Page 50 of Madcap with a Marquess
Her shoulders slumped. Luck was not on her side tonight. It seemed to have not been on her side for one-and-twenty years. Now she had one shilling to her name. Which meant she couldn’t possibly leave Rupert. Yet.
She swiftly grabbed her shilling and started to rise. A hand clamped down on her shoulder, and she collapsed back in her seat.
“Not to worry, Pretty Boy. I’ll spot you,” the man next to her said with a wide grin. Her stomach turned—unsettling grin.
She would have thought him handsome, with his perfectly styled blond hair and sharp jaw, skin lightly tanned from the late-spring sun. But every time he smiled at her, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and attempted to flee out the card room.
Franny glanced at him from the corner of her eye as he threw down two shillings. She hadn’t failed to notice him eyeing her all night. A moist breath of unease shivered over her skin, collecting in her palms. His gaze was…predatory. It did not feel at all the same as when Rupert looked at her like that.
“That is quite all right,” she said gruffly.
She had avoided speaking as often as she could without drawing suspicion. Based on Blond Man’s grin, she didn’t think her cover was working.
“He insists,” the man to her right said, clapping his beefy hand on her shoulder before she could attempt to rise again.
His large cheeks jiggled from the force of his slap. He smiled, crooked teeth flashing in his round face, flushed from drink. The evidence also apparent in the stale alcohol on his breath assaulting her nose every time he spoke. His mottled red flush clashed dreadfully with his coppery hair.
“As I’m not long for this area, I do not think it wise. I wouldn’t want to accept a debt I couldn’t repay,” Franny mumbled low.
She pushed the man’s hand off her shoulder, shooting him a glare, and rose from her spot at the card table.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, gents,” she added with a stiff nod.
She strode at a nonchalant pace, weaving through the other card tables, toward the doorway on the opposite side of the room, even though every muscle in her screamed to run. Those men’s stares were like a cluster of spiders crawling over her skin. She twitched. Her brothers hadn’t been lying when she had overheard them speaking of the kind of scum that frequented Scythe Tavern. They had always boasted how they cleaned house every time they played cards there. Apparently, Franny either didn’t have her brothers’ luck or lacked their skills at cards.
She slipped into the darkened hall that led to the back exit of the tavern. Franny had thought perhaps she was a deft hand at cards. The night she and Phi had snuck into a gaming hell in London, they had won a fair share before they had been caught. Nothing more than beginner’s luck, apparently. Luck that had quickly run out when Franny’s father had somehow found out. Her muscles immediately went tight, joints locking, her father’s words so clear it was almost as if he was there with her in the shadowed hall.
How dare you risk your reputation, this family’s name, the marriage contract? If Rutledge finds out and backs out of the contract, what you suffer tonight will pale in comparison to what I will do to you in the future.
He had always been rough with her. His grip tight enough to bruise. His voice and words as cutting as any whip. She’d faced the back of his hand too many times to count. But that night had been the first time he hadn’t held back. Her fingers lifted to her cheek, could almost feel the sting, the sharp jerk of her neck, like it was being torn from her shoulders, then the throbbing ache that followed. That had been the first time a blow had sent her to the floor. And it had been the last night she had been allowed to see Phi.
She may have delicate features, but she was anything but delicate. She lifted her chin. He didn’t break her. No man would. Shesurvived.The memory burned, but it was a different burn now. A fire, one with flames of resilience. No matter how dark the shadows got, she wouldn’t break. She would fight until her dying breath.
Franny made her way to the back door, the thud of her boots barely discernible against the dirt floor. She let out a strangled, frustrated growl. All she wanted was to get out from under a man’s thumb. Under an oppressive man’s control. Tonight, she’d wanted to double her pin money. Then she could have come up with a plan, where she would go, what she would do to survive. She released a large breath, her entire body deflating. Her spirit deflating.
She’d have to save up more money and try again. She supposed at least now she’d have more time to formulate a strategy. Determine where she’d go once she had enough coin to keep her afloat for a time. Perhaps she could find an elderly woman looking for a lady’s companion. Maybe she’d write to Phi, have her search around—
Franny slammed into the wall. She sucked in a startled breath and lurched to flee, but found her arms pinned tight to the gritty hall wall, her legs scrambled frantically. Even in the darkness, she recognized Blond Man towering over her, Copper Head’s short form standing at his shoulder.
“Where you running to, Pretty Boy,” Blond Man cooed. “We weren’t done playin’ with you. Hurt my feelings, you did, rejecting my generous offer.”
Franny’s stomach roiled at his words. She didn’t know what he meant, but she knew she didn’t want to find out.
“Unhand me, sir. You willnotlike the consequences.”
Copper Head snorted. “You hear that, Lionel? Pretty Boy is threatening us. Maybe we take her out back and teach ‘er a lesson.”
Well, that answered that question. They saw through her cover.
“You know, Bert,” Blond Man—Lionel—said, “I think that sounds like a fine idea. But I’m thinking first we should confirm Pretty Boy is, in fact, no boy at all.”
Lionel reached up and with a swift flick, Franny’s hat disappeared from her head. His hands dug into her tightly pinned hair, one fist gripping her hair so tight she could feel the skin of her scalp lifting, screaming in protest as pins scattered in lightthwumpsagainst the dirt. She bit back the cry crawling up her throat. She refused to give these men any satisfaction.
With his hands distracted, she jumped on the fleeting opportunity, her heartbeat jumping with the same hope and desperation. She slammed her knee upward and shoved at his chest, throwing her entire body into it. He yelled out, cursing, doubling over against the opposite wall.
She drew out the small knife in her pocket and waved it at Bert, slowly stepping around him, breaths crashing from her, bouncing off the walls in the empty hall. She faced the corpulent man the entire time, and once her path to the exit was clear, she bolted. She flew through the door. A resoundingcrashand the splintering wood echoed into the night. Her lungs strained for air while her arms pumped, legs flying toward the stables. All she had to do was make it to her horse.
A large shadow stepped into her path, and she couldn’t slow down in time—she ran straight into it. Franny rebounded, her knife flying somewhere in the distance as she fell hard on her arse.
