No Place for a Lady (25 page)

"Oh, very well." He gestured toward the carriage. "Get in. I might as well have you where I can see you."

"Thank 'ee," she said with a beaming smile. "It be ever so much easier t' protect you when we are together."

He opened his mouth to respond with some scathing retort, but then he stopped. She was baiting him. "Just get in," he muttered, "before I strangle you."

"Thank you, sir," she responded sweetly, switching to her society voice. "It is ever so nice to travel with so kind and mannerly a gentleman."

He would have throttled her then if it had not been for Jacob's barely muffled snort. The sound did not stop the murderous thoughts that went rampaging through Marcus's mind, but it did remind him that his own coachman would be a witness to any nefarious deed he might commit.

Still, that did not keep him from planning some sort of revenge. And he knew just what he would do....

Chapter 13

Fantine sprang lightly up to the carriage, gave Jacob directions, then settled onto the squabs with a giddy sense of freedom. She knew it was dangerous for her to go to the rookeries, but she needed this last evening. Lottie had already warned her that everything would change the moment she made her debut tomorrow night. She would become immersed in the social whirl, and who knew when her next free night would be?

That she had made no progress on her investigations bothered her. But not as much as she expected. She could do no more until Hurdy met with Teggie or she entered the social world. And Marcus—through Lottie—had kept her apprised of his measures to protect Wilberforce. Everything was proceeding as planned, and yet she often felt a pang of longing for her familiar world in the rookeries.

So even if she had not needed to deliver food to the boys, she would have escaped anyway. That Marcus had suddenly appeared to be her companion was merely a happy accident.

She looked across the carriage at him. He stared at her grumpily. He was plotting something. Revenge, no doubt. She wondered briefly if she had pushed him too far. A man could only take so much frustration.

Then she pushed the thought aside. He had promised to take only what she offered and no more. That included accepting her as she was. Besides, whether he realized it or not, she had to come along. It would take all her persuasive powers to convince the boys to trust Marcus.

Lord, she had missed him. She still felt like she wanted to throw herself into his arms, even knowing where it might lead and that she would be throwing away what tiny bit of independence she had. But when he had appeared out of the darkness to kiss her like that, it had been like a dream come true.

Everything she did these days was with him in mind. Every time she practiced eating with a fork, she wondered if Marcus would appreciate her dainty bites. Every time she executed some intricate dance step, she pretended she was dancing with Marcus. Sweet heaven, she even went to bed with a smile on her face because she knew she would dream about him.

Her whole attitude was inexcusable, and yet she could not stop herself. She was finally with him again, and she felt happy. She did not care that he glared at her or that it would be a long time until he released his anger enough to kiss her. Nothing mattered for now, because she was going back into the rookeries. Finally, she would not have to think about how she walked or talked or moved.

And she was with Marcus.

"Tell me about your mother."

Fantine blinked and stared at Marcus. "What?"

"I said, tell me about your mother. Do you look like her? Was she a dancer? Did she sing?"

Fantine frowned, her happiness fading. "Why?"

He shrugged. "No reason. You are meeting my family. I thought it would be nice to know about yours."

"You know about Penworthy."

"And now I want to know about your mother."

Fantine twisted in her seat, looking out the window. "We are getting close. Help me watch for Nameless."

"Does talking about your mother make you nervous?"

She glanced back at him, determined not to show her surprise. "Of course not."

"Then tell me about her."

Fantine took a deep breath. "Yes, I do look a little like her. She sang a little, danced a little, but her best skills were in acting."

"Did you like living with her?"

"She was my mother," she snapped. "I had to live there."

"Yes, but was it fun or horrid or just boring?"

"What does it matter?" she snapped as she turned away from him again. She planted her face against the window, staring out at the passing shadows.

She thought she had escaped Marcus's questioning, but she should have known better. He was determined to understand her, and that meant questions. Bloody painful questions that probed into thoughts that she had no wish to remember.

"Why does talking about your mother upset you so?" he continued.

"It doesn't upset me," she shot back.

"I do not believe you."

"You are getting even with me for coming along."

"Yes."

"But you are not going to stop, are you?"

"No."

Fantine sighed. He would ferret out the truth whether she fought him or not, whether she wanted him to know or not. She closed her eyes, giving up with little grace. What did she remember of Gabrielle Delarive? "She always smelled good. I know that is a silly thing to say, but it is true. There are so many odors about the stage and the rookeries. Even among the ton. But I could always find her just by closing my eyes."

"What was her favorite scent?"

Fantine opened her eyes, not needing to search her memory. "Gardenias. But we could not always afford them. Lilacs and roses were more common."

"Which do you like best?"

She frowned. His expression was unreadable in the dark.

"Why do you ask?" she finally said.

He shrugged. "It is a simple enough question. I was curious. What scent do you like best?"

She frowned. "I do not know." In truth, no one had ever asked her such a thing before, and it had never occurred to her to wonder. Was there a scent she preferred? She could identify any number of odors, picking out the type of rotting fish, the different perfumes of the ton. But did she prefer one over the other?

The question made no sense to her.

She was grateful when Jacob pulled the carriage to a stop. She was out the door and melting into the night before the horses stopped snorting. They were in a choked alleyway, so like all the other streets in the rookeries. Except this one hid the boys.

She did not wait to see if Marcus followed her. She knew he would, but she wanted to get to the boys first, warning them about her companion before they bolted.

She need not have worried.

They tumbled out of their hiding places, slipping into the moonlight like tiny creatures disturbed from their resting places.

"'Ello, Rat," they cried. "'Ello, Daft," Nameless added, patting Marcus on the shoulders as he and the other boys grabbed the mutton and sack of food.

"'Ello, Nameless," Fantine said. "I thought to bring Chadwick. 'E may be makin' the deliveries if'n I cannot come."

"'At's fine," quipped Nameless as he rooted about in the sack. "The eggs be broke!"

"I know—"

"But Oi were looking forward t' eating an egg."

"I am sorry, Nameless. I ran into a bit o' trouble—"

"A bit o' bouncing, Oi'd say," he quipped, making a crude gesture at Marcus.

"No..." she began to say. But then she stopped. That was exactly what had happened and the boys' raucous laughter told her they knew it.

"Ain't no news," Nameless said as he took a bite from a loaf of bread. His other words were swallowed down with the food. Then there was no more information as the satchel passed from child to child and the bickering over morsels began.

Fantine took the moment to pull Nameless aside. "Look, I know this is awkward about Chadwick and all—"

"Aw, ain't no trouble at all," interrupted the boy. "Oi'll keep somebody 'ere ever' night fer 'im." He glanced over at Chadwick. "At midnight, 'ere. Ever' night at midnight." Then he squinted, stepping up to inspect the peer. "You ain't daft," he said firmly, poking Marcus in the chest.

Chadwick smiled and shook his head as if in amazement. "Sometimes I wonder." Then he poked the boy back, lightly at first, but before long, the two were twisted in combat, joined by the other boys of the gang. Fantine was left standing on the side, watching as if in the audience while the boys initiated Marcus into the gang.

It was nothing significant. Merely a wrestling match on the ground with lots of little fists and feet and one big man laughing and roaring in the middle. It was simple fun, and she had seen it dozens of times over her years in the rookeries.

But never once had she been in the middle of one as Marcus was now.

"Don't worry none," said a voice beside her. Fantine spun around to see Jacob grinning from ear to ear. "They's just playing as boys do."

"I know what it is," she snapped. Then she stormed off to the carriage, kicking at trash on the street as she went. She climbed in, shut the door, and pouted. She knew what she was doing, was well aware of the childishness of the act, but she could not stop herself.

She was alone, and that made her mad.

It took a full ten minutes before Marcus joined her. When he climbed into the carriage, his face was grimed, his clothing torn, and his grin nearly blinded her. Then, to top it off, he took a bite of an enormous red apple.

"That was for Nameless!" she cried. "Do you know the trouble I went through to get that for him?"

"Do you know what I have to pay my sister for this food you are pilfering from her?"

"She does not know! The servants and I—"

"She does know!" he interrupted with a grin. "She knows exactly how much her food bill has risen since your appearance. And she is charging me for every groat."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Well, if I am such a burden, then perhaps I should go back to my old rooms!" She made to leave, but he was blocking the door. "Get out of my way!"

But he merely sat there, staring at her. "Good Lord, you have become surly."

"I am nothing of the sort," she huffed. "Now please—"

"Fantine..." Whatever he was going to say, he stopped. He merely latched the door and settled in across from her.

"You stink."

He looked mournfully at his attire. "Between standing beneath your window and your friends, I am afraid these clothes will have to be burned."

"Well, do not lay the blame for that at my door. I certainly did not ask you to stand beneath my window."

He did not answer, merely watched her while he ate his apple and the carriage started up. "You are furious," he finally commented. "Sweet heaven, I thought you would be pleased that the boys accepted me so well."

Fantine looked away. She had thought she would be happy. But then she'd expected to wheedle their trust, to convince them to accept Marcus. Instead, the boys had transferred their loyalty to him without a blink of their collective eyes. In fact, they had already given Marcus a great deal more friendship than they had ever given her.

"Devil take it, Fantine," Marcus cursed, surprise coloring his tone. "When I think of all I have gone through to learn about the rookeries... And now you are jealous!"

"I am not!"

"Then why are you so angry?"

She turned away, unable to stop her own childishness.

"Fantine?"

"I do not know!" she finally retorted. "I do not know why they suddenly wish to tumble in the dirt with you. They have never done so with me. I do not know why Hurdy is taking so long to speak with Teggie or why your sister suddenly does not like me and has to charge you for my upkeep. I do not know anymore, and I do not like it!"

He stayed silent for a long time, and all she could do was sit there and stew, hating him for making her reveal her thoughts, hating herself for saying them in the first place. But most of all, she simply felt lost. Alone. Miserable.