No Place for a Lady (20 page)

"All right then," Marcus said as he stepped up behind her, "what about Hurdy? You will have to prove yourself to him. There are worse things than whoring. A lot worse. He will ask you to do one of them."

She spun around, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "Have you come to offer me money? In exchange for what? You already know I would rather die than be trapped by any master."

He dropped his hands onto her shoulders, his touch firm, his heat welcome, but Fantine did not make the mistake of thinking it a lover's touch. This was something more harsh, more businesslike than ever before. She was both disappointed and relieved by the change.

"You need to leave the rookeries," he said. "For a while. You can gather your resources against Ballast and prepare for Hurdy. More importantly, it will give you time to find Teggie."

"I—" she began, but he was quicker.

"Just listen," he said. "You won't be my mistress. Very well. But your father wants you to have a Season. He has even provided an acceptable portion for you."

"No..." Fantine whispered. No one beyond Penworthy and her mother had ever used the word "father" to her before. To hear Marcus use the word—and so easily—reverberated deep inside her.

He continued as if unaware of what he was doing to her. "My sister has agreed to bring you out as a genteel family friend. As a debutante, you will be able to move about society. Neither Ballast nor Hurdy will look for you there." He touched her chin, lifting her gaze up to his. "You will be safe."

She shook her head, but no words formed. Everything moved too fast. She couldn't think. Could barely breathe. And yet everything he said made sense.

Suddenly releasing her, Marcus stepped away, leaving her feeling bereft. "You have done all you can in the rookeries. It is time to move your investigations elsewhere. Unless..." He paused. "Will you allow me to take over the investigation?"

"No."

"Then a coming-out is your only choice."

Fantine sank back against the cold, damp wall, the truth choking her even as she whispered it. "I can't."

"Why?"

She took a deep breath. Dare she tell him the truth? She turned away, forcing herself to admit something she tried to hide from even herself.

"I am not one of you," she said. "I have tried, but I can't be. Penworthy sent me to schools. Many of them. All with beautiful flowers and good food and coal in the winter." She fell silent, remembering those days. She had been so young, so hopeful that at last she had a life she could trust.

"What happened?"

"I was hated and miserable every minute of every day."

Marcus frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the memories twisting together in her mind. She looked down at her rough hands, seeing the dirt and the calluses, the cracks in her skin from the cold. "They laughed at my hands," she said softly. "They mocked everything about me. I did not speak correctly. I walked like a farmhand and ate like a pig. I could not even brush my hair as a lady did. Nothing about me was right."

Not even her name.

She heard Marcus sigh as he settled down beside her on the mattress. "Surely there was something you enjoyed there, someone you befriended." His words were as much a hope as a statement, and she nodded, remembering the one person she had talked with.

"There was a girl. Phoebe. She was quiet and shy and nearly as tormented as I. I thought we would be friends." She lifted her gaze from her lap, seeing not the damp walls of her room but a tiny blond girl, as delicate as a china doll. "She was the only one who made my life bearable."

"What happened?"

Fantine closed her eyes. It had been so small a thing. Nothing important. "One day she asked me about my name. She thought it was so unusual, and so I told her. In truth, it was not her fault that the others found out. She was never strong and could not keep silent when the others pressed her for my secrets."

She felt Marcus shift uneasily. "I do not understand. What secret? Fantine is a lovely name."

She shook her head. "But Fantine is not really my name." She pushed up from the bed, needing to walk as she spoke. "My mother was an actress with little time for a child. Her pregnancy was merely an interruption in her career, a time when it was nearly impossible to make any money. When I was finally born, she left me in care of a servant and returned immediately to the stage."

She glanced back at Marcus, shrugging as if it were of little importance. He simply watched her, his blue eyes steady, his expression sympathetic.

Eventually she found the strength to continue.

"She called me Enfant. 'Infant' in French. When I was six, I demanded a real name. I wasn't just her nameless baby."

"So you picked Fantine?"

"I picked Christina, but she could not remember it. In the end, we settled on Fantine because it was close enough to enfant for her to remember." She heard the bitterness in her own voice, but she could not stop it. She turned away, rubbing her hands against her arms. She felt so cold.

Beside her, she heard Marcus stir, but she drew away. She had to finish before she let him touch her.

"You told Phoebe," he said, his voice gentle. "And she told the others." He sighed. "Children can be so cruel."

She nodded, hearing the compassion in his voice. "I stood it as long as I could, but in the end I came back to the rookeries. Names mean less than nothing here."

She fell silent, closing her eyes against the memories, blocking them from her mind as best she could. It was over. It no longer mattered.

"And the other schools?"

"I never stayed long enough to find out."

Marcus enfolded her in his arms, his touch gentle, his warmth so comforting. She let her head settle against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and relishing the feeling of his arms about her.

Then he spoke, his words low and angry with a suppressed violence that surprised her. "Penworthy should have claimed you. No matter what it did to his career." He took a deep breath that shuddered as he released it. "I am glad he is in Bath, now. I think I would kill him if he were here."

Fantine twisted in his arms, turning to look at him, and marveling at the vehemence in his expression. He understood. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his caress. He knew why she chose to live in the rookeries, why she stubbornly clung to her independence here. And why she feared returning to the very society that had tormented her so before.

She touched his face, still awed that he could be enraged for her sake. He caught her fingers in one hand, drawing them to his lips for a kiss.

"I will do anything to protect you," he vowed, his very tone of voice sending chills through her. "You will not go through that again. I swear it."

She did not answer, but inside she felt a change. It was as if his words brought a release she had not expected. Her childhood anger dissipated. The hatred was brushed away with his touch, and at last she believed her own words.

It
was
over. Her childhood no longer mattered.

"Thank you," she said softly. She leaned forward, breathing deeply of his scent and closing her eyes. He held her there, cradling her in his arms, giving her more comfort than she thought possible. But in the end, even he could not change the truth.

"Dress me any way you like," she said. "I will still be a bastard reared in the rookeries. I cannot act the part of a brainless debutante." She reached forward, spreading her hands across his chest as she spoke, letting her desperation fill her expression. "Can you not simply give me the resources to cover my debts? That will buy me the time I need. I will repay you as soon as Penworthy pays me."

She felt his shuddering inhale. "I cannot."

His words hit her like a physical blow. "But why?"

"Because your father wants you to have a Season. He wants to atone for his sins. You cannot have a better life if I give you the means to stay in the rookeries."

Fantine gritted her teeth in frustration. She had thought she had settled this with Penworthy years ago. "You cannot think that a nameless bastard will find a place in society."

"But this time Penworthy has given you his name."

Fantine jerked, her jaw going slack in astonishment. Could it be true? "He intends to acknowledge me?"

Then she saw the regret on Marcus's face and knew it was not so. "He would, if you wish it. But you know it will destroy his career. And it will not help you to be labeled a bastard."

She swallowed bitter tears, knowing Marcus told the truth.

"He has put about that you are his niece, the only child of his brother and sister-in-law."

Fantine frowned. "The couple who died from a lung ailment years ago?"

"Yes. You will be Miss Fantine Drake."

Fantine pushed away, kicking absently at her pile of Rat's clothing. "More lies. More make-believe parents."

He did not answer at first. When he did speak, his tone was more forceful, more urgent. "You have promised Hurdy you know the rules of the upper crust. Perhaps now would be a good time to learn them."

She hesitated, silently acknowledging his point. "You will teach me?"

"Yes."

"You will help me establish an identity, a means of traveling about through the ton?"

"Absolutely."

She took a deep breath, mulling over her options once again. If she went with Marcus, she would create a new identity for herself, someone to become after Ballast discovered Fanny. Perhaps she could not maintain the persona for long. It was quite possible that the haute ton would see through her charade in a moment. But she could not afford to let the opportunity disappear. Especially as her two identities as Rat and Fanny were nearly played out.

But before she agreed, she had to be sure. She pinned Marcus with her steady regard. "What do you want in return?"

She felt him hesitate. She knew what he wanted—her in his bed. But she would not make it part of their arrangement. Perhaps, she thought, she was learning from Louise. Establish what you want from the beginning.

"Come, Marcus. What do you expect in return?" she repeated.

"You must let me be your guide. You must listen explicitly to what my sister and I tell you and not disobey us. We will explain as best we can, but there are many things that are simply nonsense, but must be performed nevertheless. Do you understand? You must listen to me."

"I will not go to your bed."

Once again, he touched her face, leaving a trail of fire wherever his finger wandered. "I am done seeking answers where there are none. You are not a disease for me to purge or a salve for my pain," he said, repeating the very words she had used against him last night.

"Then what am I to you?"

He shook his head as if even he did not know. "You are more than I ever expected, and I wish to learn more of you than can be found in a bedroom." He frowned, struggling with his words. "I swear I will not ask for more than you are willing to give."

She smiled, relieved by his words even though she barely understood them. "Then I agree. I will go to your sister's."

He smiled his relief, his shoulders easing down while his eyes began to sparkle. He looked so handsome that she was not at all surprised when she found herself stretching up for his kiss.

Chapter 11

She wasn't surprised to find herself asking for his kiss, but he apparently was. His eye8s widened and he tilted his head in confusion. She smiled, unable to resist teasing him.

"Are you refusing me?" she asked.

"Good God, no!" he exclaimed. Then he leaned down, but he did not take her lips. He lifted his hand, brushing his fingertips across her jaw. She felt the whisper of heat along her cheek. "You constantly surprise me," he whispered. "No soul—man or woman—has ever fascinated me so."

She stretched up to meet him, opening herself to his invasion. Arching into his embrace, she ran her hands through his silky curls and pressed herself against the muscular wall of his chest.

Even through the barriers of their clothing, she felt his shudder. As she reveled in the stroke and parry of his tongue, his hands pulled at her shirt, lifting it out of her breeches so that he could touch beneath the fabric, stroking her lower back. But above her belly, her breasts were bound, and when he reached higher, all he could do was stroke across her tips. She moaned softly, feeling her body tighten beneath the rough fabric.