“Yes, yes,” Lady Uppington croaked in cracked tones, the one word she could be trusted to say without alerting a listener to her English accent.

The guard nodded. “I can see as how it’s an honest mistake. Big place like this . . .”

Amy nodded enthusiastically; the guard didn’t seem to notice as she edged a few inches closer to the door with the movement. “You don’t know what a relief it is not to have to do this floor, too. Why, we thought we wouldn’t see our beds before dawn, and me Ma, well, she has another job days, at a big, fancy house in the Faubourg Saint-Germain.” Amy drawled the last name with the contempt appropriate to any good revolutionary.

“Long night,” the guard agreed with a nod.

“Yes, yes,” Lady Uppington cawed again in her crone’s cackle.

To Amy’s surprise, the guard actually smiled. “Agreeable woman, your ma.”

Lady Uppington smiled broadly in acknowledgment, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth. Amy had always known that trick with the soot and gum would come in handy someday. “Yes, yes.”

Amy might have been tempted to laugh, had she not caught the hint of a sound from behind the door. Any potential amusement at Lady Uppington’s performance drained away from Amy instantly. Richard was behind that door, being questioned and possibly—no, probably—tortured. Enough chitchat.

Amy flung back her shoulders and leaned forward so that her loosened bodice gaped. So did the short guard. His jaw fell appreciatively open, and his musket sagged several inches. Following up on her advantage, Amy twined a dark curl around one finger. “Long night for you all, too, ain’t it?”

“Oh, it’s not all that bad,” David babbled, staggering forward a few steps from the door to get a better view of Amy’s charms. One down, she thought. Lady Uppington was nudging her bucket slowly along the flagstones, closer and closer to the door.

Amy took a little step back, drawing David out farther from the door, and focused the force of her smile on Goliath. “Must get pretty boring just standing here all night,” she said with a show of sympathy. “Don’t know how I’d stay on my feet that long. But then, I’m not a big, strong man like you.”

Something like a snort emerged from the shawl-covered form of Lady Uppington, but Goliath’s chest puffed out. “Doesn’t take much strength,” he said gruffly.

“Just staying power,” put in the little one, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Amy wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but from the accompanying leer, it was obviously meant to be prurient, so she grinned back at him as though she understood and waggled her eyebrows back for good measure, with an extra dip designed to show a maximum amount of cleavage.

The only one who didn’t show any sign of succumbing to Amy’s charm or her bosom was Slingshot, who stood just as firmly at his post as he had five minutes before, his hands just as firmly on the stock of his musket. And he was eyeing Amy’s antics with a decidedly inimical eye. Drat! Either he was fanatically devoted to duty, or smarter than the others, and had smelled a rat. Neither option suited Amy.

A rat. Amy’s face almost broke into a genuine grin as an idea hit. That was how she would disarm Slingshot! Goliath was still modestly disclaiming any extra standing abilities. Amy gave an agitated squeal—not loud enough to disturb the inhabitants of the room, but just shrill enough to get the attention of all three guards.

“Raaaaaaaat!” she cried, yanking her skirt up around her ankles and hopping from one foot to the other. “Ooooh! Ooooh! There’s a raaaaat! Save me!”

She flung herself straight at Slingshot. Taken by surprise, the guard staggered sideways—away from the door. Amy grabbed his arm, and yanked him back towards the center of the corridor, squealing and hopping all the while.

“There!” she panted, pointing a quavering finger at an imaginary spot down the hall. “I saw it right there! All dark and furry with them little sharp teeth! Ooooooh!” She flung both arms around Slingshot, immobilizing him in the middle of the hallway. Through the crook of his arm, she could see Lady Uppington, poised right outside the heavy oak door. But she wasn’t opening it. Amy made little flapping motions with her hands. Lady Uppington shook her head. Drat! What was she waiting for?

Amy frowned. Lady Uppington mimed glugging noises—and hurriedly bent again to the floor as David glanced her way. Right. The brandy.

Goliath patted Amy heavily on the shoulder. “There, there, miss. It’s gone now.”

Amy whirled away from Slingshot, making sure to keep one arm linked through his, and gazed up at Goliath with big anxious eyes. “Are you sure? That big it were.” She sketched with one hand. “I could just feel it brushing against my leg.”

Amy yanked up her skirts and stared down at the limbs in question. Three pairs of masculine eyes followed.

“I’ll keep the big, bad rat off your legs,” the little one offered with a leer.

“I think . . .” Amy sagged artistically against Slingshot. He might have been staring at her ankle with the rest, but she still had a feeling that he’d bolt for his post the minute she released him. “I think I need a drop of brandy.” She pulled the bottle out of the large pocket in her voluminous skirt, uncorked it, and, turning her head to the side, made a show of drinking deeply.

“Greedy me!” She giggled, ostentatiously wiping droplets off her chin. “Would any of you gentlemen like a drop?”

“We’re not supposed to . . . ,” began Goliath, with a longing glance at the flask.

Amy thrust the bottle at him and batted her eyelashes. “Oh, go on! I won’t tell!”

“Yes, go on,” urged David. “But leave some for me!”

Goliath took a long swig and passed the bottle to David, who glugged greedily, and offered it to Slingshot. The dark man shook his head. “We’re on duty,” he cautioned with a glower.

“What harm can it—”

Thud!

David broke off midsentence as the dungeon door swung open, banging into the wall. The ragged form of Lady Uppington darted through. Slingshot made a belated grab for Amy as she hastily yanked her arm from his, sprinting after Lady Uppington. The other two guards stood frozen with surprise, as, through the open door, the ragged old charwoman drew forth an elegant gold-chased dueling pistol from the folds of her grimy shawl.

Lady Uppington leveled her husband’s pistol at Delaroche with the skill of an assured duelist.

“Drop those thumbscrews and step away from my son.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Mother?” Richard gasped. Good God, Delaroche hadn’t even started torturing him, and already he was hallucinating. But that certainly looked like his mother, and right behind her was . . . Amy?

Richard blinked. It was undeniably Amy—and a good deal of Amy was on view thanks to the unlaced state of her blouse.

“Don’t even think of moving,” Lady Uppington snapped at Delaroche, as Amy sprinted past her and made straight for Richard. Behind her three guards, one fat, one short, one tall and thin, crammed through the entrance and stumbled to a stop just short of Lady Uppington and her pistol.

“Did he hurt you?” Amy grabbed at Richard’s bound hands, and began plucking at the complicated series of knots. “I don’t see any blood.”

Amy concentrated on picking the fibers free from Richard’s wrists, trying not to look at the iron maiden that gaped open in the corner of the room. The straw underfoot pricked at Amy’s bare feet and the stench, a dank stench of rooms long unaired, with a fetid hint of something even more distressing, of blood and fear, made Amy’s stomach clench. She dug her nails into the rope.

Over Amy’s bent head, Richard saw his mother carefully circle so that she could keep the guards within her sights as well as Delaroche.

“Drop those muskets! Drop them, I said!” Lady Uppington harrumphed in annoyance. Three dull thuds followed.

Lady Uppington glowered over the sights of her pistol. “If any of you so much as consider moving, I shall shoot Monsieur Delaroche. Do you understand?”

Much shifting from foot to foot and mumbling ensued from the guards.

“No talking!” admonished Lady Uppington with a wave of her silver-handled pistol that made Delaroche flinch. “Oh, don’t be such a coward, you nasty little man. I assure you, I’m a crack shot. I won’t hit you unless I intend to hit you.”

As far as Richard knew, his mother had never been near a pistol in her life. But who really knew what women got up to in their spare time? It was a terrifying thought. But it wasn’t quite as terrifying as the sight of Amy reaching under her skirts and sweeping up with a dagger in her hand.

“The rope is all bunched together,” she explained in response to his horrified glance. “I can’t untie it.”

“How in the blazes did you get in here?” Richard asked dazedly, trying to keep his eyes off the blade sawing back and forth between some very vital veins. A fiber snapped and he felt the rope slacken a fraction.

“I’ll explain later.” Amy cast a quick, anxious look at the three exceedingly restless guards. Richard flinched as the knife nearly went into his palm.

How long until the sleeping draft took effect? Jane had emptied well over ten doses of the white powder into the small bottle of brandy, enough, she had promised Amy, to put an elephant to sleep for a week. Goliath might look a bit like an elephant, but neither he nor David showed any sign of succumbing to lengthy slumber, and Amy had her doubts as to how much longer Lady Uppington could hold them back. Could Jane have been mistaken about the dosage? David yawned, but, then, he had been yawning before, and it was well past midnight. True, both the big man’s and the little man’s movements seemed slower, but that might be a result of Lady Uppington’s pistol, not the drug.

“Ouch!” Richard yelped.

“Sorry, sorry,” Amy muttered, turning her attention back to his hands. Another fiber snapped, and another. With a determined twist of his wrists, Richard broke free of the rope.

Amy dropped to her knees and began frantically sawing on the ropes binding Richard’s legs. She didn’t like the way that Slingshot was eyeing Lady Uppington, or the way Delaroche was edging closer to a lethal-looking double-headed ax mounted on a crimson velvet stand.

“I’ll take over.” Richard leaned over, wafting Amy away from his legs. Between his mother holding a gun on Delaroche and Amy untying him, he was beginning to feel uncomfortably peripheral to his own rescue. Miles would never let him hear the end of it. Hell, he’d never be able to show his face in male company again. He might as well resign his memberships in his clubs and join a sewing circle. His mother, blast it, was getting far too much enjoyment out of poking Delaroche in the ribs with her pistol.

“Stop!” Lady Uppington snapped, as the little guard staggered a few paces sideways. A few steps closer to the pile of muskets. The little guard stopped, swaying on his feet.

“Sleepy,” yawned the little guard, sagging against the wall.

Richard wrenched at the knots binding his legs, pulling a tail of rope loose with a satisfied grunt. Nearly free.

Thump!

Straw and dust scattered in all directions as the large guard fell heavily to his knees and toppled over facedown on the floor. His smaller colleague gave another large yawn and tumbled on top of him, snoring. Delaroche wrenched his head around in shock. So, too, did a startled and delighted Lady Uppington. Her pistol wavered forgotten in her hand for a mere moment as she beamed at the small pile of sleeping men.

That moment was all Slingshot needed. Moving with all the coiled energy Amy had feared, he knocked the pistol out of Lady Uppington’s hand and grabbed her from behind, wrenching her back with such force that her feet rose off the ground. The pistol skittered across the straw-strewn dungeon floor.

Dropping the dagger with a clatter, Amy dove for the pistol—as did Delaroche. Hampered by her broad skirts, Amy pounced on the pistol just as Delroche’s bony hand swept it up off the flagstones. Her hand clutched empty air and a handful of stray straws. Her left arm banged painfully against the flagstones as she plummeted heavily forward. Winded, Amy gasped for air, but her breath caught in her throat as the long barrel of a silver-and-gold dueling pistol filled her vision.

Amy scrabbled at the dirty floor, hastily scooting backwards as Delaroche followed, a self-satisfied smile on his angular face.