Lord Day and Lady Night

23. Together

"You..." His voice was rough. "Is...is this really all right?"

She nodded. "Ye ain't da only one who doesn't want ta be alone tonight. Hold me. Not anything else, just...hold me."

He gazed at her for a long moment—then determination flared to life in his eyes. Grabbing a blanket, white as an angel's wings, he wrapped it around the both of them, filling her with heavenly warmth. He was close. So close now. Amy felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her into his chest again. Swallowing, she glanced up at him.

"Be gentle with me," It was no more than a whisper. "It's my first time."

His grip tightened and a thumb wiped away the tear on her cheek as if it had never been there. Taking hold of her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I swear."

Amy's heart leapt. She watched, her blood pounding, as Patrick moved closer and closer, until, like a tickle of silk, his lips caressed—

***

Abruptly, a pothole tore Amy from her memories. It was probably just as well. Otherwise, she might well have remembered what had happened last night. Or, more precisely, what had not happened.

Da whole night! Da whole night, 'e...'e just held me! 'e didn't even try ta cop a feel! Don't 'e think I'm pretty? Don't 'e want me? And why da 'ell am I even askin' dat question?

Raising her head, she glanced at Patrick. Patrick with his clear, shining eyes. Patrick, with his strong, solid, innocent face.

Da whole night, 'e kept 'is word.

Damn him!

A bloody knight in shining armour! Dat's what 'e is! Or dat's what 'e thinks 'e is, at least! Why did 'e 'ave ta keep 'is word? And why am I both happy and pissed about it? Ah! I'm gonna strangle 'im! People like dat ain't supposed to exist in real life!

And most certainly not in her life.

But...

But what if 'e could? What if 'e and I—

"We're here!" Karim shouted, tearing Amy from her thoughts mid-way. Never before had she been so glad to be interrupted in the middle. Glancing up, she caught sight of a small but homely house with absolute absence of any gardening, two dozen forgotten newspapers stuck in the mail box, and a "Beware of the Owner" sign stuck in the scruffy lawn.

A bachelor pad among bachelor pads.

"Are ye sure about dis?" Amy asked, raising an eyebrow at Patrick.

"I am indeed." He nodded. "For what we're about to do, we need reliable allies."

"Which begs the question," she pointed out, "why are we 'ere?"

Throwing her a disparaging look, he pushed open the carriage door and climbed out into the cold. After helping her out of the carriage—damn and blast his manners!—he strode straight across the street towards the house they had stopped in front of, and knocked at the door

Time passed.

"Reliable allies, eh?" Amy raised an eyebrow.

"When he is sober," His Lordship qualified.

"Which 'appens 'ow often, exactly?"

Not deigning to reply, he raised his hand and hammered on the door again. Some more time passed in ominous silence. After a considerable wait, slow, dragging footsteps, reminiscent of a half-comatose zombie, came down the hallway on the other side of the door. Then, through the wood, followed the zombie's tortured groan: