Dedication: To Roseandthistle, who wondered when I'd return to happier themes like romance after so many one-shots surrounding death and angst during Cluedo - i hope this doesn't disappoint. xx DB

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Miss Fisher.

"Pull that knot tighter Jack, it has to be snug around that bed post with no give at all." Phryne instructed from them opposite side of the bed where she was attaching another length of rope.

"The man who taught me the art of knots may not have been a swaggering pirate like yours was but he was a man of the sea down to his bones and I can assure you, having rigged sails on the sailing ships he restored, even you wouldn't be able to wriggle out of these knots, Miss Fisher."

"Is that a challenge, Jack?"

"If I hadn't been led to believe there was some urgency in our current pursuit -" Jack let the implication hang unfinished, noting the interest sparking in Phryne's eyes.

"Urgency indeed," Phryne murmed almost to herself before resuming her commanding persona and climbing into the centre of the bed. "You'd better take up that other rope if you're sure that side's secure and once I'm in position you'll need to tighten it slowly but steadily so that we can get the tension right."

Jack, hiding a smile, slowly began to reel in the excess rope, watching the ends tighten and contract with Phryne between them, guiding their path. A running commentary of encouragement spilling from her lips, her eyes flicking to his, devious thoughts shining in her cool blue irises.

"Almost there, Jack. A little tighter. There! Perfect. Firm, but not so much tension be risk damaging the four-poster."

If he closed his eyes and simply listened to her voice, felt the rope in his hands and the soft mattress against his knee, it could be how he'd imagined a scene with himself, Phryne, a four-poster bed and a supply of rope playing out. He was honest enough with himself to admit he had imagined such a scene. No doubt provoked by Phryne's tantalizing references to 'alternate uses' for his Darbys whenever he made an arrest and fueled by that charged moment earlier when she'd surprised him with a new tie and insisted on being allowed to tie it for him, every unnecessary brush of those fine fingers branding his skin though the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Just keep holding that tight while I get the rose petals."

And just like that the mirage was gone.

The bedroom was once again Dot's not Phryne's. The bed resplendent in the finest white embroidered sheet-set ready for the Bride and Groom's return that evening, and the rope he was helping rig was supporting a delicate, white, drawstring canopy above the bed which was being filled with red and white rose petals. The rope he held would later be attached to the door such that when the happy couple entered the room the canopy would open, showering the bed with petals. And the urgency was that they had promised Dot and Hugh that they would go early to the church to check on final preparations were in hand and act as ushers and welcoming party for the guests before the bridal party arrived.

With a wry half smile Jack considered that perhaps giving in to temptation might actually be salvation from the madness which turned the innocent into the carnal with such alarming frequency now that the gold band which had been his shield and his guilt laden shackle had been laid to rest in the bank's safety deposit box.