by Jade Lee
She felt Marcus shift uneasily. "I do not understand. What secret? Fantine is a lovely name."
She shook her head. "But Fantine is not really my name." She pushed up from the bed, needing to walk as she spoke. "My mother was an actress with little time for a child. Her pregnancy was merely an interruption in her career, a time when it was nearly impossible to make any money. When I was finally born, she left me in care of a servant and returned immediately to the stage."
She glanced back at Marcus, shrugging as if it were of little importance. He simply watched her, his blue eyes steady, his expression sympathetic.
Eventually she found the strength to continue.
"She called me Enfant. 'Infant' in French. When I was six, I demanded a real name. I wasn't just her nameless baby."
"So you picked Fantine?"
"I picked Christina, but she could not remember it. In the end, we settled on Fantine because it was close enough to enfant for her to remember." She heard the bitterness in her own voice, but she could not stop it. She turned away, rubbing her hands against her arms. She felt so cold.
Beside her, she heard Marcus stir, but she drew away. She had to finish before she let him touch her.
"You told Phoebe," he said, his voice gentle. "And she told the others." He sighed. "Children can be so cruel."
She nodded, hearing the compassion in his voice. "I stood it as long as I could, but in the end I came back to the rookeries. Names mean less than nothing here."
She fell silent, closing her eyes against the memories, blocking them from her mind as best she could. It was over. It no longer mattered.
"And the other schools?"
"I never stayed long enough to find out."
Marcus enfolded her in his arms, his touch gentle, his warmth so comforting. She let her head settle against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and relishing the feeling of his arms about her.
Then he spoke, his words low and angry with a suppressed violence that surprised her. "Penworthy should have claimed you. No matter what it did to his career." He took a deep breath that shuddered as he released it. "I am glad he is in Bath, now. I think I would kill him if he were here."
Fantine twisted in his arms, turning to look at him, and marveling at the vehemence in his expression. He understood. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his caress. He knew why she chose to live in the rookeries, why she stubbornly clung to her independence here. And why she feared returning to the very society that had tormented her so before.
She touched his face, still awed that he could be enraged for her sake. He caught her fingers in one hand, drawing them to his lips for a kiss.
"I will do anything to protect you," he vowed, his very tone of voice sending chills through her. "You will not go through that again. I swear it."
She did not answer, but inside she felt a change. It was as if his words brought a release she had not expected. Her childhood anger dissipated. The hatred was brushed away with his touch, and at last she believed her own words.
It was over. Her childhood no longer mattered.
"Thank you," she said softly. She leaned forward, breathing deeply of his scent and closing her eyes. He held her there, cradling her in his arms, giving her more comfort than she thought possible. But in the end, even he could not change the truth.
"Dress me any way you like," she said. "I will still be a bastard reared in the rookeries. I cannot act the part of a brainless debutante." She reached forward, spreading her hands across his chest as she spoke, letting her desperation fill her expression. "Can you not simply give me the resources to cover my debts? That will buy me the time I need. I will repay you as soon as Penworthy pays me."
She felt his shuddering inhale. "I cannot."
His words hit her like a physical blow. "But why?"
"Because your father wants you to have a Season. He wants to atone for his sins. You cannot have a better life if I give you the means to stay in the rookeries."
Fantine gritted her teeth in frustration. She had thought she had settled this with Penworthy years ago. "You cannot think that a nameless bastard will find a place in society."
"But this time Penworthy has given you his name."
Fantine jerked, her jaw going slack in astonishment. Could it be true? "He intends to acknowledge me?"
Then she saw the regret on Marcus's face and knew it was not so. "He would, if you wish it. But you know it will destroy his career. And it will not help you to be labeled a bastard."
She swallowed bitter tears, knowing Marcus told the truth.
"He has put about that you are his niece, the only child of his brother and sister-in-law."
Fantine frowned. "The couple who died from a lung ailment years ago?"
"Yes. You will be Miss Fantine Drake."
Fantine pushed away, kicking absently at her pile of Rat's clothing. "More lies. More make-believe parents."
He did not answer at first. When he did speak, his tone was more forceful, more urgent. "You have promised Hurdy you know the rules of the upper crust. Perhaps now would be a good time to learn them."
She hesitated, silently acknowledging his point. "You will teach me?"
"Yes."
"You will help me establish an identity, a means of traveling about through the ton?"
"Absolutely."
She took a deep breath, mulling over her options once again. If she went with Marcus, she would create a new identity for herself, someone to become after Ballast discovered Fanny. Perhaps she could not maintain the persona for long. It was quite possible that the haute ton would see through her charade in a moment. But she could not afford to let the opportunity disappear. Especially as her two identities as Rat and Fanny were nearly played out.
But before she agreed, she had to be sure. She pinned Marcus with her steady regard. "What do you want in return?"
She felt him hesitate. She knew what he wanted—her in his bed. But she would not make it part of their arrangement. Perhaps, she thought, she was learning from Louise. Establish what you want from the beginning.
"Come, Marcus. What do you expect in return?" she repeated.
"You must let me be your guide. You must listen explicitly to what my sister and I tell you and not disobey us. We will explain as best we can, but there are many things that are simply nonsense, but must be performed nevertheless. Do you understand? You must listen to me."
"I will not go to your bed."
Once again, he touched her face, leaving a trail of fire wherever his finger wandered. "I am done seeking answers where there are none. You are not a disease for me to purge or a salve for my pain," he said, repeating the very words she had used against him last night.
"Then what am I to you?"
He shook his head as if even he did not know. "You are more than I ever expected, and I wish to learn more of you than can be found in a bedroom." He frowned, struggling with his words. "I swear I will not ask for more than you are willing to give."
She smiled, relieved by his words even though she barely understood them. "Then I agree. I will go to your sister's."
He smiled his relief, his shoulders easing down while his eyes began to sparkle. He looked so handsome that she was not at all surprised when she found herself stretching up for his kiss.
Chapter 11
She wasn't surprised to find herself asking for his kiss, but he apparently was. His eye8s widened and he tilted his head in confusion. She smiled, unable to resist teasing him.
"Are you refusing me?" she asked.
"Good God, no!" he exclaimed. Then he leaned down, but he did not take her lips. He lifted his hand, brushing his fingertips across her jaw. She felt the whisper of heat along her cheek. "You constantly surprise me," he whispered. "No soul—man or woman—has ever fascinated me so."
She stretched up to meet him, opening herself to his invasion. Arching into his embrace, she ran her hands through his silky curls and pressed herself against the muscular wall of
his chest.
Even through the barriers of their clothing, she felt his shudder. As she reveled in the stroke and parry of his tongue, his hands pulled at her shirt, lifting it out of her breeches so that he could touch beneath the fabric, stroking her lower back. But above her belly, her breasts were bound, and when he reached higher, all he could do was stroke across her tips. She moaned softly, feeling her body tighten beneath the rough fabric.
She barely even noticed when he opened her shirt. Then she was the one who stripped it away, revealing the tight swath of fabric that restricted her breathing. Breaking from her lips, Marcus tugged at the edge of her binding, tucked in the flattened valley between her breasts. Then he unwound her slowly, kissing her shoulders, her collarbone, and even lower, as inch by inch her body was revealed to him.
"Marcus..." she began, but he silenced her with a kiss. Abandoning the binding, he pressed her backward into the bed, and she sank willingly into the thin mattress. The cloth was loose enough that he could torment her with every movement, as he pulled and pushed it across her breasts.
She had meant to say something. Something about timing and location and how she had just said she would not be his mistress, but she lost those words now. She was beyond caring for her problems or his plans, beyond thought other than the need to feel his hands on her breasts, his lips across their peaks, his body between her thighs.
She wanted him. And from the ardor in his touch, his need was equally strong.
"Fine bit o' attention from a guardian, I'd say."
Fantine froze, forcibly expanding her attention beyond herself and the man on her bed. Shifting her gaze, she saw Sprat leaning against the wall, an adolescent leer on his face.
Above her, Marcus cursed audibly, rolling off of her in a single lithe movement, landing easily in a defensive posture. Fantine would have done the same if it had not been for the loosened bindings. As it was, she scrambled to her feet, the cloth gripped in one hand.
"What do you want, Sprat?" she asked, as she quickly rewound the fabric.
"Merely wot you promised. When do I go t' Arrow?"
Fantine sighed. "Be reasonable, Sprat. You cannot go in the middle of the term. You must wait for the next session."
It was only when she finished speaking, after she had pulled on her shirt, that she chanced to look closely at Sprat. The boy's face was discolored from repeated beatings. Though many marks had faded, one eye was still slightly swollen, the skin livid and purple.
"Has Ballast been beating you?"
She saw his jaw clench, his chin lifting slightly in pride. "Wot me father does ain't yer business."
She opened her mouth to argue, but Marcus forestalled her. "No, but how you do at Harrow is my business."
Fantine shifted her attention to Marcus, noting that he was standing straighter, no longer on the defensive. His arms were folded across his massive chest, and he looked as stern as any taskmaster in the rookeries.
"If I am to sponsor you to Harrow," Marcus continued, "you will have to leave immediately for Yorkshire."
"York!" exclaimed Fantine. "But that is—"
"All the way across England," finished Marcus. "So far, in fact, that it would be quite a problem for Ballast to follow or Sprat to run away." He pinned the boy with his heavy gaze. "If you mean to go to Harrow, you must do it completely. There is a good deal for you to learn before you even enter those hallowed doors. I have a tutor and a housekeeper there who can teach you all you need to know. Neither will take any nonsense."
Sprat's eyes narrowed, but he never said a word.
"If and only if they give a good account of you by summer's end, I shall sponsor you to Harrow."
Fantine clenched her jaw shut. She wanted to interfere, but knew better. There was a great deal for the boy to learn, and this was the only way. And to Sprat's credit, he seemed to understand that as well. His expression was guarded, but his eyes were steady as he considered Marcus's words.
Finally he straightened in a clear challenge. "Your word as a gentleman? You will sponsor me?"
"Provided Mrs. Grindley and Mr. Harwood agree." At the flicker in the boy's expression, Marcus continued. "They are fair people. They will not sabotage you."
Sprat stuck out his hand. "Your word as a gentleman."
Marcus stepped forward, taking it with equal gravity. "My word as a gentlemen to a future gentleman. I will sponsor you."
Fantine exhaled in relief, knowing that one of her problems had been solved. Sprat would get his chance at Harrow.
"But we must leave now," continued Marcus. Glancing toward Fantine, he lowered his voice. "If Sprat has found you, then his father cannot be far behind."
"He's on 'is way now," put in Sprat. "That's why I came. He found out that you live 'ere as Fanny the barmaid, and he means to come get even fer the bruise on 'is face and fer Jenny."
Fantine closed her eyes on a groan. Would Ballast never forget about Jenny?
"We must go," Marcus said, and Fantine agreed. Without so much as a backward glance, she left her home and everything she owned. They were Fanny's and Rat's, not hers. And so she abandoned them as she hoped to abandon both those personas. When that thought had entered her head, she hadn't a clue. But it was there now, and for the first time in her life, she embraced it wholeheartedly. Perhaps she could leave the rookeries behind. Perhaps she could try to become more than she was now.
Perhaps her father and Marcus were right.
She was so caught up in those thoughts that she did not think about Sprat's words until after they had climbed into Marcus's carriage.
Turning to Sprat, she frowned. "How did you know that Chadwick posed as my guardian? That was told to Hurdy, not Ballast."
Sprat shrugged as he stroked the rich velvet squabs. "I know wot the boys know, an' the boys know about Hurdy an' Ballast both."
Fantine nodded. That was, in fact, why her guise as Rat was so useful. "But if Hurdy and Ballast know the daft peer and my guardian are both Chadwick..."
"An' they know Rat and Fanny are the same," added Sprat.
"Then," cut in Marcus, "I got you away just in time."
"But to where?" Fantine asked. "They know who you are."
Marcus shrugged. "It takes timing and nerve to attack a peer. Besides, Hurdy will do nothing as yet, and Ballast will not move against either of us as long as Sprat is with me. Or rather in Yorkshire getting his education. Remember, I am his only hope of a sponsorship to Harrow."
Fantine looked straight at Sprat. "Will that be enough to keep your father away?"
The boy did not respond at first, but then he shook his head. "He will no' touch Chadwick. 'E figures the deal's with the nob."
"But what about Fantine?" asked Marcus.
Sprat turned to her, his expression almost apologetic. "Rat has tweaked 'im awful bad. 'E can't let that go an' still keep 'is men."
Fantine squeezed Marcus's hand, taking strength from his heat even as she tried to reassure him. "I can duck Ballast. Besides," she added with a smile, "Sprat will write his father from Yorkshire saying how happy and wonderful things are, and Ballast may forgive me some."
Sprat looked doubtful, but he did not say anything until Marcus looked at him sternly. "You will write your father?"
"O' course. But I will write the truth, guv. If'n I ain't being treated right, then I'll tell. And 'e'll go fer Fantine an' you both."
Marcus folded his arms across his chest, his expression hard. "He," Marcus corrected, emphasizing the "h" sound. "And if you intend to write the truth, then I shall make sure you understand it."
Sprat stiffened. "I understands that...."
Fantine groaned, tuning out the boy's words. With Marcus and Sprat sparing, the threat of Ballast coming to kill her, the difficulty of negotiating with Hurdy, not to mention her debts, Wilberforce's looming murder, and, God help her, the fear of meeting Marcus's family, she felt completely exhausted. "Gawd, when did me life get so bloody complicated?"
Then for the second tim
e that day, she was surprised by the sight of Marcus's grin.
* * *
Ballast slammed his hand into the wall of Fanny's tiny room and cursed until he wore out his breath. She was gone. He had missed the wench by less than five minutes.
He drew breath, intent on venting his spleen some more, but stopped when his gaze snagged on the cap. It was tucked away behind the door, but the item was unmistakable.
Sprat's cap. His boy was with Fanny/Rat.
Ballast picked up the ragged thing and smoothed it over his fist. Everything was all right then, he told himself. His son was smart. Sprat would know just how to handle one stupid woman and her daft lord. He would set things up so that Ballast could make mincemeat out of both the girl and her lord.
Jerking his head at his men, Ballast motioned them out of Rat's tiny room. He would give Sprat a few days to explain what was going on.
The whore just better not hurt his boy. If anything happened to Sprat, he would tear her from limb to limb.
* * *
Marcus shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to fidget. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for the delicacy of this moment. After all, how did one introduce a friend's secret bastard to one's sister?
In the end, he need not have worried. His sister was the consummate hostess. She did not care that he arrived on her doorstep with a filthy boy and an equally dirty woman dressed as a boy. Charlotte took one look, ordered a huge tray of food and baths. It was not until Sprat and Fantine were immersed in hot water that she cornered her brother and demanded an explanation.
"All right, brother dear, who are they, why were they dressed like that, and why am I bringing her out?"
He did not even blink an eye. "Because I am your brother and you love me."
"Hah!"
"Because you already promised."
"I promised to bring out Penworthy's niece, not a bedraggled woman in torn breeches."