No Place for a Lady (4 page)

"Aye," she agreed, her own voice gentle. "You would not do that to me."

Penworthy, however, narrowed his gaze, his expression colder than Marcus had ever thought possible.

"Try me," was all he said.

For a long moment, all that could be heard was the nearly silent tick of the gilt clock on the mantel. Penworthy's glare shifted with measured pace between both Marcus and Fantine, his every muscle daring them to defy him.

It took less than a second for Marcus to realize that he had no prayer of winning this argument. Honor, duty, and loyalty all demanded he capitulate. If Penworthy persisted in the madness of using Fantine, and it certainly appeared that he intended to, then Marcus's only option was to try and mitigate the damages.

One look at Fantine's disgusted expression, and he knew she had come to the same conclusion. Although, apparently, in her arrogance, she thought it was he who would mismanage everything.

In short, the two of them would have to work together to save Wilberforce.

God help the poor MP.

Chapter 2

Fantine crouched low in the dirty gutter and cursed long and fluently, using words in as many different languages and cants as she could think of. When she was done, she made up new ones and gave them their own gruesome meanings. And every single one she rained down on Chadwick's head.

Too bad he was not there to hear her.

Lord Chadwick was late. And late in the rookeries could mean dead.

Fantine tugged at the dirty cap that covered her hair and silently wished she had not bound her breasts so tight. It was damned difficult to breathe. And her breeches were so thin they could split apart in a stiff breeze. She hated wearing these dull gray clothes and her street persona as the Rat, but it was the only way to meet with Ballast without risking being chained up in some dockside brothel. Of course, if his lordship did not show up soon, the entire affair with Ballast would go sour in any event.

But there was no help for it. She had agreed to work with him, so she folded her arms against the cold and continued to wait.

Long after her legs had gone numb and her face felt cracked with the cold, she finally spied him. Lord Chadwick was following a small boy, barreling around the corner with as much subtlety as a runaway carriage.

Gawd, she thought with a groan, his lordship was still handsome despite the muck now staining his clothing. Ever since she had first seen him, she knew his looks would trouble her. Lean, like a sword, and tall, his body appealed to her baser instincts in a way no one ever had. She saw no fat on him, no softness of any sort. Even at this distance, his muscles were well defined, easily contracting and releasing with his movements. She had no doubt he would best most men in a fair fight.

But if his body was attractive, it was nothing compared to his face. She could not see him clearly yet, but she recalled every moment of their meeting yesterday, especially the hard aristocratic angles of his jaw as he turned away from her in disdain. She remembered the way his clear blue eyes had gazed down his straight nose at her. Why, even his dusky blond hair had seemed to mock her with its rich luster, far more beautiful than her own short brown locks.

In short, he was handsome in every way, a lord of the realm with the hauteur to match. And he annoyed her. So she had tormented him in their first meeting, teasing and harassing him merely to find out how much it would take before the self-contained Lord Chadwick lost control of himself.

It never happened.

That disturbed her more than she cared to admit. If she could not push him to an emotional outburst, then she very much feared she could not manage him. In the end, he might actually be more in control than she.

So she watched with almost gleeful satisfaction as Chadwick ran through the rookeries following a small boy with freckles whom everyone called Nameless.

"Gi'e it to 'im good, Nameless," she whispered into the dark. Then she raised her chilled hand, flashing it open and closed in a pulse of pale flesh, barely visible through the dark gloom. His lordship did not see it, but the boy did, ducking his head in acknowledgment.

Nameless stopped barely a foot away, standing just to one side of a dripping overhang. Eventually his lordship joined the boy, his breathing surprisingly steady given what Nameless had put him through. Nevertheless, his lordship appeared worse for wear as he softly cursed the drip that splattered his forehead every second and a half.

"Can you not stand to one side, boy?"

"No, guv," lied the child. "Ain't no room."

With a barely muffled grumble, Chadwick grasped the thin boy and lifted him up, setting him gently on a barrel. He then stepped into the added space beneath the overhang. But even with the extra room, the drip still fell on his broad shoulder, adding its own color to the smeared muck already on his tattered coat.

"So where is she?" Chadwick said to the boy.

"Right behind you," Fantine answered from her hiding place behind them. "And keep your voice down."

He spun around, scanning the gloom until his gaze found her face, his eyes widening in stunned surprise. She couldn't hide her grin. She knew that when she wore her Rat persona, not even her own mother would recognize her. Fantine had spent long years watching and imitating young boys so that even as she sat in the shadows, her entire slim frame radiated that peculiar mix of bristling arrogance and heartbreaking vulnerability typical of a street boy.

Then Nameless spoke, redirecting her thoughts to Chadwick's costume. "Oi took 'im ever' way Oi could, but 'e still looks loike fat flash t' me."

"That he does," Fantine agreed softly. The man had obviously made some attempt to dress crudely. The outfit fit him poorly. The coat pulled too tightly across his broad chest and the fawn breeches were much too fine, defining his muscular thighs with almost indecent precision. Nameless had done well to disguise the expensive fabric, and Fantine wrinkled her nose as she picked out the telltale odors. Clearly the boy had dragged Chadwick through every fish stall and sewer in London. Unfortunately, it appeared as surface dirt. Nothing had the threadbare look of neglect.

She sighed, thanking Nameless with a wink. "You did fine. Best disappear now before Ballast's men catch you." Then she glanced at Lord Chadwick. "Pay him, please."

The peer paused in the act of tugging irritably at the buttons of his tight coat. "Pay him? For what?"

"For leading you here."

Chadwick caught her eye, grimacing with annoyance at the entire affair, but he did not argue. He pulled a shilling out of his pocket and tossed it at the boy. "There was no need for this nonsense. I could have just met you here instead of finding the boy in Cheapside and having him lead me to you."

She lifted her face toward Chadwick, wishing the moon were not so bright on his still clean blond hair. "If you are too tired, my lord," she taunted, "I can handle the meeting without you."

"Pray do not be ridiculous," he responded curtly.

Fantine stood, then noticed that Nameless had yet to disappear. "Wot be ye still 'ere fer?" she said, lapsing into her street accent.

His young face wrinkled into a look that only a street boy could manage. It was half pathos, half stubborn pout as he held up his hand and glared at the peer. "Oi were promised two shillings."

Fantine did not even flinch at the lie. In truth, Nameless only expected a copper or two, but as he had said, Chadwick was fat flash, and that made him an easy cull.

To his credit, his lordship's frown said he recognized the lie for what it was, but for some reason, he chose not to argue. Instead he pressed a bright guinea into the child's hand. "Get some clothes, boy. It is cold out here."

Fantine gasped in horror at the flash of gold. Good Lord, if she had thought Chadwick would be that generous, she would have stopped the boy at the very beginning. Giving away a shilling was one thing. A guinea was another matter entirely. That one piece of gold marked them as a target for every thick-armed brute in the area. She'd lay odds that even Nameless was thinking about rounding up his friends for a gang attack.

"Off wi' ye," she said with a low growl. "And do not think t' betray me."

The boy disappeared in a blink of an eye, his movements too eager, making Fantine curse softly.

"Sweet Jesus," she muttered, "you have not the sense God gave a rat."

Chadwick glanced sharply at her. "I have enough sense not to try to lose my partner by giving the wrong directions."

"I did not give you the wrong directions," she said, her gaze slipping back to the pub across the alleyway. Ballast waited inside. "You found me right enough."

"Merely because I chanced to find that boy."

Fantine sighed, wondering at his arrogance. "You cannot believe that any boy, even Nameless, could find me if I chose to remain hidden." She turned to look at him, making sure he understood her meaning. "I sent Nameless to you. His job was to bring you to me and to help you with your... attire." She straightened, keeping her gaze steady, silently conveying that she was the one in control. He did what she said.

She saw his eyes narrow as he understood her message. She could tell he was not used to surrendering control to anyone, much less a woman, but she didn't care. This might be fun for him, but it was her livelihood. He would bloody well listen to her.

She waited a bit longer, making doubly sure he understood, and then she shifted her gaze away, back to the pub. "Ballast is in the back," she said softly as she started across the street.

She took no more than a half step before she was suddenly blocked by Chadwick's large frame. He had barely moved, but he quietly prevented her escape. She was trapped in the comer shadows behind him.

"What—"

"Listen carefully, Miss Delarive." His voice cut low through the chill air. "I agreed to work with you because Penworthy wished it. You may know London's sordid underbelly, but I am here to keep Wilberforce alive, not scramble through the sewers for your amusement." He reached out and neatly caught her chin, lifting it up until she gazed directly into his hard blue eyes. "Do not play with me again, Fantine."

She swallowed, unable to answer. He was right. She could have met him at Cheapside and run him through the alleyways herself or even sent him more appropriate clothing. But she had wanted to add that extra measure of humiliation, establishing her superiority from the very beginning.

Except she was not the one truly in control. Even though she was smart and agile with contacts throughout London's dark streets, he was physically stronger, politically powerful, and had his own fair share of wits. She was not sure who would win a contest between them. She was not even sure she would survive one. She was too vulnerable in too many ways.

But neither was she willing to simply concede.

Jerking her chin out of his hand, she drew herself upright, trying as nearly as possible to match his size. "Despite all that Nameless could do, you still reek of French perfume—"

"We passed a bawdy house—"

"Distinctive, rich, French perfume that was no doubt sprinkled all over you by your mistress. It is one way the bawds have of identifying ownership of a man. Your breeches are too fine, your manner too proud. You will be marked within seconds of entering the pub, and my only hope is to pass you off as a mad peer playacting in the docks. Ballast does not play games, yer lordship, and neither do I. It would be best for us both if you turned around now and went home. This is not your world."

Fantine watched him closely, gauging his reaction and his intelligence, but he gave nothing away beyond a slight clench to his jaw. "I have been in alehouses worse than any you can find," he finally said.

"Alone?" she countered. "Or with another?" Then she rushed on before he could answer. "Alone, you make your own rules, you live or die by your own actions. With another there is added safety, but also more risk. What will you do when Ballast takes me into the back room and then you are surrounded by his men? Will you turn and run? Or will you try to be a gentleman hero and protect the woman?"

She watched his eyes, expecting to see the telltale flush of guilt as he admitted to himself that he would run. It did not appear. Instead, she saw a grim determination flatten his gaze, as if he would do anything, including a foolhardy rush against ridiculous odds to try and save her. And why? She did not make the mistake of thinking such idiocy was for her sake. Gentlemen worked on a code of honor, and apparently Chadwick had more than his measure.