Note: Okay, gang, looks like we're going M. Might as well take full advantage, right? Right.

When Jack began to stir, the room was lit only by the thin gray haze of almost-dawn. He was immediately aware of his bareness and felt uneasy, realizing it was the first time he'd woken up in the altogether since the very early days of his marriage. But a moment later the equal bareness of a certain Phryne Fisher shifted against him, and he forgot his discomfort entirely.

He examined her in the gossamer morning glow, pleased to find her sleeping face as naked as the rest of her. He loved her face bare and he had told her so last night, as he kissed away what remained of her lipstick. She must have been in a mood to oblige him, for she had proceeded to slip from bed and wipe her face clean. As a result she was au naturel in every sense this morning. Her pink lips were parted and a little swollen from his attentions, her skin luminous and pale, her sculpted cheeks rosy. Jack sighed deeply, just looking at her. He would give her anything she asked and more if it meant he could spend the rest of his life waking up to that face.

He reached out and gathered the damask coverlet in his fingers, carefully drawing it away from her body to reveal what the darkness had kept secret from him last night. His mouth went dry at the sight of her breast peeking out from the crook of her elbow. He flicked his eyes up to her face, pleased to find she was still securely in the arms of Morpheus. Unable to resist, he pressed his index finger to her succulent, peach-pink nipple, mesmerized by the way it tightened and flourished under his caress. Transfixed, Jack dragged his touch downwards, heart shuddering in his chest as he spread the delicate gathers of her areola until the skin lay smooth. He studied her flesh intently, absorbing every reaction, every detail—how it puckered, seizing up into luscious little pleats, how it grew tighter and pinker the more he toyed with her. If this went on much longer, he was in danger of embarrassing himself against her thigh. All over one silly, splendid nipple.

There was a change in her breathing but Jack was too absorbed in his task to take note. His mouth was watering with the desire to taste her, and he had just begun to dip his head when she broke his concentration with a throaty laugh. "I say, Jack Robinson. The sun is hardly up and you're already pushing all the right buttons. I always knew you had it in you."

Her thick, sleepy voice raked over his skin like hot coals. Angling his head back up so he could meet her eyes, he brought his thumb to meet his forefinger, trapping her nipple in between. He twisted a little then pinched until she gasped, taking advantage of her parted to lips to inflict a greedy, penetrating kiss. She captured the wrist that was occupied at her breast and dragged his hand between her legs, giving a little sob into his mouth as one of his knuckles nudged against that all-important bundle of nerves at her center.

So important it was to both of them, in fact, that they were deaf to the sound of footsteps in the hall. Even the whine of hinges as the bedroom door opened was missed completely. But the shriek of horror that came out of Dot was impossible to ignore. "Miss, did you make it home all—oh my God!"

The newly-minted lovers sprang apart in surprise, clutching frantically at bed linens as they scrambled to cover themselves. With a fistful of blanket pulled up to her chin Phryne gaped at her companion, who was standing frozen in doorway with her hands clapped over her eyes. She found the fact that Dot had just taken the Lord's name in vain nearly as shocking as being discovered in bed with the Inspector.

There was a moment of tense silence as Phryne grasped for something to say. Before she could manage it, however, Dot had spun on her heel and fled, slamming the door behind her.

Phryne and Jack stared at each other in alarm. Both were struck utterly speechless. Then, Phryne watched in disbelief as Jack's face cracked into a wide, toothy grin, a grin unlike any she'd ever seen on him, and he threw his head back with a shout of laughter.

His amusement made the corners of her lips turn up. He began to laugh in earnest, laughter like a giddy schoolboy, and Phryne found herself unable to do anything but join him. The two of them fell back onto the bed, guffawing like a pair of drunken idiots until they were quite out of breath. Their abdomens convulsed with the echoes of their unprompted mirth until they lay panting beside each other, looking as if they'd just finished with something far more erotic.

A knock came on the tail of their laughing fit, followed by Mr. Butler's cheerful voice through the door. "Good morning Miss Fisher, Inspector! Didn't want you to fret about Miss Williams, I've put some brandy in her morning tea and she's resting quietly. Are scones and clotted cream all right for breakfast or will you require something a bit more fortifying? Bacon and eggs perhaps?"

Phryne was about to answer that scones were just fine, but Jack cut across her. "Bacon and eggs would be a treat, Mr. B, thanks so much."

"Very good, Inspector! See you downstairs."

Phryne ducked her head and buried her face in Jack's chest, her shoulders shaking with residual laughter. "Well, I suppose the cat has launched itself straight out of the bag," she commented, her voice muffled against his skin.

He stroked the hair away from her neck and smiled. "I suppose the damage was done when we forgot to lock the door behind us."

"It was going to come out eventually. At least this way we can avoid an awkward sit-down."

Jack nodded, dreading the fact that he would soon have to end this light, happy moment. He would have done anything to keep from banishing that coy grin from her face, but he would need to put a call in to the station straightaway and see if there was any word on Verlinden. He panicked for a moment, realizing that someone might have tried to call him at home and instead he had been here with Phryne. But he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Though they hadn't managed a lot of sleep last night, it had been hours more than he would have achieved in his own empty house. He would be able to catch up this morning, and would simply make excuses if they asked why he hadn't answered his home telephone.

Phryne crawled forward and curled her fingers behind his neck, sending a cool shiver down his spine. She pulled him to her, pressing her lips to one cheek, and then the other. "Your cheeks look so tasty and pink this morning," she murmured, dropping another smiling kiss beside his nose. "I simply must kiss them."

"Ah, Phryne," he sighed, certain his cheeks were flushing even pinker beneath her fine mouth. "I would lay here and collect your kisses until your lips were bruised. But reality will have its way with us, as it always does. I have to ring the station."

Phryne dropped one last kiss on the underside of his right cheekbone and pulled back, stretching over to her nightstand to collect the telephone in one hand and dropping it deftly into his lap.

Phryne slipped into the bathroom while Jack made his call, twisting the hot tap and watching the water fill the tub with unfocused eyes as she allowed herself to luxuriate in the delicious memories of last night.

Making love to Jack had been frenzied and clumsy and transcendent. Her skin was still on fire with the memory of his touch. He had lacked poise, perhaps, but it had been to his credit rather than detriment...his beauty and eagerness had been enough to send her reeling. He had covered her with his large body, crushing her into the mattress and burying himself so deeply inside of her she had seen stars explode behind her eyes. She remembered biting into his shoulder at one point to muffle the wild cries he was drawing from her, and made a note to check his skin for the wound when she got out of the tub. The thought of him going about his day tattooed with little red welts from her teeth was rousing indeed.

She sank to her chin in the hot water and contemplated the technique of his thrusts. They had been slow, deep, profound; as if every stroke he delivered into her body had a unique significance. Every plunge of his hips had made her flesh shiver and resonate with an acute emotion she could not name, something beyond pleasure, beyond ecstasy, even, and if she had not seen the sweat beading on his forehead, combined with the taut expression of dwindling self-restraint on his face, she would no doubt have found completion from his thrusting alone. A rare thing, that, even with the best lovers. Out of compassion for his tightly held control, however, she had come to his aid. Sliding her fingers between them, it had only taken a few little rubs to send her hurtling into a yawning sky of pleasure, her convulsing inner muscles pulling him eagerly along with her. She recalled the intricate shudder that had passed over his face as he climaxed. It was an image she would stow deep inside the folds of her memory, never to be forgotten.

Phryne shivered, even though the water was still hot, and resolved to stop thinking about last night. If she continued on in this vein it would be quite impossible for her to let him ever leave her bedroom.

She was rinsing shampoo from her hair when his soft knock came at the door. "I'm going, Phryne. Verlinden never turned up, and I need to get down to the station and help them get his face out to the public. Not to mention try and find some way to keep him from leaving town."

Phryne began to protest that she was coming with him, but he interrupted her. "No, no, sweetheart, enjoy your bath and eat a good breakfast. There won't be much for you to do until we get the police work out of the way. I'll call you when we're through and you can come meet me at the station."

She sighed, not warming to the idea of being left out but knowing sense when she heard it. She also pretended not to notice the warmth that spread through her when he called her 'sweetheart.' She really shouldn't tolerate such nonsense from him. "Then at least come and kiss me good-bye, Jack."

He chuckled through the door, the muffled noise indicating that his lips were pressed right against the seam. "Miss Fisher, you know as well as I that if I see you in that tub I will forget I ever was a policeman. Probably my own name, too. We'll continue where we left off tonight."

"I'll be counting down the minutes," she murmured back to him, sloshing the water around a bit in case he needed any more reminding that she was naked in the tub.

"You won't be the only one," he rasped, his voice somewhat quieter. Then she heard his footsteps retreat, and he was gone.

Phryne felt a bit gloomy at his departure, but was heartened by the thought that there was still much to look forward to this evening.

After a few more moments of soaking, the bathwater began to lose its heat and Phryne eased out of the tub to towel off. She had no one to blame but herself for the absence of Dot, and was thus forced to rummage through her closet by herself in search of a suitable outfit.

It took a bit longer than usual, but she emerged from her bedroom almost an hour later, feeling flawless in a white chiffon blouse and black pleated skirt. Being Phryne, she had no choice but to defy the conservative ensemble with a brazen vermillion shawl, draped artfully across her body. A silk bandeau of the same bold color adorned her dark hair.

She arrived at the breakfast table to find Dot sipping tea and refusing to meet her eyes.

"Morning, Miss," she greeted crisply, pretending to peruse last month's edition of Cinema Romance.

Phryne allowed herself a small, knowing smile. "I am sorry if Jack and I gave you a fright this morning, Dot. But I daresay you'll need to grow accustomed to the sight of male flesh when you're married. Think of it as a learning experience."

Dot glared, insomuch as Dot was able to glare. "Pardon me, miss, but I believe the whole point of marriage is seeing the nude flesh of only one male. Inspector Robinson is not the male I had in mind. Come to think of it, I had no idea you had him in mind either, Miss."

Mr. Butler, who was at the stove prodding a considerable heap of scrambled eggs, muttered over his shoulder, "Really, Miss Williams, you have eyes in your head, you ought to use them. I for one saw this coming a mile away. I'm honestly shocked it took so long."

Phryne tucked into the table with eyebrows raised at Mr. Butler's candor. "I had no idea we were being so obvious about it, Mr. B."

"Takes a trained eye, I suppose," he responded, distributing the steaming eggs onto two plates which he garnished plentifully with bacon. He placed the plates before Phryne and Dot before going back to make one for himself.

Phryne took a bite of Mr. Butler's impeccable eggs, feeling a selfishly relieved that she and Jack would not have to pretend any longer in front of the people that mattered most. "In any case, Dot. That was not how I would have had you find out. I hope you can forgive us for neglecting to secure the door."

"Not at all, Miss," replied Dot, a bit of the color returning to her cheeks. "If anything, it will teach me to knock."

They had a good chuckle about it, then, and all was forgiven. As their laughter died away, Jane wandered sleepily into their midst, looking confused at all the early morning merriment.

"Morning," she yawned, rubbing at her eyes as she took her place at the table. "What's so funny?"

The shrill of the telephone saved Phryne from having to explain. "I'll get that," she volunteered, popping out of her chair. "Carry on with your breakfast, everyone."

The tone of the caller's voice told Phryne immediately that this was not a social call. "Oh, Miss Fisher, thank goodness. I know it's early, I hope I haven't disturbed you. This is Virginia Fellowes, from the university, I'm a friend of Dr. McMillan's? We met at the hospital fundraiser last month."

Phryne did not remember the woman at all, but gave no indication. "Mrs. Fellowes! How lovely to hear from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You may have read about it in the papers. Marjorie Hyde, the little girl that was killed last week?"

Phryne swallowed. "Yes, yes I did hear about that. How awful."

Mrs. Fellowes sniffled through the line. "She was my grand-niece. My niece and her husband have been beside themselves with grief, as I'm sure you can imagine, and they're worried the police aren't doing enough. Dr. MacMillan thought you might be able to help."

Phryne hesitated. Jack might not be pleased, as he had never officially allowed her into the Marjorie Hyde investigation, but on the other hand, it was not in her to deny a grieving family. If there was anything she could do to help, Jack would just have to get used to the idea.

"Of course, Mrs. Fellowes. I'd be glad to lend my services. Where shallI meet you?"

Lula Thatcher couldn't move. Her wrists were bound—not by ropes, but by irons. She began to sob in terror, writhing against her restraints. The cold metal clattered and screamed against the stone floor as she thrashed, but an underfed sixteen-year-old was no match for cast iron.

"Stop with that racket!" hissed a voice nearby, surprising Lula enough to make her still.

"Who's there?" she whimpered, trying to be quieter. Her eyes battled with the blackness until they were sore, and she might as well have been blind. It was so dark it felt like she had been shut in a coffin and sealed deep beneath the soil. She would have to rely on her ears instead. Lula was certain that the voice she had heard belonged to another young girl, and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at the thought that she was not the only captive here.

After a long silence, a response hissed across the gaping darkness. "Does it matter? We're all about to snuff it anyways. Be quiet and let the little girl sleep."

Lula sniffled and sat up with difficulty, clumsily wiping her dripping nose on the shoulder of her dress. "What little girl?"

"Shut up."

The cruelty and coldness of that answer caused new tears to spring into Lula's eyes. "It was that man wasn't it? The man that stopped me in the street. We were walking to the park, but I don't remember actually getting there…"

"That's 'cause you didn't, stupid. He knocked you out and dragged you here and now we're all just sitting around until he decides when to kill us."

"You're awful," accused Lula, unable to stomach rudeness on top of everything else.

There was a silence. "Sorry," the other voice returned quietly. "I've been here a few days and no one knows where I am. The darkness...it makes you a little crazy. And I'm a bit of a brat as it is. Do you think anyone knows you're missing yet?"

"My mum will, when I don't come home tonight. I'm very regular in my routines; if I'm not home by eight o'clock she'll worry." That thought gave Lula some hope.

The other girl snorted with humorless laughter. "My mum and dad are probably still stretched out on a beach in Zanzibar. Our nanny is thick as two short planks, she'll be too worried about getting into trouble. It'll take her days to call the police, and then she'll tell them I just ran away. Pretty sure I'm toast."

A little cry broke in, followed by a tiny, terrified voice. "Where's Mummy? Mummy, mummy! I want her, where is she?"

The other girl spoke soothingly. "Hush, Lily. You're all right. Move towards my voice, there's a good girl. Reach out for my hand, I'm right here."

The whimpering continued but Lula could hear a rustle off to the left as the child moved to obey. "The two of you aren't chained?" she whispered, noting the absence of clanking accompanying the movements of her fellow captives.

"We're in cages. He must not have enough."

Panic seized through Lula and her instincts urged her to thrash and scream until someone heard her. But she wasn't a fool either; surely the other girl had tried that already and it hadn't gotten her anywhere.

Swallowing her terror, she shook her head in a vain attempt to banish the strands of hair stuck to her tear-bathed cheeks. "I'm Lula Thatcher," she supplied, fearing silence almost as much as the uncertainty of her fate. "The little one is Lily? And what is your name?"

"Don't give up do you? Fine. I'm called Rosemary. Pleasure to meet you."

Lula ignored the sarcasm. "Rosemary. What do you think he wants with us?"

"Nothing good, Lula Thatcher," replied Rosemary, her voice dry but a little gentler. "Nothing good."