Lord Day and Lady Night

51. The Flames of Vengeance

It wasn't long after they stepped out of the old infirmary that a problem occurred to Lord Patrick Day. It had not occurred to him inside, because he had burned with righteous fury, and his eyes had been focused on the throats of those beasts who dared to call themselves men. Now, however...

The night wind whistled, pulling at tiny bits and pieces of see-through silk. Certain round, female body parts jiggled. Or at least he thought they did. He was not entirely sure, due to the fact he was currently trying to emulate an owl's admirable ability to twist its neck one-hundred and eighty degrees, in a desperate effort to look at anything but ladies suffering from acute clothing-deprivation.

"Ye know..." An infuriatingly amused voice came from beside him, whispering into his ear like a snake with a paradisiacal home and a penchant for apples. "Usually, men would try ta stare at half-naked ladies, not try and break deir necks in order not to."

"Then maybe you have been spending time around the wrong men," Lord Patrick growled.

The barb he expected in answer did not come. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, until...

"Maybe I 'ave."

Then, a small, delicate hand slipped into his.

His heart leapt!

What was the infernal thing doing, jumping all over the place? If he had learned to stand at attention in the twelfth regiment, his cardiac organ had better be able to as well! And yet, here it was, pounding like a heavy hammer, just because of a slight touch. Just because he was standing inches away from her, feeling her warmth.

Which is probably more than the ladies present are feeling, Patrick! Get your head out of your noble derriere!

Even without looking at them, he already heard the ladies' teeth chattering like Gatling guns. How had he not thought about this before? If you break more than fifty women out of a debauchee's dungeon, the likelihood that you will need at least a few pieces of women's clothing should be rather high! Why had he not packed any clothes?

For a very simple reason. He never packed anything. He was a peer of the realm, for God's sake! He did not pack things himself! He sent other people packing. Literally and figuratively.

And now, he was regretting it for the very first time. It didn't even have to be clothes, per se! If he could just get his hands on some cloth to protect his eyes from the worst parts...

Lord Patrick's eyes, drifting around on a desperate search, came to an abrupt halt. His eyes, aflame with passionate need, settled upon the desire of his heart.

"Do not even think about it!" Karim growled, clutching his turban protectively. "Do. Not. Dare."

"Now, now, Mr Karim. The needs of the majority outweigh those of the indivi—"

Karim's hand landed on his sabre with a growl, telling everyone exactly what would happen to the unfortunate majority if they dared to so much as touch his turban. It would have looked really intimidating, too, if not for the small fact that the bodyguard was also doing his best owl-imitation, trying to look at anything but scantily clad ladies. He seemed to be even more ambitious than Lord Patrick himself, aiming for an amazing two hundred degrees.

"Oy, no need ta twist yer 'eads of, ye two!" Amy's voice sounded beside him. "First, 'cause it's unnecessary. Second, 'cause den I won't get ta 'ave fun doing it myself."

Lord Patrick turned to stare down at the young woman—dressed, God be praised—striding at his side. Stare with a mix of surprise and incomprehension. Back in the ballroom, when he had been doing nothing but his duty, questioning the women in the room—fully dressed women, incidentally—she had glared at him as if he were the devil incarnate. Now, here he was, standing in the midst of a crowd of nearly naked women, and she was smiling at him?