drunken fools always got what they deserved.
Chapter 4
"She hit me!" Marcus spun on his heel, glared at Penworthy, then continued pacing off his fury within the confines of his friend's library. "I can barely credit that it happened!" he muttered. He, a peer of the realm, had been sprawled near naked in the sewer. "She clubbed me with a block of wood, robbed me of everything but my breeches, then left me there to rot!"
Penworthy did not respond. Much to Marcus's frustration, all his friend did was lean back against the winged chair and extend his stockinged feet toward the fire. And rather than outrage, Marcus read amusement in the man's gaze.
Marcus spun away, letting his gaze fall into the fire. "She is a menace. She should be locked up."
"Tell me," responded Penworthy. "How do you feel today?"
Marcus lifted his head and turned back to his friend. "Feel? Bruised, battered, and..."
"Alive?"
He stiffened, uncertainty making his voice sharp. "Alive? Of course, I am alive, though no thanks to her. Do you know she stole my pocket watch? My sister gave that to me for Christmas last year!"
"I see you have another already."
Marcus frowned, looking down self-consciously at the chain that held his current watch. "Well, yes. Mavenford sent me this for my birthday. Quite a handsome piece, actually."
"Hmmm," repeated Penworthy, though this time there was a wealth of meaning underlying the sound. It suggested all sorts of things, not the least of which that Marcus had half a dozen pocket watches that he could lose to Fantine without even noticing. And that, perhaps, it was his own fault for bringing a watch to the rookery in the first place.
"That is not the point!" Marcus exploded, coming around near the fire to confront his friend directly. "She knocked me flat and left me there to die. Good Lord, if you had seen Norton's face when he opened my front door. He nearly had a fit laughing. My own butler, whooping it up like the veriest hyena!"
Surprise widened Penworthy's eyes. "Norton laughed at you? Right there?"
Marcus lifted his drink, trying to hide the blush that heated his cheeks. "Well, not just then. It was afterward in the servants' quarters. I could hear the merriment two floors up!"
"Ah," said his friend as he turned back to the fire. "Decidedly uncomfortable, I do not doubt."
"Uncomfortable! I was visited this very morning by my mother and sister. The story has already spread throughout London that I was accosted and beaten by no less than five assailants. Five!"
"Yet it was my Fantine, a little slip of a girl, knocking you flat with a chair leg." Penworthy had the audacity to actually smile.
"Damn it, man!" Marcus exclaimed, dropping his fists onto his hips. "You are not listening to me!"
"Merely because you have said nothing to the point," responded the MP happily. "All I know is that you are furious, slightly bruised about the temple, have lost a pocket watch, and seem happier than I have seen you since your brother's death."
"Happier! I am furious!" Marcus glared down at his friend, who merely smiled and sipped his drink. Then a totally unexpected emotion came over him.
Humor. He began to laugh.
"Sink me," he said, finally collapsing into a chair beside his friend. "I have not been this exercised in years."
"It is a nice sight to see, you know. You are much too young to wrap yourself up in mothballs."
Marcus frowned. "Is that what I have been doing?" He did not need Penworthy's nod to realize the answer. Indeed, since the moment he had first received news of his brother's death in Spain, Marcus had felt wrapped in a shroud, his world and thoughts dulled by that protective shield. Now a single annoying woman had ripped the covering away, throwing him into heights of exhilaration, fury, and even lust.
"Very well," Marcus said finally. "I shall not beat your thoroughly aggravating Miss Fanny."
"Fantine does have a somewhat unique effect on a person. Would you care to know how I first
Chapter 4
"She hit me!" Marcus spun on his heel, glared at Penworthy, then continued pacing off his fury within the confines of his friend's library. "I can barely credit that it happened!" he muttered. He, a peer of the realm, had been sprawled near naked in the sewer. "She clubbed me with a block of wood, robbed me of everything but my breeches, then left me there to rot!"
Penworthy did not respond. Much to Marcus's frustration, all his friend did was lean back against the winged chair and extend his stockinged feet toward the fire. And rather than outrage, Marcus read amusement in the man's gaze.
Marcus spun away, letting his gaze fall into the fire. "She is a menace. She should be locked up."
"Tell me," responded Penworthy. "How do you feel today?"
Marcus lifted his head and turned back to his friend. "Feel? Bruised, battered, and..."
"Alive?"
He stiffened, uncertainty making his voice sharp. "Alive? Of course, I am alive, though no thanks to her. Do you know she stole my pocket watch? My sister gave that to me for Christmas last year!"
"I see you have another already."
Marcus frowned, looking down self-consciously at the chain that held his current watch. "Well, yes. Mavenford sent me this for my birthday. Quite a handsome piece, actually."
"Hmmm," repeated Penworthy, though this time there was a wealth of meaning underlying the sound. It suggested all sorts of things, not the least of which that Marcus had half a dozen pocket watches that he could lose to Fantine without even noticing. And that, perhaps, it was his own fault for bringing a watch to the rookery in the first place.
"That is not the point!" Marcus exploded, coming around near the fire to confront his friend directly. "She knocked me flat and left me there to die. Good Lord, if you had seen Norton's face when he opened my front door. He nearly had a fit laughing. My own butler, whooping it up like the veriest hyena!"
Surprise widened Penworthy's eyes. "Norton laughed at you? Right there?"
Marcus lifted his drink, trying to hide the blush that heated his cheeks. "Well, not just then. It was afterward in the servants' quarters. I could hear the merriment two floors up!"
"Ah," said his friend as he turned back to the fire. "Decidedly uncomfortable, I do not doubt."
"Uncomfortable! I was visited this very morning by my mother and sister. The story has already spread throughout London that I was accosted and beaten by no less than five assailants. Five!"
"Yet it was my Fantine, a little slip of a girl, knocking you flat with a chair leg." Penworthy had the audacity to actually smile.
"Damn it, man!" Marcus exclaimed, dropping his fists onto his hips. "You are not listening to me!"
"Merely because you have said nothing to the point," responded the MP happily. "All I know is that you are furious, slightly bruised about the temple, have lost a pocket watch, and seem happier than I have seen you since your brother's death."
"Happier! I am furious!" Marcus glared down at his friend, who merely smiled and sipped his drink. Then a totally unexpected emotion came over him.
Humor. He began to laugh.
"Sink me," he said, finally collapsing into a chair beside his friend. "I have not been this exercised in years."
"It is a nice sight to see, you know. You are much too young to wrap yourself up in mothballs."
Marcus frowned. "Is that what I have been doing?" He did not need Penworthy's nod to realize the answer. Indeed, since the moment he had first received news of his brother's death in Spain, Marcus had felt wrapped in a shroud, his world and thoughts dulled by that protective shield. Now a single annoying woman had ripped the covering away, throwing him into heights of exhilaration, fury, and even lust.
"Very well," Marcus said finally. "I shall not beat your thoroughly aggravating Miss Fanny."
"Fantine does have a somewhat unique effect on a person. Would you care to know how I first
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