No Place for a Lady (40 page)

Then, weaponless and exposed, Baylor retreated to infancy. He cowered in the corner and whimpered all sorts of nonsense.

"Shut up!" Marcus snapped. The idiot had completely ruined his morning. Instead of running to the Colonies like any intelligent villain, Baylor had proved himself stupid as well as evil. Now Marcus had to take him to the magistrate and likely answer hours of annoying questions while Fantine no doubt grew angrier and more stubborn by the second. "What a bloody pain in the arse!" he cursed.

Then his skull exploded with pain, and the world went dark.

* * *

Marcus woke slowly. He was lying face down, his arms and legs tied painfully behind him, his head throbbing like the very devil. He must have been hit from behind, he realized slowly.

Then he cracked an eye just to be sure. Yes, he was still in Baylor's home, could even see his full glass of brandy on a windowsill a few feet away, just beyond reach. To one side, he could hear Hurdy and Baylor arguing in low tones, though the words were not clear enough for him to understand.

How long had it been? he wondered. No more than a few minutes, he guessed, though he could not be sure. He had little experience with being knocked on the head and trussed up like a Christmas goose. For all he knew, he could have been unconscious for a month or two.

Twisting with a strength born of anger, Marcus tried desperately to break his bonds. But they wouldn't budge. He was well and truly caught.

With a grimace of disgust, Marcus relaxed and tried to reason out his situation. But all he could think was that the situation was completely ridiculous. Here he was, incapacitated by a jackass before he had revealed his heart to Fantine. Good Lord, the way things were going, Fantine might never know he loved her!

When he got free he would kill Baylor with his bare hands. Meanwhile, Hurdy's voice was becoming clearer, rising in anger.

"One gent! I's been paid fer one nob, and I will no' do more until I get paid fer two."

Marcus winced, understanding the meaning. Hurdy would not kill Marcus until Baylor paid him more money. Thank God Baylor hadn't a feather to fly with.

"And I tell you again," cut in Baylor, "that it is only because of your bungling that Chadwick is here at all. Now clean it up or I shall be forced to take drastic measures."

Marcus rolled onto his side, trying to move quietly so he could view the combatants. What he saw was not reassuring. Baylor was clearly furious, his rabbity eyes so focused they seemed to burn pinpricks into whatever he sighted. As much as Marcus wanted to think Hurdy would not give in to such pressure, it was clear the criminal was considering Baylor's words.

"I begin to think you incapable of performing the simplest task," continued Baylor.

"Murderin' an MP is not a simple task!"

"Perhaps you have not the stomach for killing."

"Don't be daft," Hurdy snapped.

"Really? Prove it. Show me you can kill in cold blood. After all, Chadwick is your mess. He would not be here, accusing me of murder, if it were not for your bungling."

"My bungling!" returned Hurdy, his voice growing in irritation. "It's him and Rat. Ain't no gent smart enough to figure it out without someone on the inside. Has to be Rat." Marcus could hear the growing malice in the villain's voice and knew that Fantine's life was forfeit.

Unless he could change their minds.

"Do not be ridiculous," he said in his most superior tone. He had the satisfaction of seeing both of their heads snap around. "I used Rat plain and simple."

For a moment, Marcus thought he had convinced them. Hurdy was watching him, his handsome brow narrowed in concentration. Then he shrugged. "Ain't no difference. Stupid or treacherous, she's dead either way."

Then before Marcus could think of anything else, Baylor was pushing forward, his voice sharp and irritating. "Are you going to kill Chadwick or not?"

Hurdy sighed, grudgingly raising his pistol. "It don't pay to work fer gents," he muttered. "It don't never pay."

At that moment Marcus finally understood he was about to die. Up until that second, he had thought his title offered him some small security from the likes of Hurdy. Apparently, his protection was gone. And with him dead, there would be no one to warn Fantine that Hurdy was on to her.

"Wait!" he called, scrambling as best he could to an awkward sitting position. "Baylor, you cannot wish to kill me, right here in your mother's parlor! Think of what she will say if she sees the bloodstains!"

"Gawd," drawled Hurdy as he rolled his eyes. "As if that makes no never mind."

"It does," put in Baylor softly. "You cannot do it here."

"Wot!"

"In fact," continued Marcus, rushing to push his point. "You need not do it all. I can give you my seat in the House of Commons."

"Wot!" exclaimed Hurdy, confusion clear on his handsome face. Then he spun to Baylor. "Wot is 'e talking about?"

"That is what you want, is it not?" continued Marcus. "You want a seat, any seat. It would restore your pride, your status—"

"My income."

Marcus hesitated. "You have been promised a ministry then."

"Yes." Baylor visibly preened. "You did not think I was that clever, did you?"

Marcus shook his head. "No," he admitted, "I did not. But who would promise you—" He cut off his words. It did not matter who was silly enough to promise a lucrative ministry post to Baylor. The promise had been made.

"You need not kill Wilberforce," Marcus said softly. "You may have my seat."

Baylor took a single step forward, his eyes narrowed as he clearly considered the possibility.

"Aw, don't listen to 'im," said Hurdy. "'E's just talking so we don't kill 'im."

"True," pressed Marcus, "but I am a man of my word. I will cede my seat to you—publicly. And I will say nothing about any of this. Just release me."

"'E won't do it."

"You know that I will. I swear it on my honor as a gentleman."

It was a bizarre scene. Never before had his reputation been more important, his word as a gentleman more significant. Yet, he had never thought less of it.

He did not intend to give his seat to Baylor, no matter what he promised. The man was a murderer and a poor planner. This whole affair with Wilberforce had been ill managed from the start. There was no telling what nonsense Baylor would promote once he had political power. Marcus could not leave England in such a man's care.

So he traded on his reputation, promised Baylor the moon and the stars, and prayed that the man was stupid enough to take it at face value.

He was.

"Do not kill him."

Hurdy groaned, shaking his head in disgust. "Daft lords, idiot gents. If this is what working fer the upper crust means, then I do not wish fer it."

"Quit groaning. You have been paid to take care of Wilberforce. Go finish the job."

Hurdy folded his hands. "Not now."

"What?"

"Naw. I told you, I thinks you all daft."

"I do not care a fig what you think so long as you finish your task!"

"And I will, but only if you come along."

"What? You agreed to handle this yourself!"

"And I 'ave no wish to be brought before the magistrate for your crime. If you insist on keeping this nob alive"—he gestured disdainfully toward Marcus—"then I want you there with me. It's my only insurance that when 'e turns, you will be in Newgate right next t' me."

"Do not be ridiculous. Chadwick is a gentleman through and through. He would never go back on his word."

"Right. An' no mort would ever pay to 'ave another mort knocked off, either. So either you two ain't gentleman or gentlemen ain't wot you think they are."

Baylor shook his head, clearly frustrated with the man's stubbornness. Then he turned toward Marcus, his expression one of superior condescension. "They will never understand, will they, Chadwick? That is why we run the world and they run the docks." He drained his brandy glass. "Very well," he said to Hurdy. "Lead on."

"But you have no idea where Wilberforce is!" cried Marcus. Assuming Jacob had completed his task, the MP had not moved from the quaint cottage where he had spent the night.

It was at that moment that Marcus saw a truly evil sight. Hurdy turned toward him, lust and hatred combined on his handsome face in a way that was almost gruesome. "Ah, but there you are wrong. I 'ad a man waiting outside your 'ome this morning. 'E's a good man. Well able to follow Fanny and an old coachman."

Marcus straightened, a cold chill sliding down his spine.

"I know where Fanny took the MP. She went to her old rooms, right smack dab in the center o' the rookeries." His grin turned into a leer. "An' this time, she cannot escape me."

Marcus's mind raced. Fantine and Wilberforce in the rookeries? She could not be that reckless. But he knew that she was. After their argument this morning, running back to her home probably made sense to her. She was comfortable there, had friends, knew the best ways to fight or escape.

But why would she bring Wilberforce there? What possible purpose would that serve? He did not know. He only understood that he had to stop it if at all possible.

"There is no need for this," he repeated, this time focusing on Baylor. "There is no point in killing Wilberforce now. What about my seat?"

But Baylor ignored him, being too occupied with smoothing out a wrinkle in his coat.

"Come along, guv," grumbled Hurdy. "Fanny is slippery. I do not wish to give 'er any more time than necessary."

Baylor frowned as he pulled on his gloves. "Who is this Fanny?"

"Miss Fantine Drake," growled Hurdy.

"Ah," returned Baylor, but it was clear from his expression that he had no understanding of anything at all.

"Baylor!" Marcus cried, but they ignored him, and Marcus was left to curse in silence as they sauntered to the front door.

"Damn!" Baylor suddenly exclaimed. "I have forgotten my pocket watch. You get the carriage ready. I shall be out directly."

Hurdy obviously did not like this, but he left nonetheless while Baylor slipped back to Marcus, his voice low and urgent. "Are the ropes too tight?"

"Yes. Much."

"Good. You must forgive me, old chap, but I am afraid I am forced to keep you bound for just a bit longer."

"Do not do this!" Marcus begged. "Why commit murder when you can have my seat without risk?"

"But I'm not, dear boy. I accept your offer most gratefully," he said, his prominent gold tooth flashing in the sunlight. "But only after I have performed the daring rescue of Mr. Wilberforce, England's dearest MP! Oh, it shall be glorious."

Marcus groaned. To think the man had survived this long! Such stupidity was indeed criminal. "Hurdy will never allow it. He will kill you first, and then return here and kill me."

"Nonsense, dear boy. Those kind think nothing beyond their fee. All Hurdy believes is that I will pay him handsomely for the murder. He will not realize what is happening until he is being clapped in irons."

"He is not that blind!" Marcus invested all his energy, all his intensity, in his one statement, but Baylor was too caught up in his visions of glory to heed him.

"Bear with me, dear boy. And do not worry. I have no idea why Fantine Drake is involved, but I shall keep her safe as well." Then he stood up. "Too bad she is not an heiress. She will be ever so grateful for her rescue."

"She's more likely to put a knife in your gullet."

But Baylor wasn't listening. With a last cheerful wave, the man left his home. Marcus could do nothing but glare at the closed door and curse.

To think, he began this morning believing he was actually in control of the situation! But then, who could have guessed that the mysterious Teggie was an idiot?

Chapter 22

Getting Wilberforce to come with Fantine was easy. After all, he knew she had been hired to protect him. He trusted her.

Convincing the lame man that he needed to climb three sets of stairs to her little room above the pub, on the other hand, had been hard. But she was charming and insistent, and in the end he managed to make it to her tiny space. She helped him to her one chair and offered to get him something to drink from downstairs.