A certain skeletal figure was standing in a luxurious room, being dressed by several maidservants. The servants firmly kept their eyes to the ground, flinching at the slightest movement from their employer. The only noise one could hear was the rustling of cloth. Except...

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!

Rapid footsteps approached down the corridor. A moment later, the door to the room burst open, and a scruffy man stumbled into the room.

"I thought," the half-dressed skeleton spoke, its voice about as chilly as the grave it had probably crawled out of, "I had made myself clear. I am about to depart for an important event and am not to be disturbed."

"Um...well, yes, boss, b-but...but..."

"The next coherent statement after your stuttering had better be very convincing."

"Yes, boss! You wanted to immediately be told about anything happening with the situation up north, right?"

"Oh...you wouldn't by any chance be referring to the runaway merchandise, would you?"

"Yes, boss! That one!"

"The one you let escape through your horrific incompetence?"

"Yes, boss! That—um...ehem. Well..." The ruffian hurriedly cleared his throat. "There's news. Would you like to hear it, boss?"

"Would you like for your head to still be attached to your neck when you leave this room?"

Taking this as a "yes" like the smart man he was, the thug swiftly dived into his explanation. In a few short words, he proceeded to recount how the money for the transaction had been successfully received, and the matter could be laid to rest. When he fell silent, the only response, for a moment, was oppressive silence from his employer. A skeletal finger slowly stroked over a bony chin.

"Hm...so we have the money, do we? What about Lord Compton?"

The thug blinked. "W-what do you mean, boss? What about Lord Compton?"

An emaciated hand covered a tired pair of eyes. Five seconds passed in a prayer for all criminal masterminds with incompetent subordinates.

"We received our money. But did Lord Compton receive his package?"

"Um...well, of course, boss! We got the money. Why would we've gotten it if he didn't give it to us?"

"That, you brainless buffoon, is the question!"

With a soft rustle, the last layer of clothing settled over a narrow set of shoulders. Hurriedly, the maidservants stepped back, and the freshly dressed figure turned around to stare at the thug. The thug swallowed as the gaze of the one he feared above anything else landed on him. The one whom, judging by the look he now received, he had royally pissed off.

"I know those noblemen." The hiss coming from the secret overlord of London's underworld was like that of a viper. Emotionless, poisonous and deadly. "Quarrelsome, greedy, worthless creatures, complaining if even a single speck of dust besmirches the pristine tapestry of their lives. After all that has happened, after the number of people who have messed up, the amount of his time you've wasted, you seriously think Compton would just happily cough up the money like a good little boy?"

"Um...well..."

"Find out what the hell happened! I want a report on my desk yesterday! And now, out of my way! I'm late enough as it is!"

"Yes, Boss! I'll get right on it, Boss!"

***

"I'm delighted to announce the engagement of my son, Lord Patrick Day, Heir to the Duchy of Exeter, to Miss Amy Weston!"

Lord Patrick Day...

To Miss Amy Weston...

Engagement...

Engagement to Miss Amy Weston...

The words echoed so loudly in Amy's ears that she hardly heard the sound of the ballroom door opening behind her and the hushed apologies as people bustled inside.

"So sorry, so sorry..."

"Yes, our sincerest apologies. We were quite late. There really is no justification for that. I hope we didn't miss anything important?"

Miss anything important?

Amy felt one corner of her mouth twitch. She was, however, fairly certain that it was more of a spasmodic twitch than an actual smile. No, they didn't miss anything important—except her entire frigging life being turned upside down! What the hell was she supposed to do now? From all sides, she could feel gazes burning into her. Some with curiosity, some with shock, some with jealousy, some with desire. But all gazes had one thing in common: intense and blatant interest. Amy could practically hear the question they all shared: "Who the hell is she?"

Well, look at it is dis way, a cheeky little voice that reminded her far too much of her best friends whispered at the back of her mind.. Ye're famous now! Ye can charge double from now on!

Somehow, that didn't make her feel any bloody better! Oh God! The uproar this would cause throughout society... What had the dowager duchess been thinking?

Amy nearly facepalmed. Why was she even asking herself that?

Grandbabies! Grandbabies! Gimme grandbabies, now!

That would probably sum up the intricate thought process of Her Grace the dowager duchess pretty well. But why hadn't Patrick stopped her from going through with this hare-brained scheme? She was his mother! He must have had some idea of what she was planning to do. He could have stopped her, stopped all of this from happening, unless...

Abruptly, a certain possibility occurred to Amy. A possibility that made the breath catch in her throat. Had he known, and still allowed this to happen? But that would mean...it would mean that he actually wanted...wanted for him and her to...

She couldn't even finish the thought. Heat rising to her cheeks, she felt an irresistible urge to look at his face. Was he about to enfold her in his arms? Was he about to sweep her off her feet? Was he smiling?

She peeked at his face and...

And she saw the the most thunderstruck expression she had ever seen in her life. By the looks of it, the bolt of lightning had struck him straight up the arse, through his digestive system and out through his mouth. After all, why else would his jaw be hanging open?

"That...she...we can't just...what the hell?" Lord Patrick sputtered.

Amy sent him her very sweetest smile. "So glad to see how happy you are about this, Your Lordship. It's always good to know one is appreciated."

Only then did Lord Patrick Day seem to notice the peril he was in. Turning sideways, he saw Amy staring at him like a lioness stalking her prey.

"Ehm, well...not that I would object to being engaged to you. I mean, nobody could possibly object to being engaged to you, could they?"

Amy's eyes narrowed. "Is that right?"

"Of course, of course!" He beamed at her, and then, in a lower voice added, "I'm fairly certain nobody would dare."

"What did you say?"

"Well...I..."

But before Lord Patrick could contribute more words to his eulogy, another voice suddenly cut him off.

"So..."

Amy watched as Patrick breathed a sigh of relief, apparently quite grateful to whoever had just saved his life from her vengeance. That lasted about as long as it took him to realize that it was his mother who was talking.

"...come up here on the podium, you two! Let me show my son and future daughter-in-law to everyone!"

***

Lord Patrick Day was not having a very good day, pun most definitely not intended. First, he had to sit through a long coach ride while, he could swear, there were still several hedgehog spines lodged in his derrière. Then he had been dragged inside, only to find out that his own house had been turned into party central by his own mother, and now...

Now this.

"I'm delighted to announce the engagement of my son, Lord Patrick Day, Heir to the Duchy of Exeter, to Miss Amy Weston!"

Had his mother lost her mind?

Taking into account the manic gleam in her eyes, the answer to that might very well be yes. But right now, he couldn't care less about that little fact. He was more concerned with the fact that she had just proclaimed him to be betrothed. In front of an entire bloody ball room full of people!

Inside, his mind was yelling at him. Has this world gone mad along with my mother? He was Lord Patrick Day, Heir to the Duchy of Exeter! He couldn't marry a commoner! And he most certainly could not marry an East End prostitute with the mouth of a dockworker and the tendencies of a torturer with a degree in bondage. Every single bit of Lordliness within him screamed in protest at the thought.

And the worst thing of it all? While his mind and breeding kept screaming in protest, his heart didn't. Not once. Instead, it was beating in excitement, sending a surge of warmth through his chest. Was that...happiness?

He was supposed to be horrified! Outraged! Appalled!

And yet, for some infuriating reason, he couldn't bring himself to be any of those things! He couldn't even manage to be a teensy-weensy bit annoyed. Instead, he felt a rising sense of joy that he couldn't stop, no matter what. As if two pieces inside him that had always clashed against each other suddenly fit together perfectly.

He was in such a state of bliss that he only vaguely noticed his mouth going on autopilot. Had Amy said something to him? Probably. And he most likely had replied. But...why was she giving him such an intense stare. Was it something he'd said?

He couldn't really devote much thought to it. He was far too occupied with gazing into her deep emerald eyes.

The eyes of my betrothed.

Still, his heart couldn't muster a hint of outrage at the thought. Instead, he felt the urge to reach out and cup her cheek and—

"Come up here on the podium, you two!" the dowager-duchess called out, abruptly pulling Lord Patrick from his thoughts. And about time, too! He couldn't afford to daydream! He had to put a stop to this before these strange, intolerable feelings inside him got out of control! He had to make clear to everyone that he was most certainly a bachelor, and had no intentions of changing that fact any time soo— "Let me show my son and future daughter-in-law to everyone!"

Fiddlesticks.

So much for that.

"What are you waiting for, dears?" his dear mother called out. "Come up here! Let me show you off to everyone!"

***

"What are you waiting for, dears? Come up here! Let me show you off to everyone!"

Amy watched as Lord Patrick Day stood frozen, unable to move. For about half a second, that is. Then he suddenly squared his shoulders and started to move.

Towards the podium.

Without letting go of her arm.

"What da 'ell are ye doin'?" Amy hissed, momentarily falling back into her old Cockney accent. And about time, too! Yet, for some reason, she didn't try to free herself from his hold.

"Going up onto the stage, so I can present my fiancée," came his answer. Reaching out, he gently touched her cheek. "To all present here and to the entire world."

Suddenly, the breath vanished from Amy's lungs, and with an intensity that nearly swept her feet out from under her, she realized: this was real. For a long, long time, she had been in denial, trying to tell herself that something between her and Lord Patrick Day would never happen, that it was all just for show. Even tonight, when he had pulled her into his arms and waltzed her all across the dance floor, she thought, no, she knew, that it was just one night. A present thrown her way by the noble lord pitying the poor little prostitute.

But now?

Now he was staring at her with a searing intensity. And the look in his eyes was nothing like pity. He looked...looked like...

Well, she didn't know what the hell it was! The look in his eyes...she had never seen the like of it on a man's face before.

Not in real life, dat is, a little voice whispered at the back of her mind. But ye sure as 'ell 'ave seen it on da cover of a book. 'alf da books stashed away under yer bed, in fact. Dat's da look of a man in lo—

Amy slammed the door shut on the voice before it could get out that word. It was impossible! He couldn't be! Not with someone like her! And even if he was, even if somehow, impossibly, he was able to overlook the yawning chasm of disparity in wealth and social class between them...she couldn't. She wouldn't! She would not let people around her look down on her!

Amy was no fool. She knew it was only a matter of time before the nosy old biddies and girlish gossipmongers that made up London's "high society" found out who she really was. And when they did, there would be a shitstorm of truly epic proportions. It would cause the worst scandal in the history of Britain, making her a persona non grata among respectable society, and probably causing heart attacks among arrogant, self-absorbed aristocrats all across Britain and beyo—

A grin suddenly spread over Amy's face.

On second thought...why the hell not? Let's do this!

Just then, she reached the podium and looked up at the beaming, innocent smile of Her Grace the Dowager Duchess, and Amy remembered why she couldn't do this. She had no scruples whatsoever sticking it to some arrogant aristo-brats around the country. But hurting this sweet, kind, old lady? Lying to her about who she was? About who her son would declare to be his bride?

She couldn't do that!

"Your Ladyship," Amy whispered, coming to a stop in front of the podium and trying to twist out of Patrick's grip. "You shouldn't do this! I really think it would be better if you rethink this and—"

"Aww, no need to be shy!" The sweet, kind, middle-aged lady grabbed Amy's wrist in an iron grip and pulled her up onto the podium with one quick tug. Before Amy could get out so much as a squeak, she was whirled around and came to a halt, facing an entire hall full of people dressed in silk and satin. "Let me introduce you! I'm sure everyone here would love to find out all about you!"

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Oh my, it's time to share details of Amy's life with everyone! This should be interesting, shouldn't it? ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob