No Place for a Lady (30 page)

He reached forward, gently wiping her face with his thumb. And as he did so, a great lightness filled his heart. She was right. Geoffrey chose his own path, and though he would always mourn his brother's passing, Marcus's guilt faded the moment Fantine forgave him. That she had such power over his emotions frightened him, and yet there was no other soul he would trust with such intimacy. Only Fantine.

"So, you will let me stay," he said, kissing the path his thumb had taken across her cheek. "You will let me remain in London with you?"

He knew what she would say the moment she touched his face, firmly setting him away from her. He knew, and if God had given him the power, he would have stopped her before she drew breath.

But he had not the strength, and her words landed with the finality of a gunshot. "You must go, Marcus. You must let me do this. Alone."

"No," he whispered, his denial immediate. "What if—"

"Then it will be my fault," she interrupted. "My choice. And you must not suffer for it."

As well ask the sun to remain set on the morrow. "I could not survive it," he gasped. Not another death. Not Fantine.

"I swear I will not die." Then, for the first time ever, she kissed him. Not because he cajoled or teased or begged it from her, but because she chose to taste him, to stroke the seam between his lips, and to at last allow him deep into the recesses of her mouth.

He took her offer greedily, trying to brand himself upon her, but when it was over he knew he had lost. In that kiss, he had felt the delight of her love given freely to him. More than happiness, it was a miracle that filled his soul. And he knew he would never again feel such joy unless he did as she asked—allowed her to become her own person. Without him.

"I will leave in the morning." How he spoke the words, he hadn't a clue. But they continued, flowing past the tightening in his throat as if his own wishes meant nothing beside hers. "Chris has already left for his club, so I must escort you tonight. After that, I swear upon my honor, I will leave."

She hesitated, her eyes dark with an emotion he could not name. "Thank you," she finally whispered.

He nodded, then turned the movement into a formal bow such as he would give the Queen of England. He lifted his arm, offering to escort her out, but she declined with a quick shake of her head. Instead, she stood by the fire, as far from him as possible. He watched her there, seeing her proud carriage, the classic lines of her face, even her lifted chin as she seemed to challenge the world.

She had never seemed more beautiful to him. Or more distant.

He had to release her. He knew that now. It was the honorable thing to do.

Gritting his teeth, he opened the library door for her. He had barely turned from his task when she slipped past him, darting quickly out of the room, careful to let nothing of hers touch him. Not even the edge of her gown.

But her perfume did.

It lingered in the air long after she had disappeared. Marcus inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to savor the scent.

Rich. Dark. Exotic.

His Fantine.

It had been a good choice, a good gift. And it was the last thing of hers he would ever have.

Chapter 16

"Lady Anne, Countess of Woodford; Marcus Kane, Lord Chadwick..."

One by one, their party was introduced, while Fantine waited impatiently in the rear. Lady Anne and Marcus stepped forward, then Lottie as Lady Charlotte.

"Miss Fantine Drake."

She stepped forward. Actually, she was pushed forward by the crush of people behind her. A good thing, as it turned out, since she could not have taken that first step alone.

Then she was there, at the top of an enormous stair, looking down on a throng of the glittering ton. Not a one looked at her. None of them truly cared who she was or why she was there. But Fantine could not suppress a shiver of excitement.

She was here. One of the rich elite.

For the first time in her life, she knew that both her mother and her father would be proud of her. The thought was astounding, and it brought forth a natural smile.

Then suddenly, she was not alone on the dais. Marcus stepped forward and offered her his arm as escort. She looked at him, seeing the caressing warmth of his gaze, the smile that softened his features.

He was proud of her.

In that instant, the scene in the library vanished from her thoughts. Their stilted conversation in the carriage, even her hurt that he would never truly love her, disappeared as if blown away by the wind.

All that mattered was his smile and his touch as he escorted her down the stairs. He treated her as royalty, and with him beside her, she believed it.

They reached the bottom of the stairs. She had been introduced, he had performed his duty, and now he turned to her, lifting her hand in the most elegant of kisses. His fingers lingered against her palm, his lips pressed the back of her hand with devotion. Then he released her.

"I was a fool," he said, emotion vibrating in his low tones. "I blundered heinously with you, and I shall always regret it." She tried to think of a response, but he shook his head. "Do not say anything. I think I finally understand." The pain in his eyes was enough to make her change her mind. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him and tell him that everything was forgiven. She would be his mistress, she would be anything he wished, if only he did not leave her.

But it was too late.

He looked away from her, scanning the crowd even as he drew her gently forward, farther into the ballroom. She barely had time to draw her breath before a familiar red-haired gentlemen with light green eyes appeared before her.

"Ah, yes, Edwin," drawled Marcus. "I believe you and Miss Drake are acquainted."

"We are indeed," returned Mr. Thompson with a warm smile as he bowed over her hand. As always, Fantine appreciated his handsome features and easy manner. With his dark brown eyes and his slightly ragged haircut, he reminded her of a friendly dog. His expression was one of good-willed devotion, but his eyes were still bright with intelligence.

Fantine executed her curtsy and was surprised to feel the movement natural and graceful. "It is always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Thompson," she said as modestly as possible.

"I have been waiting for you, hoping you would honor me with a waltz this evening," he said.

"I would like that exceedingly well," she answered as she offered him her card. Then Marcus cut in, his voice stiff and slightly hoarse.

"Edwin, I am afraid I have a commitment in the card room. Could you stay near Miss Drake for me? Just as long as she needs a friend at hand?"

Mr. Thompson looked up from her card, and Fantine realized a message passed between the two men. It did not take her long to interpret the gesture. She had seen it before in the rookeries any time a man passed a woman off to another.

Neither one thought to ask her.

"I shall be honored," said Mr. Thompson smoothly.

"Yes, quite," drawled Marcus. Then with a curt bow to her, he left her for the card room.

She watched him go, his back broad and straight as he sifted through the crowd. She was free of Marcus at last, she told herself. She could finally go about the business of finding both Teggie and a husband without his interference. She had wanted this moment to come, but now that it was actually here, she could only clench her fists, wondering at the myriad emotions that washed through her. She recognized anger, sadness, and the too-familiar pain of abandonment. She searched for elation. She'd finally beaten Marcus, but instead she felt as if her chest were an open, bleeding sore. A pistol shot could not hurt more.

"Would you care for some lemonade, Miss Drake?"

Fantine blinked, only now remembering Mr. Thompson. "What?"

"Lemonade? The dancing will not begin for another hour. It is not necessary, of course. I am a little parched, but not desperately so. If you—"

"Actually, I am not at all thirsty. I would much rather talk with you."

His smile grew warmer. "I shall endeavor to be charming"

She smiled back, determined to distract herself from thoughts of Marcus. Taking Mr. Thompson's arm, she gave him her most devastating smile. "You know, you never did finish telling me about your south pastures. Something about corn, I believe?"

Mr. Thompson grinned and within moments was deep in his plans. Though many would have found the discussion dull, Fantine appreciated his careful thought and honest devotion to hard work. She knew this man would be faithful to his wife, providing both food and shelter with stalwart determination. He would never abandon her to the gutter or fritter away his money.

That put him at the top of her potential husband list.

"Fantine!" called Lottie as she stepped up beside them. "I thought for a moment I had lost you. Hello, Mr. Thompson, I am so pleased to see you. I see you have claimed Fantine's very first dance. An honor indeed." Then she began tugging slightly on Fantine's arm. "Come, my dear, there are a number of gentlemen who particularly wish to meet you."

Then began a long series of introductions that had Fantine's head spinning. Really, the variety of choices was beginning to give her a headache.

When Mr. Thompson came to claim her first dance, she nearly flew into his arms out of gratitude. So many men, so many faces. She wondered that she would keep them all straight. But as the music began, her feet took over, her mind closed down, and soon she was moving as easily as if she were practicing with her instructor. A few moments later, and she lost all thought beyond the simple joy of dancing.

It was at that moment that she gave Mr. Thompson a brilliant smile. He returned it with alacrity, his expression livening to one of pure happiness.

And she caught a flash of gold in his mouth.

He had a gold tooth.

Fantine stumbled, recovered her footing, and managed to rescue her position in the quadrille, but her equilibrium was sadly off. Could she have found Teggie so quickly? Could this very nice man actually be plotting to kill one of the greatest leaders of their time?

She had to get him to smile again. Had to actually count the number of gold teeth in his mouth.

She gave him another dazzling smile.

He returned it, but this one was not as wholehearted as the first. She caught the same flash of gold as before, but could not see the rest of his teeth.

What now? She realized with a slight sigh of frustration that she would have to make him laugh. Uproariously. Loud enough and long enough that he kept his mouth open so that she could count his teeth.

She set about being so charming as to be astounding. She flirted, she teased, she laughed, she even minced about on the dancing floor. She was stunning, and just as she was about to succeed, disaster struck.

Another gentleman smiled at her. He too had a gold tooth.

Now what? she wondered. In a flash, she memorized the gentleman's face and clothing, resolving to manage an introduction. It was just as well, she told herself. She was not at all happy with the thought of Mr. Thompson being Teggie. She was glad to have another suspect even if it meant a good deal more work. She would have to isolate the man, manage an introduction, then find a way for him to open his mouth.

Perhaps she ought to spend the rest of the evening in the dining area watching people eat. At least then she would be assured of them opening their mouths.

The steps of the dance took her back to Mr. Thompson. "You dance divinely, Miss Drake," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Pray, do you know who that gentleman is? The one over there in the dark green?"

"Who, Foxworthy?"

Fantine nodded, adding the name to her list of suspects. But then, as she turned to address her companion, she caught sight of another man, a portly gentleman of uncertain years who was laughing at some remark. She was almost sure she caught sight of two gold teeth in his mouth. Or perhaps it was merely a trick of the light.

"And that gentleman there?" she asked. "Who is he?"

"Which one?"

"Why, the one with..." She frowned. She had lost sight of him, and she knew nothing of the man except he was portly and fashionably dressed. "It does not matter."