No Place for a Lady Read Free

stronger spirits, especially as yours seems to have deserted you."
    Marcus stiffened at the insult. He held back a scathing comment demanding Penworthy explain himself. He had no expectation that she would illuminate this odd situation. But even as he turned toward his mentor, the elderly man shrugged.
    "Do not look at me for answers. If I had warned you in advance, she would have behaved the perfect society miss and then you would have thought my wits had gone begging—"
    "Ah," interrupted the strange woman as she poured her own tea, "but I believe Lord Chadwick thought so in any event. Imagine," she said, slipping into her tart tone, "a peer o' the realm introducing a dockside fancy piece to 'is friends!"
    Marcus winced at her abrupt shift in accent, only now realizing that she had read him perfectly, guessed his assumptions, and had, in fact, played upon them to make him feel all the more uncomfortable.
    For the first time in three years, his blood began the slow simmer toward fury. But he kept it contained, purposely turning his shoulder to the woman as he addressed his friend in low tones as sharp as any blade. "Why is she here?"
    Penworthy opened his mouth to respond, but once again she cut in, her voice tripping expertly over the accents of a dockside chippy. "Why, to catch yer thievin', murderin' aristocrat, ducky!"
    Marcus felt his breath catch in his throat. It could not be true. Penworthy was not a foolish man. He would never employ such a woman.
    But as the moments ticked by without a word from his associate, Marcus's confidence began to waver. As the seconds dragged into minutes, Marcus found himself studying Penworthy's guilty expression.
    "You cannot be serious," Marcus finally exploded. "You cannot send this... this creature to apprehend a peer! Why, she would make a circus of the whole affair!"
    "Aye, an' won't that be just peachy for th' masses?" she chimed in.
    Marcus turned, his eyes critical as he rudely inspected her from top to bottom. He could not tell whether she was a smart miss playing the whore or a whore playing a society maid. But either way, she was not in the least bit qualified to stop a threat to one of the nation's leaders. Why, he would not trust her to black his boots properly!
    But as he turned to Penworthy, he saw from his friend's set expression that he truly did intend just that. "Good God," Marcus sputtered, "but she is an actress! " He spat the word out like bad meat.
    Finally, Penworthy spoke, and his voice sounded calm, albeit weary. "No, Marcus, Fantine is very much more than an actress, just as you are very much more than a rich peer." That last part was clearly directed at the woman, but she appeared to take no note of it. "In actual fact, I hoped the two of you would work together on this particular assignment."
    "What?" he cried, surging to his feet.
    "Impossible!" she exclaimed at exactly the same instant.
    He spun around to glare at her though his words were aimed at his friend. "I have given up this skulking about, as you well know, Penworthy. But even if I had not, God himself could not make me teach this street rat what she needs to know."
    "Teach me!" she cried, leaping to her own feet to match him glare for glare. "God Himself could not teach you what you need to learn." Then she spun back to Penworthy. "If you think I shall allow myself to be hampered by this spoiled flash, then your wits are addled by the pox!"
    "The pox!" Marcus retorted. "Perhaps that is why you imagine you could possibly—"
    "Do not even attempt to speak to me with that tone—"
    Suddenly, a loud hacking cough interrupted both of them. They turned together, and Marcus's eyes widened at the sight of his dear friend coughing blood into a handkerchief.
    "Have some tea, my lord," the woman said, as she deftly poured him another cup. But Penworthy merely shook his head, his face a dull gray.
    "Brandy," he whispered.
    "No..." she began, but Marcus was already at the sideboard, pouring a brandy.