No Place for a Lady (10 page)

Marcus nearly choked. Timid? Fantine? Penworthy, apparently, had a similar reaction as he pushed almost rudely into the conversation.

"Fantine is the most untimid soul I know, William. She is, in fact, half of the team I have hired to keep your soul safely with us, still trapped in its mortal coil."

Wilberforce turned his keen gaze to Penworthy and his brow furrowed in concern. "Thomas, surely that cannot be wise. She is a woman."

"A quite competent one, I assure you." That comment came from Marcus's own mouth, and he was as startled by it as Fantine appeared to be. But once spoken, he realized the absolute truth of the statement. "You may safely entrust your life to her."

"I trust in the Lord God."

Marcus smiled. "Of course. Still, one must seize whatever opportunities the Lord presents," he said, echoing the older gentleman's earlier words. "No matter how strange it may appear," he added softly, his comment more for himself than anyone else as he shifted his gaze to Fantine.

"William," cut in Penworthy, "have you had any additional thoughts on who might be threatening your life?"

Wilberforce turned back to his friend with a stifled sound of disgust. "I have given no thought to it whatsoever. Truly, Thomas, you make too much of it. Threats to my life are commonplace."

"Yes, but not attempts on it."

The older man shrugged. His attention sharpened as he focused first on Penworthy and then on Marcus. He completely ignored Fantine. "What I have given a great deal of thought to is whether I can count on your support next month."

Now it was Penworthy's turn to be impatient as he casually dismissed Wilberforce's life goal—the abolishment of slavery. "Yes, yes, you know I support the antislavery bill. What I am more concerned with—"

"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.