by Jade Lee
Baylor spent a moment gaping at him, then suddenly pulled himself together with a theatrical gasp. "Good God, you are mad! Chadwick, dear boy, I have not the slightest inkling of what you are talking about."
Marcus shrugged, suddenly weary with the whole affair. "Then a court of law will find you innocent." He gave Baylor a mocking bow and made to leave, but the man caught his arm.
"Wait! Wait a moment, please."
Given their position, Marcus had no choice but to stop while Baylor pulled his thoughts together.
"You have caught me at an awkward moment—"
"No doubt," Marcus responded dryly.
"I played rather deep and fast, last night—"
"And lost, I do not wonder."
Baylor sighed, his hand slowly relaxing against Marcus's coat. "I was trying to extricate myself from this situation. There is more to it than first appears." He took a deep breath and looked extraordinarily pathetic. "It would be a great relief to unburden myself to a friend. I do not wish to hurt Wilberforce. I never have. Oh, Lord!" He took a shuddering breath as he stepped backward into the dark recesses of his hallway. "Please, can you not help me?"
It was a good performance, if indeed Baylor was acting. If not, then the man was truly in horrible straits.
Marcus hesitated. Was Baylor weak enough to be manipulated by someone else? Someone more powerful, more canny? The answer was an absolute yes. A month ago, Marcus would have dismissed the thought immediately. Surely corruption in the British government could not run so deep. But Fantine had made him question a good many of his long-held beliefs. It was possible that Baylor was being used. But by whom and why?
"Please," pressed Baylor, "I am so frightened. Surely, as a gentlemen, you cannot stop at anything less than the full truth."
Marcus sighed. Gentlemen or not, the man was right. He had to explore this last ridiculous ploy to discover if there was a grain of truth somewhere in it. "Very well," he said dully. "Fifteen minutes. But if I suspect this is all a ruse, then I shall not wait. I will personally drag you to the magistrate without a second's thought."
"I understand."
And with that, Marcus stepped into the gloomy interior of the Baylor town house.
* * *
"Oh, thank God you are still here, Jacob," called Fantine as she rushed toward Marcus's coachman and carriage. "I hurried as fast as I could."
The man looked up from where he was hitching up the horses. "An' why would you be looking fer me?"
Fantine put on her most innocent, most beguiling look. "To go with you to get Wilberforce, of course."
The old man frowned, rubbing his grizzled cheek. "The master said I was to keep Mr. Wilberforce at the cottage, not take 'im anywhere."
Fantine sighed as she scrambled into the box. "But that was before we found out he needs to be moved. I am to take him someplace else. Surely he said something to you."
Jacob stroked his chin, regarding her with steady eyes. "'E did not say a thing about that."
Fantine released a curse of frustration. "Well, it is what we have to do. I do not care if he has forgotten to tell you, I am here now."
Jacob folded his arms across his chest. "Did you two 'ave another spat?"
"What we have," she responded curtly, "is very little time to get to Wilberforce. Please will you come on?"
He hesitated, and she feared she had overplayed her hand, especially when he narrowed his eyes, peering at her. "An' jes where are we supposed to take 'im?"
She answered without thought. "To my home in the rookeries."
"What?" he gasped, but Fantine was already speaking, cutting off his objections.
"I know it is risky, but there are things I must show him, things he must understand. That can only be accomplished in the rookeries."
Jacob just shook his head. "Sounds risky t' me. Wot about them other folks, Hurdy and Ballast?"
Fantine shook her head, lying to herself as much as Jacob. "It's quite safe. Hurdy's busy at White's, and it will take time for Ballast to round up his men." Abandoning her confident pose, she resorted to honest pleading. "I swear we won't stay long. He only needs to speak to Nameless and Louise. If he could hear their stories, then he will understand."
Jacob simply sighed. "I don't understand, but then it ain't my business to understand. If you're sure the master knows, then I'll drive ye."
"Absolutely," Fantine lied.
"Well, then," he said as he jumped into the box. "I suppose we best be going." He started the horses moving with a smart snap of the ribbons, his expression chipper in the sunlight. "It will take us a mite to get there. So how 'bout you spend the time explainin' wot 'e did to upset you so?"
Fantine shifted on her seat, surprised not only by the shift in conversation, but by the man's perception. "I am not upset," she said slowly.
He simply chuckled and reached over to pat her hand. "Aw, don't get all touchy on me, girl. I was just gonna offer ye a little fatherly advice, is all."
Fantine looked away, unaccountably startled by the gesture. Fatherly advice? When had she last had that? Never. Penworthy, though he was her father, had never stooped to giving advice. Commands were more his style, which perhaps explained why she never much listened to him.
But advice? The very thought was intriguing, and so she turned on the bench and allowed all her anger to pour out. "He is just so arrogant I want to tear his eyes out! He thinks I have no brain whatsoever."
Jacob simply laughed at her outburst. "I never did see two people so much in love muck it up so badly."
"Love!" Fantine exploded, not caring that her accent was slipping. "E 'asn't the slightest idea wot the word means!"
"'E doesn't, does he?" returned Jacob. "An' wot about you? Do you want to stay around, fight it out until the end? Or do you jes want to run back to your old life, gettin' knocked on the 'ead by Hurdy fer your troubles?"
"Of course not," Fantine returned hotly. But in a moment, his words began to penetrate. Minutes later, her pride gave way enough to realize he might be right.
"Do you think..." She paused, considering her words. "Have I been running from him? Fighting him out of—"
"Habit?" Jacob offered.
Fantine shrugged, unable to turn her mind from this path. She had been attracted to Marcus from the very first moment. He was everything she wanted and hated all at once—rich, handsome, titled. She had set out to humiliate him, to torment him, anything that would force him to reveal his true colors as a spoiled, pampered aristocrat. But he had not done that.
Or perhaps he had, and she had found him so noble that she could not resist him.
Yet, she still fought. Why, she had even told him she loved him, and in the same breath announced her intention to wed someone else. It was no wonder their road had been so difficult, no wonder he had tried to lock her up until they could speak at length without interruption.
In every moment, in every way, she had both wanted and fought him until neither of them knew which direction to turn.
And now, was she doing it again? Was she running away? It did not feel that way. For the first time, she felt as if she had a purpose, a determination to make a better life for herself and others in the rookeries. But she was not sure.
Was she merely using this as an excuse to avoid Marcus? To thwart him even when she wanted the same as he—to find a way through the muddle?
"Oh, Jacob," she cried softly, "I do not know who I am anymore. I do things, and I do not understand the reason."
"Do you love him?"
"Yes. But he does not love me."
Jacob shrugged."'E's a man and a nob. At the moment, 'e does not know his nose from his arse unless you show him."
Fantine shifted in her seat. "But how? What shall I do?"
"Ah, as to that, don't you women 'ave some secret potion or something that puts us all under yer thumbs?"
Fantine smiled, thinking of her actions last night. "I have already used it, and though he enjoyed it mightily, he seemed c
ompletely unaffected this morning."
"But you 'ave not given it enough time. 'E's still in that glowin' moment o' satisfaction. Give 'im a day t' start wantin' it again."
Fantine frowned, wondering if she indeed could be mistaken. Could Marcus truly love her? "I do not know, Jacob. He seemed so... so overbearing this morning."
"Ah, well, ain't I said 'e's a nob through and through? It takes them a mite longer t' understand. It be their pride, you know. Clogs up the brainpan."
"Do you really think so?"
"Absolutely. Now me wife and me, there was a courtship to remember..."
Jacob continued speaking, spinning delightful stories about himself and his wife, but Fantine could not keep her mind on them. There was too much to ponder, too many angles to consider.
Did Marcus truly love her? Had she been running from him? And how did this effect her plans for Mr. Wilberforce?
It did not, she finally decided. Whether or not she and Marcus worked out their differences, she still intended to become powerful in her own right. And for that, she needed the MP.
* * *
Marcus was bored. He had come inside to a room bare of everything except a case of brandy. He accepted the obligatory glass, though he never actually drank it, and stood staring at the threadbare carpet while Baylor blamed everything from the current government to his first nanny for his failures.
It was tedious and disappointing. One would think a man daring enough to assassinate Wilberforce would have more originality.
Still, Marcus had promised fifteen minutes, and for all that it seemed like fifteen years, he was a man of his word. Until Baylor made a fatal mistake.
In the middle of his recitation, in the middle of a word, no less, he suddenly whipped out a pistol and pulled the trigger.
Fortunately, for all his bored attitude, Marcus had seen it coming. Clearly, Baylor was not used to handling the weapon. His shoulders had tensed just before the fateful movement, his breathing had noticeably accelerated, despite his long speech, and, most telling of all, he had set down his brandy glass on the mantel and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
The shot went wide. Not because Baylor missed, but because Marcus dove sideways. While Baylor was still recovering, Marcus surged upward, easily wresting the weapon from the man's hand.
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."
&n
bsp; "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."