Lord Day and Lady Night

43. Together in the Darkness

Amy froze. That voice...

Him. It was him.

So much for nothing being around worth punching.

"What is it, Yer Lordship?" she demanded, pronouncing the words as if they were a curse. Which, in her humble opinion, they pretty much were. "Do ye require something from a simple servant such as myself?"

"Yes. I do."

Da nerve of 'im...! Did he think he could actually order her around? Did he think she would run errands and do chores for him, like a paid servant?!

Well...to be fair, he did pay her. Quite a lot, in fact.

So what? I may 'ave hour-long sex marathons with all sorts of people ta earn a living, but doing chores? Even I've got me standards!

Breathing hard, she whirled around, raising her arm to let him have it—only for her hand to be caught in his.

"Your hand, My Lady," he told her, gazing straight into her eyes. "I require your hand. Would you give it to me?"

"H-hand?" Why da 'ell am I stuttering? And 'ow da 'ell come I'm suddenly pronouncing my Hs? What is 'e doing ta me? "What da hell—I mean, what da 'ell, do ye want me 'and for?" Amy demanded, firmly reinstating her native Cockney.

"For what else?" Raising an eyebrow, Lord Patrick Day, last descendant of a noble line so long it could stretch from here all the way to Glasgow, reached out and grabbed Amy's other hand and pulled, twirling her around.

"What da 'ell...!"

She began to struggle, but, effortlessly, he twirled her around again to the music sung by the nocturnal birds, almost as if they were....

She struggled for a moment longer before, abuptly, she realized what he was doing, at which point she stopped resisting out of sheer shock.

He was dancing. Dancing silently under the moonlight, to a melody none but he could hear. Dancing with her.

Instinctively, Amy glanced down at herself. She still was wearing her horrifying, frumpy servant's outfit from hell. Heck, no, nobody in hell be caught dead in such a getup, unless they wanted their butts scorched by Satan! How...how could it possibly be that this man, out of all people...?

Tentatively, she glanced up from under her lashes, only to see Lord Patrick Day gazing straight into her eyes, without a hint of derision or ridicule. Instead, his azure-blue eyes were looking straight at her as if she were...a real person. Not a toy that could be bought for a few pence a night. A real person. Someone who mattered.

She opened her mouth, trying to say something—but no sound came out.

They simply continued to dance under the silent moonlight, late into the night. And, unlike for Cinderella, the strike of midnight did not end the magic.

***

The sound of a cock crowing in the distance woke Amy from her slumber—by far the most pleasant wakeup she had ever received from one of those during her many experiences with them. For a long time, she simply lay there, gazing up at the ceiling, thinking about the weird dream she had last night. Rushing out into the forest like some silly little romantic heroine, being chased by the hero, dancing in the moonlight...

She giggled, and swung her legs out of bed. What an incredibly absurd dream! Amazingly detailed, though. She'd even dreamed about stubbing her toe on a particularly inconveniently placed root and—

"Ow!" Cursing, she grabbed her toe as soon as it touched the ground, and started hopping around her room on one foot. "Boody stinkin' 'ell! What da...!?"