Wayward One (18 page)

“If you’ve marriage on your mind, you should choose someone who’d help you. Improve your position.”

“You’re the only one I’ve ever thought of with regard to marriage.” He lowered his head so slowly she thought her breath might choke in her chest with anticipation. His mouth slid along her collarbone, a brush of wicked silk. “And isn’t the whole goal of your stay here to improve me?”

That wasn’t what she’d meant and he knew it. He was playing word games with her, dangling the possibility before her like a sweetmeat. He opened his mouth over the bare curve of her shoulder, and her knees went weak.

She didn’t know what to do. She’d never been so foolish as to think she’d marry for love, but she’d hoped to find a man with whom she could build a quiet, solid family. Not someone so largely full of life. Marrying for permission to satisfy lust violated the sanctity of the institution.

She didn’t think she cared.

The protection he offered was more than she could bear to pass up. Her entire existence, even the years spent under her mama’s benign neglect, had been fraught with an exhausting measure of doubt. Who she was, where she belonged, what would keep her safe.

In Fletcher’s home, as Fletcher’s wife, all those questions would be answered.

Besides, she could ensure that their lust was only a secondary feature. She could make him happy through the creation of a proper home. For someone who saw into her so clearly, Fletcher didn’t seem to see himself. She believed he wanted a real home like she did.

Fletcher kept up his sensuous assault as she thought. Tiny nibbles all the way up her neck. One hand tugged inexorably at her waist, pulling her near. He took her earlobe between his lips. A sharp sting heralded his bite, but he soothed it with a lick.

If their future—together—was entirely larger and more grand than she’d ever imagined, she would learn to cope.

“Yes,” she breathed on a soft sigh.

His growl was intense masculine satisfaction. “Good.”

Quiet, simple words, and yet they seemed to carry the import of scripture.

She would be married soon. To Digger, of all people. No, he was now Fletcher Thomas, man of the world. A fully developed man who could protect and shelter her. Forever.

Her fright went to war with her excitement.

Chapter Fourteen

“You cannot possibly be serious,” Lottie exclaimed, tossing one hand in a wide arc. “You’re teasing us.”

Sera lifted her teacup, hiding her smile.

They sat in the comfortable parlor at the factory girl’s school, an hour before the women would arrive for their classes. They were all welcome at any time should they wish to study or practice with each other, but most of them worked long, hard hours at factories. They were seldom free to come visiting before six o’clock.

As a result, Sera and her friends had fallen into the habit of meeting at the townhouse whenever possible. It provided a level of privacy not always possible anywhere else. Here, they pretended they ruled, though they would be in vats of trouble should anyone ever find out.

“I’m perfectly serious. I’m marrying Mr. Thomas.”

Lottie and Victoria goggled at her with identical open-mouthed expressions.

“Marrying? Mr. Thomas?” Victoria’s blue eyes went soft with a romantic haze. Raised well and pampered, she had the time and space to dream.

“You’re beginning to sound a bit like a parrot, my dear.”

In the firelight, the dark red tumbles of Lottie’s haphazardly pinned hair gleamed. She set down her teacup with a quiet click that somehow managed to sound judgmental. “You’ll pardon our surprise, of course. We wish you all the happiness in the world. This does seem to be particularly sudden, at least from our end.”

“There’s a month yet,” she answered, purposely misunderstanding. “The banns haven’t even been called.”

Legs stretched indecorously, Lottie puffed out a quick huff of annoyance. “You know what I mean. The last Victoria and I heard, your relationship with Mr. Thomas was a business arrangement of which you were in total control.”

Sera set down her tea and folded her hands in her lap. She wasn’t sure how to explain this to her best friends in the world, not when she hardly knew how to explain it to herself. They’d never felt unsafe in their entire lives, so they wouldn’t understand how freeing it was to be the subject of Fletcher’s intense scrutiny.

“One could say it still is, and that this is simply a continuation of our bargain. Many of the best marriages are little more than contractual obligations.”

The bones of Victoria’s hands were bird-delicate as she laid them over Sera’s. Years of careful marriages had crafted those fine bones. “What of love?”

“Love is not for me.” Her mother had made a foolish choice all for the enigma that was love, and look where she had ended up. Dying in a fire. Before that she had endured hard years of privation and suffering as penance.

The softhearted romantic that she was, Victoria seemed saddened by Sera’s blunt declaration. The twinkle in her blue eyes had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with pending tears. “And for you? This is a contractual obligation and nothing else?”

She blushed at the visceral memory of her mouth under Fletcher’s. “No. It’s more.”

Her friends’ eyes welled with compassion. Sera blinked and looked away.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lottie said. “I know you’ve a measure of pride far and above what your tiny body should be able to handle.” It was an old joke between them, based on Lottie being five inches taller than Sera.

Sera stuck her tongue out, thankful that even in such dramatic times she could have a moment of levity with her friends.

“Did Mr. Thomas lay this obligation upon his offer of the trust?” Victoria asked.

“He would never do that.”

Expensive silk skirts fluffed to the side as Lottie threw herself backwards in her chair. “Then why?”

Sera shook her head again. Words were beyond her. Risk had never been in her vocabulary.

Lottie’s normally gregarious features pinched into worry. “Did he take advantage of you?” Considering her avowal that she’d never have a family, she was quite the fierce motherly protector.

“Never.” Sera nibbled on the inside of her lip, worrying over how to frame the admittance. She’d never wish her friends to think any less of her. If she were to concede to such base instincts, she would be marked out as different than them. Lesser, though they’d never admit it. “If anything, we’ve agreed to marry to avoid any…improprieties.”

“What does that mean?” Lottie asked.

The pale pink sweep of Victoria’s mouth seemed to quirk on a grin. “I think I know what it means. Our perfect princess has turned out to be a naughty vixen.”

“What?” Lottie looked back and forth between them, eyes large. “Why, I never. If anyone was going to be the first, I would have laid money on you, Victoria. Not our paragon of virtue.”

“Me?” Victoria assembled her rounded features into a pretty mask of surprise. “Why in the world would you think that?”

“Why, to avoid marrying your dried-up, stick-in-the-mud of a fiancé, of course.” Lottie turned an avid look to Sera. She hitched an ankle over her knee and leaned forward with her sharp chin on her hands in usual disregard of proper grace. “Now. Spill. Every single detail. Leave out nothing.”

Sera shook her head again, but this time she was laughing. “I couldn’t.”

“But you must,” Victoria implored. “We’re relying on you as the advance party in an unknown war.”

Sera took up her teacup again. “A war? I seem to have missed the battle.”

“Don’t be silly. You participated in the first salvo.” With her usual grace, Victoria rose from her chair and dropped onto the settee. She wrapped an arm around Sera’s shoulders. “Tell us, tell us. I for one am dying of curiosity.”

“Not much happened.”

Lottie laughed. “You scoundrel, you can’t lie to us.”

She ducked her head. She simply couldn’t tell. What had happened between herself and Fletcher had felt too personal, too intimate, to expose to such description. Besides, in reality it had been little more than a few kisses. Only the fear she’d willingly give in to more drove her.

Victoria clasped her in a hug. “It’s all right, darling. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to. Only know you can always come to us. If Mr. Thomas doesn’t treat you well, I’ll have my father take him to pieces.”

Sera rested her head on Victoria’s rounded shoulder. At least, if she’d made the worst mistake of her life, she’d have somewhere to run to. Many women didn’t have that. Mama, for one, had been left alone after a single bad choice. She only hoped her choice didn’t end as badly as her mother’s had.

Fletcher was whistling, and by God, he was not a whistling sort of man. London had cooperated with his happy mood as he wound his way through Whitechapel to the Fair Wind. A brisk breeze whisked away the pervasive soot and fog. Based on the nearly blue sky and warming weather, one could almost believe spring had already arrived.

Outside the soot-blackened front of the pub, a small boy swiped half-heartedly at the glass of the front windows. Fletcher twirled his ebony walking stick and gave William a light tap across the back of the shoulders. “You’ll have to be at your chores with entirely more diligence if you’re intending to impress me.”

William jerked to attention. The rag plopped in a wooden bucket by his feet. His now-clean mouth set in a sullen pout. But he replied with a quiet, “Yes, gov’nor.”

“If you’ve something to say, spit it out.”

“It’s the job, sir.” The boy cocked a hip in an age-old pose of disgust and boredom. “I don’t be doing nothing but chores and more chores. And I made more ready when I were on the streets.”

“And you wish to go back to that.” Most men who tried to join Fletcher’s organization were startled to find themselves at the bottom, working their way up. Easy cash sometimes won out.

William shot a look from under his eyebrows. “Thinking of it, yes.”

“Think longer and harder.” He clapped the kid on the shoulder. “I should be disappointed to see you go. You do good work around here.”

His cheeks went pink under the approbation. “Aye, sir.”

He’d have three decent meals and a warm, safe place to live if he stayed at the Fair Winds. Fletcher had long accepted he couldn’t save them all. Couldn’t save hardly any, if the truth were known, because most of the little urchins were already broken. Already damaged in a way that went down to their souls. They weren’t like Sera had been, with something still shining within her.

Sera and her well-meaning but fluff-headed friends were at least trying to provide another option. A way out of the privation of Whitechapel, much as he’d provided for Sera. Though they seemed to be escaping with regard to their charges the obsessively protective feelings Fletcher now had for Sera.

He stepped into the cool, damp air of the Fair Winds. Being only early afternoon, the place was fairly quiet. A table of intensely concentrating men played cards in the corner. The air smelled of the yeast of good beer, and the floors had been freshly swept.

Fletcher made his way toward the bar in the back corner. “A pint of bitters,” he said to the bartender, who nodded and poured it off immediately. Fletcher carried the tankard down to the end, where Rick lounged observing the card game.

“They been at it a while?”

Rick nodded. His arms crossed over his chest, covering what seemed to be a new waistcoat. This one was bright yellow, with threads of silver shot through. “Almost thirty-six hours.”

Fletcher sipped at his ale. “The dealer been spelled?”

“Less than an hour ago.” Rick scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “The play’s deep, especially for the likes of them. The other one looks as cool as can be. I’m worried trouble is going to break out.”

Fletcher could see what he meant. Two of the three were rough-dressed dockworkers. Their eyes were a little wild and reddened from playing so long without a break. Something about the finely dressed third man said he might be an American. The boots, likely. They were that western style preferred by cowboys and riverboat gamblers. If he was a professional, in to clean up, the game could easily end with a shooting. “If it’s gone on this long, he must be playing honest.”

“I’ve made sure of that.”

Fletcher shrugged before taking another deep draught of his drink. “Let ’em go. We weren’t going to be shutting down any time soon, and they’re not bothering anyone.”

Rick straightened to gawk at Fletcher. “What’s got into you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Any other time you’d be a right bastard and tell me to throw them out anyhow. Now you’re smiling at the world like a village idiot gone wandering.”

He couldn’t even get irritated at that. Soon he’d have Sera in his bed. Her moods, her whims, her pleasures would all be his. All of her, fully belonging to him. Every other concern paled when compared to that. He’d sort out the rest of it and Linsley’s consortium later down the road. “You should congratulate me, my good man. I’m going to be married.”

“You’re what?”