No Place for a Lady

by Jade Lee

  He stepped into the shadows of a nearby warehouse, studying Hurdy's home with care. What kind of man would build a castle in the center of the docks? Only someone who thought himself a king, someone who wanted to rule the dockside Londoners as a medieval warlord ruled his serfs. And Marcus had to breech the castle walls like some knight errant of yore.

  When had he gone completely insane?

  Marcus shook his head. There was little time to think of such nonsense. He had to find a way into Hurdy's castle. Fortunately, Marcus had spent a good deal of his childhood climbing and exploring a castle near his family's Yorkshire estate. He knew just how to gain entrance thanks most especially to a stable hand named Ty who had spent a good deal of time in the American colonies. Marcus had never quite managed to handle the lasso like Ty had, but he had some basic proficiency.

  Marcus turned, scanning the surrounding warehouses. They were all squat formless buildings, lined up like bricks pressed one against the other. It took half a block before he found what he needed: a warehouse with a lookout, a small tower in the middle of the roof where someone could watch the ships coming in and out and thereby predict the shift and flow of commodity prices. Quite intelligent, actually. And quite useful because along the outside of the building was a single rickety ladder designed to give access to the roof and the lookout post.

  Readjusting the rope on his shoulder, Marcus climbed the ladder, gaining access to the roof. It was then a relatively easy run from one roof to the next, all along the row until he came to the one right next to Hurdy's castle.

  While he looped the rope into a lasso, Marcus searched for his best option. His only choice was to anchor the rope to the top of Hurdy's tower, then swing into the lit room Giles had indicated. He would fly through that window like a suicidal bird, shattering the glass, and making enough noise to alert everyone in a ten-block radius.

  Unfortunately, much as he tried, he could not see a better alternative. He could only hope Fantine was there, because if he was forced to search through the house for her, he was a dead man. Of course, if he missed this particular jump he would be worse off than dead. He'd be a bloody splat on the side of a castle turret.

  With that image in mind, Marcus gripped the rope, gauged the wind, then prayed. He threw.

  He missed.

  Cursing under his breath, he pulled back the rope and tried again. It took two more tosses before the loop caught and held.

  Now came the hard part—the jump. Assuming he gauged his rope and momentum correctly, he could burst through the window, grab Fantine, then jump out, sliding down the rope to the ground below. Hopefully, they would then make their escape through the rookery byways. Again.

  If their luck held. If Fantine was indeed in that room. If he had lassoed the turret correctly. And if he did not kill himself on the jump.

  Marcus took a deep breath, then relaxed. He'd already admitted to himself that he was completely insane. Everything would go as planned because everyone knew the feebleminded were protected by God. With that thought in mind, he ran and made his leap.

  He knew from the moment he left the rooftop that he had figured correctly. His feet crashed through the glass window, shattering it inward with truly awesome force. Keeping one hand firmly gripped on the rope, he landed with only a small stumble even as he scanned the room for Fantine. He saw two people at a table and two guards near the door. Then he looked down, searching the floor for a crumpled body, a prostrate form, anything to indicate a bound prisoner.

  Nothing.

  What he saw instead was a diminutive virago in a torn frock push up from the remains of a sumptuous dinner and round on him in fury, fork waving like a dagger in his face.

  "Good God, I did not even have time to eat it!" she screamed. "Not one measly, tiny bite. And now it is covered with glass! Glass! Damn it, I am hungry!"

  Marcus blinked, first once, then twice, but the nightmare remained. It was indeed Fantine, the woman he had come to rescue, screeching at him like some shrew and waving... was that roast mutton? He sniffed appreciatively. It must have been a good one, too.

  Then all thought was cut off as the door burst open, neatly flattening one large person who had been standing there, but admitting three more big men all running straight for Marcus.

  "Come on!" he cried, making a grab for Fantine, intending to snare her around the waist and leap out the window to safety. That was his plan, but she eluded him, stepping directly into the path of the oncoming men.

  "Don't you dare!" she said, brandishing her fork. The men skidded to a halt, looking uncertainly at her, then at him, then at a third man who still sat at the opposite side of the makeshift table. "He is mine," she practically hissed. Then she spun back toward Marcus, her eyes blazing with fury as she threw her fork straight at his face.

  "What?" he gasped, barely eluding the projectile. It sailed out the window, no doubt landing on the very place he had thought to carry her. "Fantine—" he began, but she cut him off.

  "Why are you here? Why is it that everywhere I go, suddenly you are there? Sweet heaven, will you be in the privy too?"

  Marcus stared at her, his breath stolen by her fury. Her chestnut curls whipped about her face while her bronze eyes burned him where he stood. Good Lord, she was beautiful. But she was also contrary. And exasperating. And absolutely fascinating.

  He decided he would bed her. If he did not kill her first.

  "Could we possibly discuss this later?" he asked, as much to himself as to her. "I am trying to rescue you, you know."

  "Not a prayer," she shot back.

  It was at that moment that the other man pushed leisurely to his feet. He was quite handsome in a boyish sort of way. His redhead and freckles gave him an endearing look, but Marcus had no illusions that the man would be easy to handle. Noticing the man's expensive clothes and his confident air, Marcus deduced that he was looking at none other than Hurdy, dockside warlord and Ballast's main rival.

  At Hurdy's nod, the guards retreated to strategic points in the room. Two of them went to either side of the window and firmly pulled the rope out of Marcus's hands. He did not want to relinquish his one faint hope of escape, but he had no choice. Not only was he severely outnumbered, but one of the men by the door had a sharp, wicked-looking knife, ready to embed hilt-deep in his throat.

  Then Hurdy turned to Fantine while gesturing toward Marcus. "The daft lord, I presume?" he asked in cordial tones.

  "Yes," snapped Fantine.

  "No!" Marcus said at the exact same instant. He was not sure why he objected. Perhaps he was simply feeling contrary. Whatever the reason, for this moment, he wanted to be someone else. Someone with some measure of authority over Fantine.

  So he said the first thing that came to mind.

  "I am her guardian."

  Fantine gasped and spun around, but Marcus was prepared for her. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "I know you do not like it, my dear, but it is the sad truth. Barely two weeks ago, our sainted father on his deathbed charged me to care for you, annoying and difficult though you are."

  "We most certainly are not related!"

  "We are, Fantine. I insist you leave with me immediately. You cannot continue in these godforsaken ways!"

  "This is ridiculous!" she cried.

  "Shall I have him removed?" That was from Hurdy, his voice soothing.

  "Yes!" Fantine was already waving toward the guards, urging them to haul him away.

  "You do," cut in Marcus, "and I shall bring in the watch, Bow Street, all the holy men I can find, and any lord available to harass you for..." He struggled for some charge, however absurd. "For corrupting my sister!"

  Fantine snorted her disgust and one of the guards joined her in a stifled chuckle, but Hurdy did not respond. He eyed both Fantine and Marcus in a way that made Marcus distinctly nervous. Then the man abruptly leaned down and brushed aside the glass shards before resuming his seat.

  "Fanny was about to explain how I am doomed."
/>
  Fantine blinked, apparently having difficulty coming to grips with what had transpired. "But what about dinner?" she asked softly.

  "I have eaten my full," responded Hurdy congenially.

  "I will serve you all you want at home," said Marcus.

  Fantine groaned. "You cannot wish me to explain while he is here." She jerked her head contemptuously at Marcus.

  Marcus folded his arms and made sure his determination showed on his face. "I will not leave without her."

  "Oh, go away, old man!" she said. Then she swung back to Hurdy. "Toss him out on his ear!"

  Once again Hurdy looked at them, his light green eyes studying them with an unnerving intensity. Suddenly, he grinned. "No. He stays."

  "But why?" gasped Fantine, clearly outraged.

  "Because he annoys you."

  She gaped at him. She turned and glared at Marcus, who did his best to look smug. She took a deep breath, brushed the glass shards off the other chair, and plopped down, muttering with every movement.

  "Idiots, amateurs, every one of them!" She twisted to pin Marcus with her stare. "My guardian! Paugh!" She turned back to Hurdy. "Cannot even eat one lousy morsel. Harumph!"

  Marcus grinned. He could not help it. She was indeed quite delightful when riled. Then his smile quickly faded as she began speaking, her voice growing stronger with each word. Her irritation was still plain, but it was apparently fading as she warmed to her topic.

  "Very well, Hurdy, here is the problem. A lord comes to you and asks you to kill someone. The two of you agree on a price, and he goes away. You do not think to ask why he wants the man buried. You do not even think if killing the man will accomplish his purpose—"

  "That is his business."

  "No. The moment you accept the job, it is your business." Suddenly she leaned forward, her eyes alight with cunning. "Do you not see it? What happens if you kill Wilberforce and it turns out to ruin the man who hired you? Who will he blame?"

  Hurdy frowned, the expression sulky on his boyish face.

  "He will blame you, that's who," continued Fantine. "Then he will not pay you. Neither will he come back to you when he wants another cove killed."

  Hurdy fidgeted in his seat, clearly understanding the value of repeat customers. "But how am I t' know what the gent needs? All he said was he wanted Wilberforce dead."

  "You must think!" Fantine took a deep breath, sounding exasperated. She folded her arms, looking like a tutor outlining the simplest task for an inept student. "Let us start at the beginning. Who hired you to kill Wilberforce?"

  At those words, Marcus suddenly felt his body relax.

  Now he understood why Fantine had refused to escape with him. Whatever the reason she was first brought here, she had now turned the situation to her advantage. She intended to get the name of the man who had hired Hurdy to kill Wilberforce. Unfortunately, Hurdy was not stupid enough to give away such information easily.

  "What does Ballast call him?" he asked.

  Fantine hesitated only a moment. "He said you were hired by a man with three gold teggie," she said.

  "Then Teggie it is."

  Marcus kept his disappointment carefully hidden as Fantine continued, her expression still severe. "Very well. Now think. Why does Teggie want Wilberforce dead? Did you even ask?"

  Hurdy poured himself a new brandy, his expression carefully guarded. "Why do you think he does?"

  In other words, Marcus translated silently, he does not have the slightest idea.

  "Because of the bill against slavery, of course. Have you not read the broadsides?"

  Hurdy narrowed his eyes, but did not comment. Was it possible that the man could not read? Marcus wondered.

  "It will come to a vote soon, and Teggie probably thinks that if Wilberforce dies, the bill will fail miserably."

  Now it was Hurdy's turn to shrug. "So?"

  Fantine sighed, clearly exasperated. "So, he is wrong."

  Hurdy frowned. "Why?"

  "Why? Because he will simply turn Wilberforce into a martyr, everyone will vote for the bill or look like they had part of killing the poor sot, and who will the man blame? You, that's who." Fantine leaned forward again, gripping her knees as she pressed her last point home. "You will never see another quid from the man. He will take his business to Ballast instead."

  Hurdy's eyes glittered ominously as his cultured accent slipped. "I cannot 'elp it if the sod buys the wrong job."

  "No, but you can help show him the right job. Or rather," she added, leaning back in her chair, "I can."

  "No." Hurdy shook his head, his expression adamant. "You ain't gettin' in that easily."

  "Why not, Hurdy?" she asked softly, and suddenly Marcus noticed that she had shifted position. All she had done was subtly stretched out her legs, maybe turned her shoulders, but suddenly the curve of Fantine's breasts pressed more tightly against the fabric of her scandalous bodice.

  Marcus swallowed, remembering all too clearly how perfectly those breasts had fit in his hands not more than four hours ago. He saw Hurdy swallow as well, his gaze drawn to Fantine's assets. Then the lout's expression hardened as he pushed out of his chair.

  "I ain't no backstreet cull, Fanny," he snapped, his back to her. "If I wanted you, I could 'ave your legs spread right now."

  Though still wary, something inside Marcus relaxed at Hurdy's words. The criminal had not done Fantine any violence.

  "Yes, you could do a lot of things to me," Fantine countered. "But then I would never, ever help you."

  Hurdy spun around, his eyes like sharp chips of ice. "What do you want, Fanny?"

  "I want in," she answered. "You are right. Rat is unimportant. But me, now, I am different. I am looking to my future. You and Ballast have been fighting over the docks for years, and nobody is getting stronger. You both need someone who can help you expand your business."

  "You are that someone?" Hurdy asked.

  "Who else do you know with a daft lord in her pocket, a rich guardian willing to go through windows for her—"

  "'E is not yer guardian," cut in Hurdy.

  "He is whoever I say he is," returned Fantine, her voice equally cold. Then she continued speaking before Marcus could object. "I know the peers, the rich nobs, and the easy culls. I know what to ask, when, and how." She stood, stepping around the table to confront Hurdy eye-to-eye. "You need me, Hurdy. And I need a new start."

  Marcus stared at her, temporarily stunned. He had not expected this type of offer, and neither, apparently, had Hurdy. But both were considering it now, and well they should. From Hurdy's perspective, it was a good proposition, well reasoned and dead on the mark. The man did need some way to move up on Ballast, to expand beyond the rookeries to the real money of the upper crust. As for Fantine, anyone could see that her life as Rat would lead nowhere. She did need other options.

  The main question now was whether Fantine was sincere. She certainly seemed so, but she was an excellent actress. Of course she would seem sincere. Her life depended on it.

  The problem was that she seemed a little too sincere for Marcus. He wanted to believe she was simply finding out Teggie's identity. What better way than by infiltrating Hurdy's operations? But she was right. A connection between Hurdy and Fantine would be incredibly potent. As far as he could see, the only reason neither Hurdy nor Ballast had progressed in his crimes was that neither possessed the brainpower to do so.

  With Fantine's help, that would no longer be a problem.

  Marcus shook his head. She would not do that, he told himself. If nothing else, she would not betray Penworthy that way. But a little voice in his head questioned his conclusion.

  In short, he simply did not know. And that thought terrified him.

  For the first time since this began, Marcus lost the feeling that this was a game. A woman spy, an attempt on an MP, even their mad dash through Ballast's rookery had seemed more like a lark. Now it was real to him, perhaps because for the first time, Fantine seemed real.

&nbs
p; After all, what were her choices? An honest living in hell's kitchen, scraping by off whatever government jobs Penworthy could find for her? Or a very wealthy, easy life with Hurdy?

  Things did not look good for Penworthy or Wilberforce.

  Marcus had to give her another option. He had to offer her wealth and comfort without having her sell herself to Hurdy.

  He would have to make her his mistress.

  Then there was no more time for thought as Hurdy turned his attention to Marcus, pushing Fantine aside as he crossed the room. "Wot about you? Wot do you think?" he asked brusquely.

  Marcus frowned, not at all sure what he should answer. His own position here was tenuous. So he fell back on noblesse oblige.

  "I forbid it," he said flatly.

  "You cannot forbid anything," shot back Fantine.

  "I shall lock you in..." His voice trailed away at her arch look. True, she could pick any lock and escape any prison he was likely to devise. "It is sinful, Fantine," he said sternly. "Your immortal soul will burn in hell forever."

  "I be sore afraid," she mocked.

  He had not expected her to listen. Everything he said was pure nonsense, made up for Hurdy's benefit, and to give Marcus time to think. But his best thought was inept at best. He stepped forward and grasped Fantine's arms in an earnest plea. "You have other options," he said softly. "Come away with me."

  She looked up, and for a moment he detected a softening within her bronze eyes. Then it was gone. Her jaw firmed, her eyes grew cold, and she shoved him away.

  "I choose Hurdy," she said, her voice angry and curt. She turned to the criminal. "As a test, let me meet with Teggie, explain a better solution."

  "What solution?" That came from both Hurdy and Marcus at the same instant.

  "It is better to discredit Wilberforce. Then he cannot be a martyr and the bill will fail. Let me get him in a compromising position, set him up in my bed with... with Nameless and a couple of others. Think of it. The upstanding and moral Wilberforce caught diddling a couple o' boys."

  Marcus was thinking of it, and he cringed at the image. It would ruin the man, and that, he supposed, was exactly the point.