by Jade Lee
He nodded. "My efforts have yielded nothing as well." Then he hefted the bag, wincing as it landed heavily on his back. "Very well," he groaned. "Go back to bed."
She frowned at him. He saw it quite clearly. Then she dropped nimbly back to the ground. "You cannot mean to deliver this."
"I cannot?"
"Of course not. You are..."
"Too stiff? Too arrogant?"
"Yes."
"Ah, well," he said with a grin. "You have changed me, Fantine. Or I have succumbed to some mental disorder." He started walking away, and she scrambled to follow him, snatching up the mutton he had forgotten.
"But you do not know where to go."
"I expect Nameless will find me."
"But—"
He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "Fantine, I brought you to my sister's house to protect you. Ballast still wants to hurt you, and Hurdy—"
"I am in no danger from Hurdy. He has not discussed matters with Teggie yet."
He paused, frowning at her. "How do you know that?" It frightened him to think she might have seen the villain alone.
"The boys," she repeated firmly. "So far, they say Hurdy has done nothing but the usual rookery games."
Marcus nodded, somewhat reassured. "Still, Ballast will be watching your associates, including Nameless and Louise."
"He will be watching for you, too."
He smiled at the clear note of worry in her voice. "I thank you for your concern." Marcus reached forward and tweaked an errant curl. Lottie had done wonders with Fantine's short mop and the style looked entirely fetching. "Now go back to your room. Ladies do not wander about at night."
Then he folded his arms across his chest and looked absolutely firm as he watched rebelliousness war with resignation on her face. In the end, reason won out.
"Very well," she said softly. Then with a nimbleness that surprised him, she climbed her rope and disappeared inside.
He did not make the mistake of leaving immediately. Instead, he waited in the dark for another ten minutes. Long enough for him to see her rope disappear into the confines of her room and to hear the creak of her bed as she settled into it. He was not sure he actually heard it, but his imagination did, just as it supplied graphic images of her in bed.
In the end, he resolutely turned to his task, wishing he could turn his back on his thoughts as well.
That was the moment he realized what he had just agreed to do. Sweet heaven, had he, a future earl, actually agreed to deliver a sackload of broken eggs and slimy foodstuffs in the middle of the night to a group of street urchins in the rookeries? It was not possible. But then he hoisted the sack and her blasted mutton and began trudging away toward his carriage, realizing that he had indeed changed.
And he was not at all sure he appreciated the new him.
"Take me near that pub beneath Fantine's home, Jacob," he said drearily as he unceremoniously tossed the satchel and mutton onto the floorboards of his conveyance.
"Milord?"
"I am to play Lady Bountiful and feed a bunch of starving urchins in the middle of the night."
"Of course, milord," the coachman responded evenly, as if this were the most normal thing for a peer to do.
Marcus climbed inside his carriage and pulled out his pistols, making sure they were primed. He might have nothing to fear from Nameless and his cohorts, but Ballast was still out there. Sprat would not have written his father yet, so Ballast would still be looking to take his revenge on both Marcus and Fantine. Marcus had no intention of making another trip to the back room of that dockside pub.
He had just finished his task when he felt the carriage dip. He would not have noticed if he had not been thinking of Fantine and street urchins and what she might have learned as a child. But he was thinking of it, and the thought brought an image of children stealing rides on the back of carriages.
Fantine would not... But of course she would.
Heedless of the still-moving carriage, Marcus flung open the side door and bellowed toward the rear.
"Fantine!"
At first there was no response except from Jacob as the coachman gently reined in the horses.
"Fantine, come in here or I shall be forced to haul you around by your hair!"
This time his bellow was rewarded by a cherubic face suddenly appearing around the corner of his carriage. Fantine. And with an expression that could charm a bird down from a tree.
"Was you wantin' me, guv?" she asked in her street voice.
"Fantine!" he exclaimed, more exasperated than angry. "I am trying to save your life."
"Ain't mine wot needs saving."
Marcus sighed. "Why do I get the feeling that we keep having the same argument over and over to no avail?"
Fantine shrugged. "Cain't really say. Perhaps you are a mite thickheaded."
He did not dare answer. So he addressed his coachman instead. "Turn us around, Jacob. I must take a miscreant home."
"Do not bother, Jacob," cried Fantine, as she blithely jumped off the carriage. "I can make it t' Nameless now without yer help."
Marcus jumped down as well, grabbing hold of her arm as quickly as possible. "You cannot possibly go wandering about the streets of London alone at this time of night." But even as he said the words, he realized how ridiculous they were. Of course she could wander about. She had done so for many years. Indeed, if Fantine chose to risk her life, then nothing short of clapping her in irons would prevent her. And he was not so sure about the irons.
"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 sh
e 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 ha
ve 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.
"I know why they wrestled in the dirt with me."
His words came to her softly, surrounding her in the darkness when she least wished to listen.
"They wished to show me that seven boys could overpower me. They wished to pile on top of me and prove to me that they could hurt me if they so chose."
She glanced up, caught by the wry note in his tone.
"And when they had me facedown in the dirt, half of them sitting on me, the other half showing me their knives, do you know what they said to me?"
She bit her lip. She wanted to know. Of course she wanted to know, but she could not bring herself to ask.
"They told me what they would do to me if I hurt you."
