by Jade Lee
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"It is medicinal. My valet learned it in India."
His touch deepened, probing into her flesh, pushing out her pain as easily as if he lifted away a stone. His hands were most thorough as he worked down her spine before easing around her hips, his thumbs pressing deeply into the small of her back. She groaned, feeling both nervous and wonderful.
"Relax," he coaxed. "I will stop any time you wish."
She did not want him to stop. She knew what he intended. He could not seduce her with words, but he could with his touch. She had refused his cold business offer, but she was powerless against the sensuous textures of silk and heated flesh.
So she succumbed. Without even a token objection, she closed her eyes and accepted whatever would come. Before long, time ceased to have any meaning. He rubbed her legs and her feet, his touch firm and assured. When he gently rolled her onto her back, she helped him. When he began rubbing her shoulders, easing the nightgown down her arms, she made no demur. The silk slipped lower and lower until finally her breasts sprang free of the material, seemingly eager for his ministrations.
He continued as he had been doing, focusing on the muscles beneath the skin, using his thumbs to elongate the sinews. But as he worked, his fingers brushed ever closer to her taut nipples, until finally, he stroked over them.
She gasped, but it was only a small sound, lost amid the feelings he stirred. He repeated the motion, this time pinching the tender flesh slightly with his fingers. She moaned and arched her back slightly, hoping he would do it again.
He did. Again and again, his hands becoming firmer, more bold as he caressed her breasts.
Then he slid lower.
Though her breasts ached with longing he kept up the assault, spanning her waist with his hands before completely divesting her of her gown.
He spoke not a word, and neither did she. The only sound was her tiny gasps, her soft whimpers of hunger. Then he pressed his thumbs to the top of her thighs, barely brushing the secret folds between.
She bucked beneath him, feeling as if a spring had been released. Her legs were already open and hungry for his touch, so he leaned down to kiss her, not on her mouth, but on her belly, which trembled beneath his lips. She felt his body, lean and hard, as he stretched up along the left side of her. It was not until she felt the ticklish brush of his chest hairs that she realized he had stripped off his shirt.
Opening her eyes in surprise, she gazed at the broad expanse of his shoulders. The candlelight sculpted his lean form with golden light and shadows. Unable to stop herself, she touched his body gently. His skin was soft beneath the dusting of blond hair, and she gloried in the different textures over the corded strength of his muscles.
She looked up at him then, trying to meet his gaze, but seeing only dark pools of shadow. She moved her hand higher, tracing the coarse line of his chin, the hard lift to his cheek, until finally resting on the dark blush of his lips. Never before had she been able to simply touch a man as she willed.
Then he lowered his head and kissed her mouth.
His kiss was slow, measured, patient, but she could feel the tension that gripped him, the power he restrained for her sake. He wanted more. She felt his desire like a hot brand against her thigh, and without conscious thought, she rubbed against him.
A groan rumbled through his body as his tongue pushed deep within her. She allowed his entrance, absorbing him, reveling in him with a wild abandon completely foreign to her nature.
Then he pulled back. It was a momentary pause, a second or two when he looked down at her, his eyes hungry, his lips curled in a triumphant smile. In that instant, she remembered other looks, other men. The creaking rhythm of her mother's bed echoed in her thoughts. Over and over, night after night, while Fantine hated her. Hated him. Hated every part of that life.
Yet here she was lying naked beneath Marcus, her body still wet and aching. Twenty minutes ago, she'd flatly refused to be his mistress. Twelve hours before, she'd sworn never to let him touch her again. Yet here she lay, a whore just like her mother.
Marcus lowered his lips to her, kissing her neck with tiny bites that sizzled along her skin. But everything was different.
"Now I know why my mother was so eager to sell herself," she said, her voice crude.
He reared backward, his body jerking as if slapped. "Is that what this is to you? Just a..." His words stopped as if choked off.
"A dockside diddle?" she asked in her coarsest accent. "Wot else could it be? Ye ain't about t' offer marriage. Oi suppose ye ain't expecting t' pay, but then ye gave me dinner an' wine. Oi's guessin' this'll make us abo' even."
If she thought he was angry before, it was nothing compared to now. She felt his fist twist on her belly. Never before had she seen such dark and potent anger, and suddenly she was afraid as she never had been around Ballast or Hurdy.
"Marcus?" She hated the tremor in her voice, but she could not stop it.
"Do not cringe from me now," he said softly. "You have stated the rules here, not I." Then he reached forward, grabbing a handful of her hair. "If a dockside diddle is all you want, then it shall be all you get."
She had no time to react as he suddenly threw himself on top of her. She gasped as his weight pushed her into the mattress. His hips were hard, his desire blatant as he unerringly found her center despite the barrier of his clothing.
It was both terrifying and wonderful, and she spread her legs without thought, drawing up her knees to pull him deeper.
He groaned, the sound guttural and anguished. He thrust against her once, hard and fast. She met the motion with a push of her own, unable to stop herself.
Then suddenly, he spun away. He threw himself off of her to land with a thud on his feet, his back to her. She heard his breathing, heavy in the still night, and it was matched by her own shuddering inhalation.
"I want you, Fantine," he said harshly. "I want to bury myself in you every night until you stop haunting my dreams." He slammed his fist against the table, rattling the cutlery. "But I cannot buy you. God help me, I cannot do it that way."
Fantine pulled her legs together, pulling the blanket over her body as she stared at his rigid back. "What is it you want?" Her cockney accent had slipped away, but she did not care. "You cannot wish for marriage. Not with me."
Suddenly he turned around, his expression like that of a wolf, lean and hungry, but he held back, and she saw the muscles in his arms ripple with the effort.
"I already told you. I want you as my mistress, Fantine. Let me find you a place to live. I will shower you with finery, jewels, anything. I will come to you whenever I can."
She looked at him, shaking her head, not in answer, but as she fought to understand. "And that is not buying me? How is that different from tonight? From a tumble against a wet wall in the rookeries?"
"I do not know!" he cried out. "I only know that it is different."
"No," she returned. "It is not." She pushed the hair out of her eyes, ashamed of the tears that wet her fingertips. "Why do you want me so badly, Marcus? You are everywhere I go, touching me, using my body against me like some conqueror. I am not a disease to be purged from your body. Nor am I a salve for your pain. Why can you not just leave me alone?"
"Because I need you. I do not know why, but I do."
She stared at him, blinking away the tears that made her vision hazy. "Why cannot someone want me for just me? I am not Penworthy's passport to heaven or Wilberforce's savior or even your escape from pain. I am merely myself. Until someone can see me as I am, I shall stay in the rookeries and make my own life as my own mistress."
He stepped toward her, dropping to one knee as he grasped her hand. The posture was heartfelt and lover-like, and Fantine flinched at the sight. He looked as if he would propose, and yet she knew the truth.
"You deserve a better life," he urged.
Fantine lifted her chin, her memories of her mother's life clear in her mind. "So I shou
ld become your slave, imprisoned in lush finery, dependent upon your beck and call, forced to submit to whatever you wish, whenever you wish?"
"It would not be like that!"
She shrugged, her feelings dying away as she heard the familiar words. Every protector, every man who wished to enter her mother's bed, had said the same words, voiced the same thought. With me, they claimed, it will be different.
Except that it never was different. Unless it was worse.
"I will not be owned by anyone."
"Sweet heaven, Fantine—"
"No!" She jerked out of the bed, pulling open the wardrobe and snatching up her newly pressed and repaired maid's clothing. She pulled it on with quick, efficient movements. "I cannot do it. You are cruel to ask me to."
She did not look up until she was fully clothed.
And alone.
Chapter 9
Marcus heard her leave. He doubted anyone else could have heard her steps or the soft thud of the door as she left. She was as silent as a whisper, but he seemed to be attuned to her every movement, seeing it in his mind even if she was not before his eyes.
Her skin would be flushed, not with passion now, but anger. At herself for offering him her body. At him for wanting to have it all the time.
He had his own full supply of fury as well. He should have just taken her. She would have enjoyed it. Sweet heaven, her legs had been wrapped around him, drawing him to her. He closed his eyes, groaning at the memory of her body gripping him tight.
He was a fool. A besotted fool because he still wanted her even though she had left him, laughed off his money and his passion. And for what? A life in the rookeries.
Until someone can see me as I am, I shall stay in the rookeries and make my own life as my own mistress.
He didn't understand her at all. Whom did he want but her? Whom did he see but her? What did she want? It was not money. He had offered to shower her with jewels. It was not his title. She knew he couldn't marry her. He couldn't do that to his family. And yet she didn't even want passion. She'd had to be cornered, threatened, and seduced before her desire flowed like a river.
Damn! Why had he stopped? Perhaps it was vanity, but he wanted her to choose him, to knowingly come into his arms.
But how? What power did he have over her that she would pick him over her current life? What could he do that would bring her to him?
* * *
"Just 'ow long do you intends t' sleep, Fanny?"
Fantine rolled over in her bed and groaned, refusing to look at the redheaded girl pestering her.
"Aw, please, Fanny. Jes a little time. Please?"
Fantine grimaced as she peered out from under her pillow. She had made it home just before dawn and had collapsed on her bed. Her sleep had been restless, haunted by sultry dreams that left her achy, uncomfortable, and randy. Now only a few hours later, the window in her tiny room was filled with sunshine and Louise, a pesky twelve-year-old, was intent on rousting her.
She sighed, stretching underneath her covers.
"Feelin' stiff?" asked the girl.
Fantine shook her head, cataloguing her ailments with morbid curiosity. Firmly ignoring aches associated with her erotic dreams, she landed on three identifiable and acceptable pains: Her feet hurt, her head ached, and she was very, very thirsty.
"Water." She croaked out the word, and Louise was quick to accommodate. Her tiny body leaped across the room to a pitcher of tepid water on the floor. She pirouetted once, then filled a cup before bounding back. Anyone else would have spilled liquid from here to the docks, but Louise balanced the cup flawlessly before presenting it to Fantine.
"Master Fouchet wants more money," Louise said.
Fantine let her head drop back onto her pillow, understanding now why her friend had woken her this morning. "Cannot your father pay the dancing master for once?" she said. "He must see how good you are."
Louise shook her head. "All 'e sees is that you ain't paid yer bill in months an' Fanny ain't been working in the pub neither. The last thing 'e wants is to lose me too. Somebody's got t' serve the drinks."
"What happened to the money you made in the last show?"
"It went t' make the costume fer the new performance. Remember?"
"I remember," Fantine said dully. In truth, she did not recall a thing about it, but Louise was the most practical girl she'd even known. If she spent her money on something other than a costume, it was probably more dance training or as a bribe to get into another ballet. Either way, it was money well spent.
"Take the money in the pocket of the maid's dress," Fantine said. "And tell your father I will work tonight." She would have to, she thought sadly as her stomach rumbled in hunger. It was the only way she would eat tonight.
Louise wandered over to the maid's gown and made a show of rooting through the pockets. Fantine sighed, seeing through her friend's deception. The girl had probably already pocketed the money while Fantine slept.
"Never mind, Louise. Come tell me what you have heard."
"Aw!" she cried with an excited little hop. "It be all over the rookeries that Rat is a girl! I figure a week afore Ballast figures you as Fanny the barmaid too, an' then wot? Father won't 'elp you. He's got enough trouble wi'out fighting Ballast."
Fantine let her eyes drift shut. The walls were closing in, her options slowly dwindling. Ballast would kill her because she'd escaped him one too many times, and Sprat would not help until she got him into Harrow. Hurdy had given her a few days' grace, but that was all. If he found out that she'd been doing work for the Crown, he would kill her for sure. He would know she was using him to discover Teggie's identity.
She could go to Penworthy. Her father could get her out of London if necessary, but the rookeries were her life. What would she do if she was not here? Gardening and stitchery were not for her. Plus, how would Louise pay for dance lessons or Nameless and his gang get food?
Then there was her obligation to Wilberforce. She had promised to stop Teggie. She could not just run off and leave the MP to his fate.
"Tell me about the ball."
Fantine blinked. She had forgotten Louise's presence. "Hmm? Oh, it was nice," she said blandly. "There were lots of beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen. They danced the night away." She pushed aside the covers, groaning as her muscles protested the movement.
"Fanny!" Louise exclaimed. "Tell me it all."
Fantine spun around, exhaustion making her curt. "It was the same as every other ball."
Louise narrowed her eyes. "No," she said slowly, "it was not. The daft lord was there." Louise sashayed over, her face dimpled with delight. "Do you like 'im? Does 'e make yer toes curl when you kiss?"
"What would you know of toes curling, missy?"
Louise's face became dreamy. "Only wot I see and 'ear. Aw, come on, tell me about it."
Fantine sighed, knowing she would have no peace until she explained reality to her romantic friend. So she plopped back on her bed and stated the facts baldly. "He kissed me and he touched me, and then he asked me to be his mistress."
"Coo!" Louise's eyes were filled with wonder. "Imagine! A lord's fancy piece!"
Fantine gritted her teeth, appalled by her friend's reaction. "But I cannot do that! He wants to keep me in a room, always at his beck and call. Think, Louise, what if you got a protector who wanted to keep you from dancing. What would you do?"
The girl's face split into a sudden impish grin. "Why, but that be part o' the deal from the outset. Coo, love, jes make it clear from the beginning wot you want. Then milk 'im fer the jewels an' rent, an' in a few months you'll be rich!"
Fantine shook her head. "I cannot."
"Wot else can ye do? Ballast will be 'ere soon and wi'out money for a new place—"
"No!" Fantine pushed off of the bed. "I will think of something else." As she paced the room, she felt the girl's gaze following her. The feeling became heavier until finally Fantine spun in anger. "What?"
Louise's gaze did not wav
er. "You be in love with 'im."
"Pray do not be ridiculous," she snapped.
"Well, you like 'im a lot." Louise fell forward on the bed, kicking up her heels behind her and dropping her head on her hands. "Did 'e bring you to completion?"
Fantine actually stumbled, she was so shocked. "What?"
Louise smiled. "You said 'e touched you, an' Mary says a girl always falls fer the man 'oo brings 'er t' completion for the first time."
Fantine did not know how to respond, so she turned away. "You spend too much time with Mary."
Louise stiffened. "Mary is a good whore, an' she says I cain learn a lot from 'er."
"You will be a dancer."
"An' unless I get more money t' bribe me way into the company, I will 'ave to whore too."
"But—"
"Coo, Fanny!" interrupted the girl, clearly exasperated. "Whoring is th' only thing for girls like us. Might as well be wi' someone rich 'oo can make us 'appy."
Fantine dropped into her only chair and stared at the cold fire grate. "You are too cynical for your age," she said softly.
Louise snorted in disgust. "An' I never thought you were this foolish. 'Oo is the daft lord? 'As 'e got a title?"
"Chadwick will be an earl some day."
"Coo," she said, shaking her head. "An earl." Then she abruptly hopped up off the bed, her expression canny. "Do not forget Father wants 'is rent," she called.
Fanny sat up, warning bells ringing in her head. "Louise?" But it was too late. The girl was gone.
* * *
"My lord, a young... miss wishes an audience."
Marcus handed his hat to his butler and scanned the empty drawing room to his right. "Who is it?"
Norton merely raised one impeccable eyebrow. "As to that, sir, she would not say. I have put her in the rose parlor." He gestured to the parlor in the back of the house.
Marcus frowned, impatient with this latest distraction. He had just spent the last two hours with his sister, alternately begging, cajoling, and threatening, only to be met with grudging success. It had been exhausting and had cost him quite a bit of his pride, but with luck, his plan would succeed.