by Jade Lee
"And you, Lord Chadwick, do I number you among my supporters?"
Marcus paused. He had every intention of lending his name and political power to the bill. It was, he knew, the right and moral thing to do. However, he could not give up the opportunity to bargain with Wilberforce.
Marcus leaned forward, matching Wilberforce in intensity. "That all depends," he began slowly. "A bill fostered by a dead man will go nowhere."
Wilberforce merely waved off the comment. "That is not a motive, my dear boy."
"But what about the bill?" That was Fantine, her lovely face pulled into a slight frown. "I thought if you died, the antislavery movement would end with you."
Wilberforce turned to her and actually had the audacity to pat her hand. "Nonsense, my dear. It shall become cause celebre when sponsored by a martyr."
Marcus nodded, knowing that was probably true. Still, he allowed doubt to color his voice. "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I cannot but question the wisdom of a man who will not cooperate with the people trying to save his life."
"Tish tosh," returned the gentleman. "I have told you, such nonsense is commonplace, yet I am still here."
"Help us make sure you continue in that happy state."
Wilberforce sighed. It was the sound of a man forced into what he considered inanities for the sake of a greater cause. "Very well. I shall supply you with a list of my opponents, although I warn you, the account is rather large."
"Excellent," Marcus returned. "Then I shall fully support your bill."
That, at least, caused the older man to grin with wholehearted delight. "You will speak out at the next meeting?"
Marcus nodded. "Provided you supply Miss Delarive with your list and give her your complete cooperation."
Wilberforce blinked as if just recalling Fantine's presence. "Miss Delarive?"
Marcus smiled, only now realizing how right the action felt despite the tightening in his gut. "I am afraid the preparations for my speech will occupy much of my time. No, I fear I shall have to leave your safety to the professional." He glanced over to Fantine, relishing the look of total astonishment on her face.
"You are quitting?" she gasped. "Just like that?"
Wilberforce was also quick to notice her expression. "The young lady appears uncomfortable with the weight of responsibility."
"Nonsense," Marcus returned with a grin. "She is merely stunned that I would step aside." He watched with devilish amusement as a pink blush crept up her face. She had not thought him able to see past his pride. "Miss Delarive is quite capable of handling this particular task, is that not so, Fantine?"
"Uh, too roight..." she began in her Cockney accent. Then she flushed an even deeper crimson and began again in cultured tones. "Of course, my lord." She turned to Wilberforce. "I shall not fail you."
"Her credentials are quite impressive," put in Penworthy.
Wilberforce still looked unconvinced, but Marcus knew he was a man of his word. With a cordial smile and a last lingering look at Fantine, Marcus stood. "It appears I must begin work on a speech. If you will excuse me..."
"Of course, dear boy," Wilberforce said, standing up as well. "Pray allow me to accompany you. We can discuss the points you absolutely must stress." The older man linked arms with Marcus, leading him out the door as he spoke. "It is imperative that everyone understand..."
Marcus twisted around, trying not to be rude to the aged MP, but still wishing to speak with Fantine. He was only now realizing what he had done. By stepping down from the investigation, he might not ever see her again. She would have no need to contact him.
How would he find her again? How could he help his friend care for her, see to her future if he had no apparent reason to find her?
Then it was too late. Wilberforce succeeded in pulling him out of the room as the library door closed behind them.
* * *
Fantine stared at the closed library door, her thoughts a jumble of images and feelings. She saw Marcus, agile despite the grime, scrambling after Nameless. She recalled him playing the daft peer in Ballast's bar, pretending to be a castaway while his keen gaze missed nothing. And she remembered the lean strength of his body as he pressed her against a wall while his lips moved so potently over her own.
Through all those memories, one thought echoed in her mind.
"I cannot believe he would just walk away."
"Indeed," said Penworthy with a sigh. "I had thought you would be the one to break him of his fear."
Fantine swung her gaze to her father. "Fear?" She would never have applied that word to Chadwick.
"I told you Marcus was much more than a bored aristocrat. He was invaluable to the home office. Thwarted le petit colonel a dozen times over the years."
Fantine felt her jaw go slack in surprise. "He fought Napoleon?"
"Not overtly. Remember, he is the eldest son of an earl. He cannot actually fight, much though he might wish it."
"Then what exactly did he do?"
"He worked secretly. First as a messenger, then later as a spy." He turned and smiled at her. "Much like you do for me. He performed odd tasks that required stealth, a quick mind, and a cunning resourcefulness."
Fantine pushed up from her chair, stunned by this history. "What happened?"
Her father reached for a brandy, his expression sad. "He made a mistake. He discovered a French plan to invade England, but it was incomplete. So he sent his partner back with what information he knew and went on to find the rest."
"And did he?"
Penworthy nodded. "I received the entire plan in time, but not before his partner was caught and killed."
Fantine looked away, knowing the pain of loss. "Who was his companion?"
"His brother."
Fantine sucked in her breath.
"He had no idea that Geoffrey would be apprehended. And we did need the entire invasion plan. Because of his actions, hundreds were saved, England was saved. If it were not for Marcus, we might even now be on French ground."
"But his own brother..." Her voice trailed away as the blood began to pound in her head. She knew she was overreacting, and yet she could still feel the emotions churning within her. He abandoned his own brother. Her mind created scenes of poor Geoffrey's death, using details that she did not have, pictures she knew were impossible. Yet they were there, right before her eyes, she saw a frightened youth left abandoned and alone.
It was nonsense. She knew that. More than that, she knew what Marcus had done was perfectly reasonable. He and his brother were spies for the Crown. One of them had died. It happened. Except the very thought shook her.
"He abandoned his own brother."
"He did no such thing!" exclaimed her father.
She spun away, the last sane part of her wondering why she was reacting so strongly. After all, she was not the one who had been left without aid, without Marcus's strong, comforting presence. It had been his brother. Yet she still felt it as keenly as if he had just walked away from her.
"Fantine, he received a commendation from the king."
She shook her head. "I do not care if he was blessed by the angel Gabriel. Had I a sibling, I do not care if all of England was at stake, I would not put him in the middle of a war!"
Penworthy shifted uneasily in his chair. "It was not like that. He thought Geoffrey was safe."
"I do not care what he thought," she shot back. "What is a man if not someone who protects those he loves?"
Penworthy stared at her, his jaw slack with astonishment. She could tell that he did not understand her reaction. In truth, she did not comprehend it herself.
"We are at war," he said firmly. "Surely you understand that everyone must make sacrifices."
Fantine shook her head. "Not those sacrifices. Not me. If I had someone, I would protect him, or her, with my life, no matter what. But then I do not have anyone, do I?"
Penworthy stiffened, and for the first time in years the old anger was back, heating the air between them. She thought
she had made her peace with this, thought she had come to accept her life and her heritage. She understood her mother had not meant to abandon her. The woman had simply died. She knew that her father had not ignored her. He had not even known of her existence. And if she wished to come in from the rookeries, she need only ask and Penworthy would provide for her.
As for Marcus, he was merely her former partner. He had not left her. In fact, she had wished for him to quit. He had done exactly as she desired, turning over control of the investigation to her. Yet she was still so angry that her fists quivered in her lap.
"Fantine—" Penworthy began, his voice slow and unsure.
"No." Her word was sharp, cutting off anything her father might want to say. "I have to leave." She could not allow anyone to see her in this state. At least not until she understood why she was reacting this way.
"Stay here, Fantine. Let me take care of you."
"I will not be kept and then abandoned!" she cried. Then she bit her lip, appalled by her own nonsensical words. She moaned, her throat closing off as she struggled with demons she did not fully understand. Meanwhile, her father took a step closer to her.
"Fantine—" he began.
"He should have stayed with his brother," she said, as if that explained anything. Then she ran from the room.
Chapter 5
Fantine slipped through Lord Harris's glittering ballroom, her servant's clothing ensuring she was as invisible as a ghost. She took a deep breath, savoring the cooler air in the main room despite the press of bodies. The ladies' retiring room had been close and humid, and she was sure she would reek of expensive perfume for the next month at least.
She had been lucky to get the job for the evening. Luckier still to be assigned to the ladies' room. Good Lord, she had heard enough gossip in one hour to give her blackmail fodder for years to come. Not that she intended to use it, of course, but it never hurt to keep one's ears open.
Yet for all the wonderful eavesdropping opportunities, Fantine was grateful to slip away. Too many scents reminded her of her mother's greenroom and never failed to give her a headache. Too many grasping dandies then, too many viper-tongued women now.
So Fantine had stolen away, anxious to investigate Lord Harris while he was busy entertaining his many guests.
She was pushed to one side, pressed against the back wall. She did not object, taking the time instead to survey her surroundings. The room was typical for one of these affairs: The rich and the titled squeezed into the tiniest spaces, all vying to show themselves better than everyone else. Young misses flirted with abandon while the gentlemen tried to prove their manhood by wagering staggering sums of money on nonsense. It was really quite boring and more than a little sad.
So why did she so long to be among them?
The thought came as no surprise to her, much as she hated it. She had had such illogical, traitorous desires all her life. She blamed these on her mother, who had spent her short life trying to climb from one exalted bedroom to another. In the end, Gabrielle Delarive had died of the pox, alone except for Fantine, ugly, and afraid.
Definitely not the life Fantine wanted. So she wrinkled her nose in disgust even though the thought of putting on a golden gown and dancing until dawn made her knees go weak with a mute hunger.
She was a fool.
Stiffening her spine, Fantine pushed around the edge of the room, heading for the library. She would begin her search there. Men always hid the most damning evidence in the most obvious place, right where any good lock-pick could find it.
She was only halfway there when she saw him.
Chadwick.
Not ten feet beyond her, clear as a streak of sunlight in the rookeries and even more compelling. Dressed all in black, except for the white swath of his shirt, he shined in this crowd of overblown beauties and effeminate dandies.
He took her breath away.
Not because he was handsome. She already knew that.
But because he was here undoubtedly doing exactly what he had sworn not to do—investigating Lord Harris. Good Lord, she had just accustomed herself to working without him again, and yet here he was. True, they had only been together that one evening, but that time had left a permanent mark on her memory.
It had taken all week to stop thinking of him. And now that she had finally locked him out of her thoughts, here he was again, upsetting her composure.
She stood there nearly shaking with the need to scream her frustration at him. Impossible, of course. Still, the idea of leaving him free to interfere whenever he wished made her clench her fists. There had to be something she could do.
Then Chadwick bowed over the bejeweled hand of a statuesque blonde and her anger at last found a plan. She was one of the best pickpockets alive. It would take less than a moment to steal a signet ring here, a diamond bracelet there. The guests were too busy sniping at one another to notice if some tiny piece of adornment disappeared.
She could place a few items in his greatcoat and a few more on his person. She still had his pocket watch hidden beneath her shirt. She could attach most of the items on the chain and then plant it on him. Marcus would never know what had happened until it was too late.
Sometimes, she thought, life could be very, very good.
* * *
Marcus let his gaze travel over the various members of the political and social elite, first catching one person's eye, then another as he struggled to stifle a yawn. Whatever had induced him to come to this ridiculous affair?
He did not have to think twice to find the answer. It appeared before him in the form of a mental image, a picture of a dark elfin face with bright, mischievous eyes.
Fantine.
She wouldn't thank him for his help, but when he had received his invitation to Lord Harris's ball, he could not force himself to refuse. It had been a week since he'd left Penworthy's home with Wilberforce on his arm. A week of toying with his speech and staring out the window. A week of feeling at loose ends with nothing to occupy his time except memories of the oddest, most compelling woman he had ever met.
He imagined her at his breakfast table every morning, commenting delightfully on the morning's news. He pictured her in his bed every night, sliding her sensuous body along his. And during the day, he saw her in strangers and servants.
He was a man who relished a well-ordered life, and so Fantine ought to fill him with dread. Instead, he delighted himself by picturing Bentley's reaction to her sudden appearance on the doorstep. The poor man would be stupefied.
The thought was actually somewhat titillating.
So, he had come to Lord Harris's ball, hoping to stumble across something useful, thereby requiring him to seek her out to deliver the information. It did not hurt that he expected to find evidence of Harris's guilt. The memory of her scoffing at his suspicions still burned.
With that thought in place, he edged his way toward the library. He didn't notice the maid until he sauntered into the main hallway. Her hair was hidden beneath a tight cap, but the girl's size and form were familiar, and most especially, the walk. Who else wiggled just that way except Fantine? His blood heated at the possibility of seeing her so soon, but then he quickly dismissed it. He had been imagining Fantine everywhere from his own breakfast table to Hyde Park. Why not Harris's ball?
Still, the body seemed so familiar....
Changing directions, he followed her as she ducked into the cloakroom. Waiting in the shadows just beyond, he heard muted voices, then a low giggle.
A rendezvous. Which meant she couldn't be Fantine.
Marcus squelched his disappointment and turned back down the hallway. But before he could move beyond the tiny alcove, the serving maid left the cloakroom, a chocolate in one hand and a glass of champagne raised to her lips in the other.
So that was what the laughter was about, he guessed. A maid sampling the host's expensive dessert fare. Then, at the exact moment she passed in front of his hiding place, she lowered her glass. He finally got
a clear look at her face.
It was Fantine! Probably investigating Lord Harris.
He glanced nervously around. Fortunately, the hall remained empty, but it was still not the time to perform a clandestine operation. Half the ton were here! She did not have the protection that invitation and his title gave him. If she was caught, nothing would prevent the full weight of the law from crashing down on her beautiful head.
He watched her move gracefully down the corridor before slipping quietly into the dark library. He followed her without a second thought, closing the door behind him.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
She spun around, her eyes wide with surprise, her body clearly outlined by the moonlight. But true to her quick wits, she straightened her shoulders and spoke with that grating cockney tone. "Auw, look wot the cat dragged in."
"Stop that!" he snapped, unsure why he was so angry except that the memory of her husky giggle in the cloakroom stood prominent in his memory. "You can speak like a lady, why do you insist on that backstreet caterwauling?"
"'Cause it makes ye mad, ducky," she said as she crossed behind Harris's desk. "It just burns in yer gut that ye had to work wi' the loikes of me—a thief an' a back-street whore."
"Ah," he said, adopting a casualness he did not feel. "Is that what you are?"
She frowned slightly as she maneuvered her lock-pick. "Wot, ducky?"
"A thief and a whore." He had no idea why he was asking, except that he had a desperate need to resolve at least one question about her.
"Oi ams what Oi ams," she responded glibly.
Marcus could only stare at her. She brushed him off as if he were of no account when he had spent the last week imagining her, thinking of her, even dreaming of her.
Suddenly his anger got the better of him. Stepping forward, he grabbed her wrist, pulling it up until she was forced to look at him. "What are you, Fantine? Actress? Whore? Thief?"
She glared at him, hatred clear in her beautiful eyes. "Go play wi' someone else, guv. I be busy jes now."
Rage burned within him. He knew his reaction was completely out of proportion, but that did not seem to matter. No one had ever toyed with him, dismissed him, infuriated him as much as she did. The feelings were as exciting as they were maddening, and he could not decide whether to kiss or throttle her. In the end, she took the choice away from him.
