. Which, considering it had been blue and purple a moment before, was rather impressive.

"You're kidding!"

"I am most certainly not."

"How many guests for this bloody auction?"

"My investigators counted over fifty chairs."

"Holly frigging son of a b—"

"Shh!" Quickly, Lord Patrick stepped forward and grabbed hold of him, cutting off his shout. "Be quiet! Or do you want the whole department to hear?" Growling, Pritchard struggled against the bugger's grip. "Along with the spies the gang probably has in here?"

That stopped him cold.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself. Pushing himself up from the desk, he moved to the door, then closed it and locked it.

"Now," he ordered in a growl. "Tell me everything."

And they did. They did in great detail. Suddenly, Pritchard felt like the bruises on his face weren't quite so important anymore. When they were finished, he muttered a low oath.

"Yes, incredible, is it?" Miss Amy Weston gave him a smile that was not really a smile. "And to imagine all dis 'as bin goin' on right under yer nose, and ye never noticed. Amazin', right?"

That was not the word Inspector Pritchard would have chosen.

"All right." He pulled on his belt, trying to ignore the way his belly wobbled. Maybe he shouldn't have roasted and eaten all those slabs of meat he'd used to cool his face. "I'll help you. In fact, my entire department will." He gave a grunt. "At least, if I'm involved, I can help keep this thing quiet. Can you imagine how my career would end up if it got out this stuff was going on all over my city?"

Just then, he seemed to notice the impish smile that had appeared on Amy's face.

"Well..." She drew the word out. "About that..."

***

"No." The growl escaped Pritchard's mouth the moment he spotted the building they were heading towards. He sounded desperate. Almost in agony. As if entering the place would physically pain him.

Not that Amy gave a crap.

"Yes." She nodded happily.

"No!"

"Oh yes. Definitely yes." Leaning over towards Patrick, she gave him a smile. "Would you care ta 'elp me?"

The smile he returned to her was more devious than any upstanding English gentleman had any right to be. It made Amy's heart leap in her chest. "With pleasure."

And, together, the two of them grabbed the poor inspector by the arms and started dragging him towards the newspaper headquarters. An engaged couple, working in perfect harmony...

Amy couldn't help but grin. Wasn't young love something amazing?

She almost stopped in her tracks.

Love?

Was it love? Sure, they'd been announced as betrothed. But in this world, that most often had little to do with love. This wasn't one of her romance books.

Patrick fighting fiercely right beside her...Patrick pulling her close at night...Patrick holding her tightly as she unveiled her deepest, darkest secrets and accepting it all. Accepting her.

No. This wasn't one of her romance books. But maybe, just maybe, it was still romance. Maybe even love.

"Let go of me!" Pritchard protested, interrupting her pleasant thoughts.

In answer, Lord Patrick tightened his grip on the man's arm and sped up his pace, mercilessly dragging the man towards their goal. Amy smirked. Oh yes. Definitely love.

It didn't take long for the three of them to reach the floor of the newspaper offices. The welcoming shouts of the chief editor greeted them the moment they opened the door.

"—call this an editorial? It's an editortrial! As in a bloody trial for any chief editor having to deal with this worthless waste! And do you know what happens when I have to deal with trying crap?"

"Err...no, chief?"

"I unload it on others!"

"Y-yes, chief!"

"'ello dere!" Knocking on the glass door to his office, Amy stuck her head inside. "'aving fun?"

"Oh yes." Hendrickson vigorously chewed his cigar. "I'm positively bubbling with joy. Now what the hell are you here for?"

In answer, Amy stepped towards the man's desk and placed a sheet of paper in front of him. The same paper she and Patrick had shown to Pritchard. Unlike the inspector, he read it slowly and carefully from beginning to end. Then he looked up.

"So..." Hendrickson steepled his fingers in front of him. "It's time?"

Lord Patrick nodded grimly. But he couldn't stop himself from smiling ever so slightly. "It is time."

***

Raising her clenched fist, Amy knocked at the door in front of her. Normally, she would have just picked the lock. But, for some reason, she did not think that would be a good idea with this particular building.

A moment later a small flap in the door opened, and a suspicious eye surrounded by a lot of beard and some bits of face inspected her.

"What do you want, infidel?"

"Karim, my dear!" Beaming, Amy waved through the hole. The eye narrowed.

"What do you want?"

Why were people always saying that as if she were about to set their house on fire?

Then Amy thought about what had happened to a certain duke's castle. And what she was planning to do to a certain house at the edge of the East End. So she just decided to answer his question. Answer the same way Patrick had answered Hendrickson before.

"It is time."

In answer, the flap slammed shut, and she heard the sound of a sabre scraping against the leather of its sheath. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Karim, fully equipped and ready for battle. He eyed the motley crew assembled outside—police, journalists, lords, ladies and not-so-gentle men—then nodded.

"Shall we go?"

"Aye." Rubbing her hands, Amy strode towards the waiting carriage. "Let's go."

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Still sick :( I might have to stay in bed for a week or two, but I'll try keep posting chapters.