almost an hour before the evening began. But now they were racing for their lives. She had no doubts that if Ballast caught them...
Don't think, she admonished herself. Run .
She did. But with every turn, every street, she heard the heavy footfalls of her pursuers. Ballast's men were falling behind, but not nearly quickly enough. And she feared that Chadwick would soon give out.
Run. Quietly. Run .
Then Chadwick stopped.
She didn't notice at first, but then the steady huff of his breath disappeared. Spinning around, she saw him leaning against a brick wall, gasping for air.
"Not much farther," she lied. "We cannot rest. They are just two streets back."
He shook his head, pushing each word through his gasps. "I am... too slow. You go. They will not... hurt... a peer."
"Don't be a fool," she whispered urgently. "Your title is no protection. Bloody hell, you punched Ballast in the face! You may have disfigured him permanently. If he catches you, he will hurt you, then kill you, then toss your body where no one will ever find you."
He looked up at her, his expression bleak in the cold moonlight. He knew the truth, she suddenly realized. He knew his title was no protection.
"And what will he do to you?" he asked hoarsely. He pushed her down the street with surprising strength. "Go. I cannot run like you. Not through these streets." She watched him straighten his shoulders, his hands clenching into large, punishing fists. "I will hold them off as long as I can. Go to Penworthy. He will help you escape."
She stared at him, shock robbing her of words. Was he truly offering to sacrifice himself for her— an actress , as he had so contemptuously put it? Apparently, he was, and for the first time ever, her heart softened toward a peer.
"Blimey, you are a fool."
He lifted his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "Aye," was all he said.
Fantine looked down the alleyway. She knew she could escape their pursuers. There were any number of any holes and darkened comers that would hide her. But she had not abandoned him to Ballast before, and she could not do so now. No one, not even a rich, arrogant peer, deserved that fate.
"There must be some other choice," she said, more to herself than him. Then her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter from a pub across the street. The door had opened and an aged whore stumbled outside supporting a man obviously too drunk to know better than to wander outside with a desperate woman. Fantine turned away, knowing the whore would strip her cull of his valuables long before he relieved the itch that brought him outside.
Fantine dismissed the pair without a second thought. It was only one of the thousands of sins that occurred nightly in the rookeries. But Chadwick seemed inordinately interested in the sight.
"Come along, guv," she said, her irritation plain. "She be busy an' we ain't got time fer a diddle now."
He looked up, his eyes glittering slightly in the moonlight. "On the contrary," he said softly. "I think now is the perfect time."
Before she could react, he caught her about the waist and pressed her against the wall. The brick was cold against her back, and with half her breeches torn apart at the seam, the chill seeped directly into her bones. Then he pressed himself against her, his every hard angle heating her front with a devilish fire.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, alarm coursing through her.
His hands trapped her securely against the wall. To her left was a pile of refuse—a broken barrel, a shattered chair. To her right lay the open street. There was room and air about her, and yet she still felt surrounded by Chadwick, his body strong and heavy as he tried to shield her from view.
"You paid no attention to that other pair," he said, his breath a warm caress against her cheek. "You dismissed them without a second thought."
She tried to take a breath to calm herself, but that only pushed her breasts farther against the muscled wall of his chest. She
Don't think, she admonished herself. Run .
She did. But with every turn, every street, she heard the heavy footfalls of her pursuers. Ballast's men were falling behind, but not nearly quickly enough. And she feared that Chadwick would soon give out.
Run. Quietly. Run .
Then Chadwick stopped.
She didn't notice at first, but then the steady huff of his breath disappeared. Spinning around, she saw him leaning against a brick wall, gasping for air.
"Not much farther," she lied. "We cannot rest. They are just two streets back."
He shook his head, pushing each word through his gasps. "I am... too slow. You go. They will not... hurt... a peer."
"Don't be a fool," she whispered urgently. "Your title is no protection. Bloody hell, you punched Ballast in the face! You may have disfigured him permanently. If he catches you, he will hurt you, then kill you, then toss your body where no one will ever find you."
He looked up at her, his expression bleak in the cold moonlight. He knew the truth, she suddenly realized. He knew his title was no protection.
"And what will he do to you?" he asked hoarsely. He pushed her down the street with surprising strength. "Go. I cannot run like you. Not through these streets." She watched him straighten his shoulders, his hands clenching into large, punishing fists. "I will hold them off as long as I can. Go to Penworthy. He will help you escape."
She stared at him, shock robbing her of words. Was he truly offering to sacrifice himself for her— an actress , as he had so contemptuously put it? Apparently, he was, and for the first time ever, her heart softened toward a peer.
"Blimey, you are a fool."
He lifted his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "Aye," was all he said.
Fantine looked down the alleyway. She knew she could escape their pursuers. There were any number of any holes and darkened comers that would hide her. But she had not abandoned him to Ballast before, and she could not do so now. No one, not even a rich, arrogant peer, deserved that fate.
"There must be some other choice," she said, more to herself than him. Then her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter from a pub across the street. The door had opened and an aged whore stumbled outside supporting a man obviously too drunk to know better than to wander outside with a desperate woman. Fantine turned away, knowing the whore would strip her cull of his valuables long before he relieved the itch that brought him outside.
Fantine dismissed the pair without a second thought. It was only one of the thousands of sins that occurred nightly in the rookeries. But Chadwick seemed inordinately interested in the sight.
"Come along, guv," she said, her irritation plain. "She be busy an' we ain't got time fer a diddle now."
He looked up, his eyes glittering slightly in the moonlight. "On the contrary," he said softly. "I think now is the perfect time."
Before she could react, he caught her about the waist and pressed her against the wall. The brick was cold against her back, and with half her breeches torn apart at the seam, the chill seeped directly into her bones. Then he pressed himself against her, his every hard angle heating her front with a devilish fire.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, alarm coursing through her.
His hands trapped her securely against the wall. To her left was a pile of refuse—a broken barrel, a shattered chair. To her right lay the open street. There was room and air about her, and yet she still felt surrounded by Chadwick, his body strong and heavy as he tried to shield her from view.
"You paid no attention to that other pair," he said, his breath a warm caress against her cheek. "You dismissed them without a second thought."
She tried to take a breath to calm herself, but that only pushed her breasts farther against the muscled wall of his chest. She
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