No Place for a Lady (18 page)

"Sweet heaven, Fantine—"

"No!" She jerked out of the bed, pulling open the wardrobe and snatching up her newly pressed and repaired maid's clothing. She pulled it on with quick, efficient movements. "I cannot do it. You are cruel to ask me to."

She did not look up until she was fully clothed.

And alone.

Chapter 9

Marcus heard her leave. He doubted anyone else could have heard her steps or the soft thud of the door as she left. She was as silent as a whisper, but he seemed to be attuned to her every movement, seeing it in his mind even if she was not before his eyes.

Her skin would be flushed, not with passion now, but anger. At herself for offering him her body. At him for wanting to have it all the time.

He had his own full supply of fury as well. He should have just taken her. She would have enjoyed it. Sweet heaven, her legs had been wrapped around him, drawing him to her. He closed his eyes, groaning at the memory of her body gripping him tight.

He was a fool. A besotted fool because he still wanted her even though she had left him, laughed off his money and his passion. And for what? A life in the rookeries.

Until someone can see me as I am, I shall stay in the rookeries and make my own life as my own mistress.

He didn't understand her at all. Whom did he want but her? Whom did he see but her? What did she want? It was not money. He had offered to shower her with jewels. It was not his title. She knew he couldn't marry her. He couldn't do that to his family. And yet she didn't even want passion. She'd had to be cornered, threatened, and seduced before her desire flowed like a river.

Damn! Why had he stopped? Perhaps it was vanity, but he wanted her to choose him, to knowingly come into his arms.

But how? What power did he have over her that she would pick him over her current life? What could he do that would bring her to him?

* * *

"Just 'ow long do you intends t' sleep, Fanny?"

Fantine rolled over in her bed and groaned, refusing to look at the redheaded girl pestering her.

"Aw, please, Fanny. Jes a little time. Please?"

Fantine grimaced as she peered out from under her pillow. She had made it home just before dawn and had collapsed on her bed. Her sleep had been restless, haunted by sultry dreams that left her achy, uncomfortable, and randy. Now only a few hours later, the window in her tiny room was filled with sunshine and Louise, a pesky twelve-year-old, was intent on rousting her.

She sighed, stretching underneath her covers.

"Feelin' stiff?" asked the girl.

Fantine shook her head, cataloguing her ailments with morbid curiosity. Firmly ignoring aches associated with her erotic dreams, she landed on three identifiable and acceptable pains: Her feet hurt, her head ached, and she was very, very thirsty.

"Water." She croaked out the word, and Louise was quick to accommodate. Her tiny body leaped across the room to a pitcher of tepid water on the floor. She pirouetted once, then filled a cup before bounding back. Anyone else would have spilled liquid from here to the docks, but Louise balanced the cup flawlessly before presenting it to Fantine.

"Master Fouchet wants more money," Louise said.

Fantine let her head drop back onto her pillow, understanding now why her friend had woken her this morning. "Cannot your father pay the dancing master for once?" she said. "He must see how good you are."

Louise shook her head. "All 'e sees is that you ain't paid yer bill in months an' Fanny ain't been working in the pub neither. The last thing 'e wants is to lose me too. Somebody's got t' serve the drinks."

"What happened to the money you made in the last show?"

"It went t' make the costume fer the new performance. Remember?"

"I remember," Fantine said dully. In truth, she did not recall a thing about it, but Louise was the most practical girl she'd even known. If she spent her money on something other than a costume, it was probably more dance training or as a bribe to get into another ballet. Either way, it was money well spent.

"Take the money in the pocket of the maid's dress," Fantine said. "And tell your father I will work tonight." She would have to, she thought sadly as her stomach rumbled in hunger. It was the only way she would eat tonight.

Louise wandered over to the maid's gown and made a show of rooting through the pockets. Fantine sighed, seeing through her friend's deception. The girl had probably already pocketed the money while Fantine slept.

"Never mind, Louise. Come tell me what you have heard."

"Aw!" she cried with an excited little hop. "It be all over the rookeries that Rat is a girl! I figure a week afore Ballast figures you as Fanny the barmaid too, an' then wot? Father won't 'elp you. He's got enough trouble wi'out fighting Ballast."

Fantine let her eyes drift shut. The walls were closing in, her options slowly dwindling. Ballast would kill her because she'd escaped him one too many times, and Sprat would not help until she got him into Harrow. Hurdy had given her a few days' grace, but that was all. If he found out that she'd been doing work for the Crown, he would kill her for sure. He would know she was using him to discover Teggie's identity.

She could go to Penworthy. Her father could get her out of London if necessary, but the rookeries were her life. What would she do if she was not here? Gardening and stitchery were not for her. Plus, how would Louise pay for dance lessons or Nameless and his gang get food?

Then there was her obligation to Wilberforce. She had promised to stop Teggie. She could not just run off and leave the MP to his fate.

"Tell me about the ball."

Fantine blinked. She had forgotten Louise's presence. "Hmm? Oh, it was nice," she said blandly. "There were lots of beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen. They danced the night away." She pushed aside the covers, groaning as her muscles protested the movement.

"Fanny!" Louise exclaimed. "Tell me it all."

Fantine spun around, exhaustion making her curt. "It was the same as every other ball."

Louise narrowed her eyes. "No," she said slowly, "it was not. The daft lord was there." Louise sashayed over, her face dimpled with delight. "Do you like 'im? Does 'e make yer toes curl when you kiss?"

"What would you know of toes curling, missy?"

Louise's face became dreamy. "Only wot I see and 'ear. Aw, come on, tell me about it."

Fantine sighed, knowing she would have no peace until she explained reality to her romantic friend. So she plopped back on her bed and stated the facts baldly. "He kissed me and he touched me, and then he asked me to be his mistress."

"Coo!" Louise's eyes were filled with wonder. "Imagine! A lord's fancy piece!"

Fantine gritted her teeth, appalled by her friend's reaction. "But I cannot do that! He wants to keep me in a room, always at his beck and call. Think, Louise, what if you got a protector who wanted to keep you from dancing. What would you do?"

The girl's face split into a sudden impish grin. "Why, but that be part o' the deal from the outset. Coo, love, jes make it clear from the beginning wot you want. Then milk 'im fer the jewels an' rent, an' in a few months you'll be rich!"

Fantine shook her head. "I cannot."

"Wot else can ye do? Ballast will be 'ere soon and wi'out money for a new place—"

"No!" Fantine pushed off of the bed. "I will think of something else." As she paced the room, she felt the girl's gaze following her. The feeling became heavier until finally Fantine spun in anger. "What?"

Louise's gaze did not waver. "You be in love with 'im."

"Pray do not be ridiculous," she snapped.

"Well, you like 'im a lot." Louise fell forward on the bed, kicking up her heels behind her and dropping her head on her hands. "Did 'e bring you to completion?"

Fantine actually stumbled, she was so shocked. "What?"

Louise smiled. "You said 'e touched you, an' Mary says a girl always falls fer the man 'oo brings 'er t' completion for the first time."

Fantine did not know how to respond, so she turned away. "You spend too much time with Mary."

Louise stiffened. "Mary is a good whore, an' she says I cain learn a lot from 'er."

"You will be a dancer."

"An' unless I get more money t' bribe me way into the company, I will 'ave to whore too."

"But—"

"Coo, Fanny!" interrupted the girl, clearly exasperated. "Whoring is th' only thing for girls like us. Might as well be wi' someone rich 'oo can make us 'appy."

Fantine dropped into her only chair and stared at the cold fire grate. "You are too cynical for your age," she said softly.

Louise snorted in disgust. "An' I never thought you were this foolish. 'Oo is the daft lord? 'As 'e got a title?"

"Chadwick will be an earl some day."

"Coo," she said, shaking her head. "An earl." Then she abruptly hopped up off the bed, her expression canny. "Do not forget Father wants 'is rent," she called.

Fanny sat up, warning bells ringing in her head. "Louise?" But it was too late. The girl was gone.

* * *

"My lord, a young... miss wishes an audience."

Marcus handed his hat to his butler and scanned the empty drawing room to his right. "Who is it?"

Norton merely raised one impeccable eyebrow. "As to that, sir, she would not say. I have put her in the rose parlor." He gestured to the parlor in the back of the house.

Marcus frowned, impatient with this latest distraction. He had just spent the last two hours with his sister, alternately begging, cajoling, and threatening, only to be met with grudging success. It had been exhausting and had cost him quite a bit of his pride, but with luck, his plan would succeed.

Now all he wanted was to find Fantine, not waste time on some lost miss. But there was no hope for it. The girl was here, and the sooner he removed her from his home, the better.

"Very well," he said as he headed for the parlor.

"Shall I send for tea?" Norton inquired.

"Heavens, no," Marcus exclaimed. "I doubt the lady will be staying that long."

He strode purposefully toward the back of the house, schooling his expression into a severe frown. But as he pushed open the door, he felt his jaw go slack with astonishment.

There, silently spinning in his parlor, was a young girl with a diminutive figure and shocking red hair. She stopped as soon as the door opened, dropping lightly to her feet. She had taken pains with her attire, no doubt dressing up in her mother's clothing since the bodice gaped above her modest chest. Her skirt was hiked up to reveal trim, youthful ankles nearly blue with the chill.

"Good Lord, girl, where are your stockings?" he asked.

She flushed slightly, then stepped forward, watching him with bright hazel eyes. "Hello, guv," she said in what would have been a low, sultry voice had she been a few years older. As it was, it sounded more like a girl with a cold than an alluring woman. "I understand you are in need o' a mistress."

Marcus frowned. He had sent Paolina her congè the very day he'd met Fantine. But that did not explain how this... urchin knew of his circumstances. He stepped farther into the room, settling himself on a leather chair as he spoke.

"What makes you think I am seeking someone?"

He had no more than sunk into the cushion when the child literally bounded across the room to drop neatly into his lap. "Wot does it matter, ducks? I be 'ere an' you be wantin'." Then she began wiggling in a most inappropriate manner.

"Please!" He nearly shot straight up out of his chair. As it was, he simply threw her off his lap. She landed sweetly on her feet in an oddly balletic maneuver, then turned coyly and gave him a wink. "Fanny said yer might loike me."

Marcus leaned forward. "Fantine sent you?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing a pure innocent red that was quite becoming despite the layers of powder. "Yes, Fantine sent me." She made an effort to smooth out her accent. "But, why should we speak o' 'er? Tell me wot you loike in bed, ducks."

"What!" he exclaimed, though the sound came out more as a squeak than a word.