by Jade Lee
Now all he wanted was to find Fantine, not waste time on some lost miss. But there was no hope for it. The girl was here, and the sooner he removed her from his home, the better.
"Very well," he said as he headed for the parlor.
"Shall I send for tea?" Norton inquired.
"Heavens, no," Marcus exclaimed. "I doubt the lady will be staying that long."
He strode purposefully toward the back of the house, schooling his expression into a severe frown. But as he pushed open the door, he felt his jaw go slack with astonishment.
There, silently spinning in his parlor, was a young girl with a diminutive figure and shocking red hair. She stopped as soon as the door opened, dropping lightly to her feet. She had taken pains with her attire, no doubt dressing up in her mother's clothing since the bodice gaped above her modest chest. Her skirt was hiked up to reveal trim, youthful ankles nearly blue with the chill.
"Good Lord, girl, where are your stockings?" he asked.
She flushed slightly, then stepped forward, watching him with bright hazel eyes. "Hello, guv," she said in what would have been a low, sultry voice had she been a few years older. As it was, it sounded more like a girl with a cold than an alluring woman. "I understand you are in need o' a mistress."
Marcus frowned. He had sent Paolina her congè the very day he'd met Fantine. But that did not explain how this... urchin knew of his circumstances. He stepped farther into the room, settling himself on a leather chair as he spoke.
"What makes you think I am seeking someone?"
He had no more than sunk into the cushion when the child literally bounded across the room to drop neatly into his lap. "Wot does it matter, ducks? I be 'ere an' you be wantin'." Then she began wiggling in a most inappropriate manner.
"Please!" He nearly shot straight up out of his chair. As it was, he simply threw her off his lap. She landed sweetly on her feet in an oddly balletic maneuver, then turned coyly and gave him a wink. "Fanny said yer might loike me."
Marcus leaned forward. "Fantine sent you?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing a pure innocent red that was quite becoming despite the layers of powder. "Yes, Fantine sent me." She made an effort to smooth out her accent. "But, why should we speak o' 'er? Tell me wot you loike in bed, ducks."
"What!" he exclaimed, though the sound came out more as a squeak than a word.
"I cain do wotever you wants." She stretched one leg above her. Then, in an amazing feat of agility, she spun around and would have landed on his lap if he had not jumped out of the way.
"Guv!" she exclaimed in dismay. Marcus ignored her, moving to the sideboard. He definitely needed a brandy. She started toward him again, but he held up a hand, his expression stern.
"What is your name?"
"Louise," she answered.
"Very well, Louise, despite what Fantine may have told you, I am not in need of a mistress just now."
He could see the disappointment in her whole body. She drooped, her entire frame melting in disappointment.
"But," he hastened, "I do need some information. Perhaps we could make an arrangement."
She straightened, and he caught the flash of interest in her eyes. "Wot does you need? I knows all sorts o' things."
"I am sure you do," he said. He took a step forward, intending to return to his chair, but on second thought decided to remain standing. She was much too quick and way too determined. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to see him being fondled by a girl barely into puberty.
"What do you know of Fantine?" he asked.
She wrinkled her pert nose. "Aw, she will no' be yer mistress, guv. I talked and talked to 'er, but she ain't never wanted that sort o' life."
"Never?" Marcus pressed.
Louise shook her head. "Never." Then she hopped off the couch and pirouetted toward him. "I, on the other 'and—"
"Stay right there, young lady!" Marcus cringed at his own tone. He sounded just like his father. Louise merely shrugged, then minced about the room in tiny, intricate steps while Marcus tried to keep a large piece of furniture between himself and her.
"How do you know Fantine?"
"She lives wi' me."
Marcus took a deep breath. At last, someone who knew exactly where he could find Fantine. "Could you take me to her?"
Louise turned her shrug into a stylized gesture to the sky. "Fer a price."
Marcus nodded, already reaching into his pocket for some coins. He tossed her a guinea. "Where and when?"
"Depends on wot you want 'er for."
"I do not understand."
"If you wants 'er as Rat, she be out an' about wi' Nameless now. If you wants 'er as Fanny, she'll be at me father's pub tonight 'elping wi' the customers. If you wants 'er in yer bed..." Louise did a shimmy that slipped her bodice lower on one shoulder. "Then, you best think about me."
Marcus shook his head and used two fingers stretched across the back of a chair to gingerly slip her clothing back onto her shoulder. "I want to see Fantine. Alone."
"Awake or asleep?" She moved abruptly so that he suddenly found his fingers brushing the side of the padding that was supposed to be her breast. He pulled back as if burned.
"Awake," he said firmly.
She shrugged. "She ain't never alone an' awake."
Marcus frowned. Never alone except when she slept? She did not seem as if she would crave constant company. In fact, he got the distinct impression that, like him, she valued silence. "What is she doing all that time?"
Louise twisted sideways, folding her arms irritably across her chest before balancing up on her toes. "An' when is she supposed t' be alone wi'out workin'? She be two months late on t' rent now an' I swear Nameless an' 'is boys eat more than a brigade. 'Ow she going t' pay fer that wi'out working?"
Marcus leaned forward, resting his arms against the back of the leather chair while his mind raced. "Is Fantine in debt?"
"Everyone be in debt in the rookeries."
"How much does she owe? Is it more than she has?" He stepped around the chair. "Take me to her room."
Finally, for the first time, Louise froze. "Why should I?"
"What do you want?"
She grinned. "More than you 'ave, guv. But for now I will settle for dance lessons. Lots an' lots an' lots o' lessons!"
"Done," he said despite his surprise. He'd expected demands for money, jewelry, even pretty clothing. But dance lessons? That was so very... practical. Money would eventually disappear, but the training he could buy her might save her from a hard and harsh life. "Were dance lessons Fantine's idea?"
The girl's nod turned into a stylized bow. "Father does no' know, but she 'as been paying for lessons with Master Fouchot. She says I should look for something other than whoring."
"She is right."
Louise lifted up on her toes before arching into a back-bend. "I think I'd like being a mistress—all them fancy jewels an' the like. Though I cain't think I would want the men about the pub. Mary, she be the pub whore, she says it be easy money, an' they ain't so bad if'n ye plug yer nose...."
She continued to chat while Marcus discovered he quite liked the girl. He even bargained over her fee with relish. It was not until he opened the door and nearly tripped over Bentley that he realized his staff was likely agog at the thought of their priggish master bargaining with a child prostitute. He ought to be mortified.
Instead, he grinned at his secretary's austere expression. "Bentley. Excellent. Please cancel all my appointments for the next few days. I find I shall be quite occupied. Good day."
Then he did something entirely foreign to his nature. He winked at his man of affairs. When that stiff gentleman forgot himself so much as to let his jaw drop, Marcus actually laughed.
Out loud.
Chapter 10
Nothing.
Five hours of trudging through the London streets. Five hours of Rat talking with every whore, sot, and street rat. Five long, wearisome hours, and Fantine had learned absolutely not
hing about Teggie. Waiting for word from Hurdy would drive her mad, but her own investigation had proved fruitless.
And now she had another nine hours of work in the pub beneath her flat.
She groaned as she sidestepped a retching drunkard. Right now, life as a pampered mistress tempted her as nothing else. Just the thought of resting in a hot, perfumed bath made her knees go weak. She would have a glass of expensive champagne nearby and a maid holding a heated towel. Then Marcus would come kiss her, caressing her face, her shoulders, her...
She slammed down hard on her thoughts. She knew where they led. Before long, she would be running straight toward Marcus and the life he offered, despite what it would cost her. It was a useless path and a useless life, and she would not do it.
No matter how much part of her longed for it.
With a dispirited sigh, she climbed the steps to her tiny room on the third floor. She pushed open the door and encountered both her greatest wish and her deepest fear.
Marcus.
He was real this time, not some vivid image brought up from her overactive imagination. His broad shoulders and warm smile dominated her tiny room, and she was relieved to finally confront him in the flesh rather than as a ghost in her thoughts. Still, she dealt with the living man the same way she handled the specter.
"Go away."
"'Ello, Rat," chirped Louise, as she rooted through Fantine's stack of whore's clothing. The girl held up a particularly thin dress of brilliant scarlet. "Guess wot. I am t' be 'is lordship's mistress!"
Fantine did not respond except to feel a chill invade her body. Marcus and Louise? The cold fury was enough to shake her out of her stupor. But then Marcus abruptly spun around.
"You are not, and well you know it!" he snapped at the girl.
"We 'ave an arrangement," continued Louise to Fantine. "'E will pay for me lessons!"
Fantine turned her gaze to Marcus, noting his flushed cheeks and his agitated expression, while Louise sashayed about, the scarlet dress swinging with her movements.
"It were just a one-timer. Or maybe..." Louise shot a coy glance at Marcus. "Whenever 'e 'as something 'e wants. But for that, I gets a year o' lessons!"
"Louise!" Marcus snapped as he hastily turned toward Fantine. "Do not even think that I would take this... this child as my mistress—"
"Child!" exploded Louise, thoroughly insulted.
Fantine closed her eyes, relief mixing with weariness. She dropped heavily onto her bed. "Go away."
"Yes, Louise," Marcus said firmly. "Go away."
The girl huffed as only a preadolescent can, then did a pirouette out the door.
"Good Lord," he said, as he firmly closed the door behind her, "is she always so energetic?"
"Actually," Fantine responded dully, "she seems a little tired today."
"As do you."
Fantine opened her eyes. "Oh, la," she said in her dockside accent. "You do know 'ow t' turn a girl's 'ead." She stood up slowly, pulling a long dagger from her shirtsleeve. "Now get out."
Marcus did not move. "I need to talk to you."
"Out!" She waved her knife threateningly at him. She did not want him so near. Not when she felt so tired, so vulnerable.
"I have been many things around you," Marcus said casually as he leaned against the door. "Amazed, outraged, embarrassed, even horrified. But I have never been frightened. Not by you. I do not think you will hurt me. You would have done so long before now."
"Do not be so sure, guv," she said. He moved for her, intending to grab the knife. It was a quick movement, but she had seen it coming. Without thinking, she threw and had the satisfaction of seeing her knife sink just where she aimed.
In the wall, a bare inch from his nose.
She smiled, expecting to hear an outraged diatribe from him. Then he would storm out of her room without a backward glance.
Instead, he grinned at her as he pulled the dagger out of the wall. "I knew you would not hurt me. Now, may we discuss a few things, please?"
Fantine looked at him with surprise. Could he truly have read her so well? She studied him, seeing determination in the hard set to his jaw and the implacable gaze in his blue eyes. How much could she fight him?
The answer was painfully clear. She could not. It was not that he was so handsome he made her knees go weak. He was, but he had always been so. It was not that he had come through their adventures together stronger, more noble, and more human than any of the peerage had a right to be. He had, but she had given him her grudging respect a long time ago.
It was simply that he was too determined, too unwilling to leave her alone. Expediency suggested she should let him have his say.
At least that is what she told herself. It could not possibly be that his presence, his voice, even the gentleness in his gestures were comforting on a day when she felt she had not a prayer of solving half the problems she faced.
"What do you wish to say, Marcus?"
"Only that you are in trouble. Louise told me you owe rent. How long have you been feeding Nameless and his gang of boys?"
She shrugged. "As long as they needed food, and I needed information. It is a good trade."
"Yes. Penworthy told me when you're desperate enough, you accept money from him. Neither of us understands this stubbornness, you know."
"He pays me for my services," she said stiffly. Then she recoiled, knowing her mother used to claim the same thing regarding entirely different services. Did everything come back to whoring?
"But you cannot go to Penworthy now," Marcus continued. "He is in Bath recuperating in the waters there."
Fantine felt her stomach clench. "He's gone?" She had already planned to ask for an advance on her payment for protecting Wilberforce. "When will he return?"
"At least a fortnight. Maybe more."
Fourteen days? She had given her last copper to Nameless this morning. What would she do for fourteen days?
Then Marcus continued, his voice compassionate even as he delineated her problems with the cold efficiency of a tally sheet. "Let us not forget Ballast," he said. "Even if you do get Sprat into Harrow, he may not forgive you. What will you do if Sprat fails or is sent down? Ballast will kill you then, and we both know it."
Fantine stood, feeling vulnerable sitting still. "I can handle Ballast," she said with false bravado. "And Sprat will not get sent down. He is too smart." Still, Marcus had just added another fear to her growing list, and she was mortified to see her hands tremble.
"All right then," Marcus said as he stepped up behind her, "what about Hurdy? You will have to prove yourself to him. There are worse things than whoring. A lot worse. He will ask you to do one of them."
She spun around, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "Have you come to offer me money? In exchange for what? You already know I would rather die than be trapped by any master."
He dropped his hands onto her shoulders, his touch firm, his heat welcome, but Fantine did not make the mistake of thinking it a lover's touch. This was something more harsh, more businesslike than ever before. She was both disappointed and relieved by the change.
"You need to leave the rookeries," he said. "For a while. You can gather your resources against Ballast and prepare for Hurdy. More importantly, it will give you time to find Teggie."
"I—" she began, but he was quicker.
"Just listen," he said. "You won't be my mistress. Very well. But your father wants you to have a Season. He has even provided an acceptable portion for you."
"No..." Fantine whispered. No one beyond Penworthy and her mother had ever used the word "father" to her before. To hear Marcus use the word—and so easily—reverberated deep inside her.
He continued as if unaware of what he was doing to her. "My sister has agreed to bring you out as a genteel family friend. As a debutante, you will be able to move about society. Neither Ballast nor Hurdy will look for you there." He touched her chin, lifting her gaze up to his. "You will be safe."
She shook her hea
d, but no words formed. Everything moved too fast. She couldn't think. Could barely breathe. And yet everything he said made sense.
Suddenly releasing her, Marcus stepped away, leaving her feeling bereft. "You have done all you can in the rookeries. It is time to move your investigations elsewhere. Unless..." He paused. "Will you allow me to take over the investigation?"
"No."
"Then a coming-out is your only choice."
Fantine sank back against the cold, damp wall, the truth choking her even as she whispered it. "I can't."
"Why?"
She took a deep breath. Dare she tell him the truth? She turned away, forcing herself to admit something she tried to hide from even herself.
"I am not one of you," she said. "I have tried, but I can't be. Penworthy sent me to schools. Many of them. All with beautiful flowers and good food and coal in the winter." She fell silent, remembering those days. She had been so young, so hopeful that at last she had a life she could trust.
"What happened?"
"I was hated and miserable every minute of every day."
Marcus frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the memories twisting together in her mind. She looked down at her rough hands, seeing the dirt and the calluses, the cracks in her skin from the cold. "They laughed at my hands," she said softly. "They mocked everything about me. I did not speak correctly. I walked like a farmhand and ate like a pig. I could not even brush my hair as a lady did. Nothing about me was right."
Not even her name.
She heard Marcus sigh as he settled down beside her on the mattress. "Surely there was something you enjoyed there, someone you befriended." His words were as much a hope as a statement, and she nodded, remembering the one person she had talked with.
"There was a girl. Phoebe. She was quiet and shy and nearly as tormented as I. I thought we would be friends." She lifted her gaze from her lap, seeing not the damp walls of her room but a tiny blond girl, as delicate as a china doll. "She was the only one who made my life bearable."
"What happened?"
Fantine closed her eyes. It had been so small a thing. Nothing important. "One day she asked me about my name. She thought it was so unusual, and so I told her. In truth, it was not her fault that the others found out. She was never strong and could not keep silent when the others pressed her for my secrets."