Lord Day and Lady Night

12. Straight into the Dark

Because I live here. Because. I. Live. Here.

The young woman's words wouldn't stop repeating in Lord Patrick's head over and over again that night. He even heard them in his dreams. She couldn't have been serious, right?

You remember the look in her eyes, don't you? She was serious.

That bloody stupid woman! How could she...why would she...?

But he didn't even need to finish the question. The answer was painfully obvious.

Because she has no choice.

Curse her! Curse her for being poor! Curse her for being proud! Curse her for having such big, brave, beautiful dark green eyes that kept flickering in front of his inner vision, interspersed with images of dark alleys and ruined houses, as if...as if...

"You're imagining things, Day!" he growled, shaking his head to chase the images away. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the little notebook in which he had noted down all the most eligible young ladies Great Britain had to offer: three in total. Surely, a comparison with their stunning qualities would chase those annoying thoughts out of his head?

However, for some strange reason, their demure behaviour, pristine reputations, and noble pedigrees to the twenty-second generation suddenly didn't impress him quite so much as they had before. Why? Perhaps he had been too lax in his standards? Should he increase the minimum requirements to twenty-five noble generations?

"Harrumph!" Irritated, he slammed the little book shut and put it away. "What is the matter with me? Maybe I should just get a good night's sleep. In the morning, I'll have a clear head again."

Turning abruptly, he marched into the bedroom, threw himself onto the bed that Amy probably didn't have, and pulled a plush blanket over himself the likes of which Amy probably didn't even know, and...

Bloody hell! Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? And why the hell did he just curse like a sailor? Twice?!

Not like a sailor. Like a plucky cockney prostitute.

Taking a deep breath, Lord Patrick turned and buried himself beneath the pillow. At least sleep would grant him freedom from that dam— from that dratted woman.

Soon enough, his hopes would be fulfilled. As warmth engulfed him, slowly, the god of sleep opened the gates to his realm, and Patrick drifted towards a place where, surely, peace and forgetfulness would await him.

Yes, peace...any moment now...

That night, Lord Patrick Day dreamed of bewitching green eyes.

Ding-dong...

"Stop staring at me, damn you! And stop making me curse, you bloody...!"

Panting hard, arms flailing, Lord Patrick Day froze halfway on his way to falling out of bed. Most of the blankets and cushions from his elegant king-sized four-poster had been strewn across the floor, and one of the shoes that he'd forgotten to take off last night had somehow ended up dangling from his left ear.

Ding-dong...

So he hadn't been mistaken. It really was the doorbell! Someone was outside at this hour?

Moments after the bell had rung, a knock came from the door and Griffiths stuck his head into the room.

"Pardon the intrusion, My Lord. The young lady who was kind enough to pay us a visit a number of days ago has graced us with her presence once more. She rang at the door a few moments ago and told me, to my considerable astonishment, that, apparently, you asked her to come to your home this morning." The butler gave his employer a long look that made Patrick wonder who exactly was the master and who the butler. "Without a chaperon."