“Good evening, Frost,” his friend greeted him. “I’d given up on seeing you this evening.”
“I was delayed outside.” Oliver turned to Miss Fairchild. “Good evening.”
“Lovely to see you.” She offered a smile that lit her face. “I’m pleased you were able to make it tonight.”
He felt as though he were a little boy being patted on the head for good behavior. Yet the way she said it, he was pleased with himself rather than annoyed. “Thank you.” After all, what else could he say? Her genuine kindness prevented a sharp retort.
“Any luck with The Book of Secrets?” Hawke asked, an amused smile tilting his mouth as if he knew how Oliver felt.
Oliver shook his head both in answer to his question and in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “Unfortunately, few have even heard of the book.”
“Didn’t you say you found another text by the same author?”
“I did, but I wasn’t able to purchase it. Someone else bought it first.” Oliver couldn’t help but scowl. He still couldn’t believe he’d permitted pretty blue eyes and a sunny smile to charm him out of the book.
Hawke stared at him with brows raised. “I’m surprised you allowed that to happen.”
“No more than I.” He turned to Miss Fairchild. “I believe you know her. Lady Julia Hopwood?”
Miss Fairchild’s lips parted in surprise. “She’s the one who suggested you might aid us in finding The Book of Secrets to begin with. Her father told her you were an expert in ancient texts.”
Oliver sighed. “She bought it for him.”
“Why don’t you simply explain and offer to purchase the book from her?” Hawke asked.
“Believe me, I tried. The situation is not that simple.”
“Would you like me to speak with her?” Miss Fairchild asked. “I can explain how important it is.”
“That might be helpful. However, her father has offered to study the contents for me. Having a purpose seems to lift his spirits after being ill.”
“He is frequently ailing,” Miss Fairchild added. “I know Julia worries about him.”
“Perhaps he can continue to search the book for clues while you pursue other leads,” Hawke suggested. “The more assistance we have, the better.”
“Speaking of our other efforts,” Oliver began and shared with him the outcome of his trip to the club, including Adair’s offer of assistance. “Adair said he’d mention our rumor to a few others who enjoy spreading news.”
“Truly?” Hawke seemed surprised.
“Of course. Very helpful of him.” Oliver frowned. The brothers’ relationship remained a mystery. Yet who was he to question it when he rarely saw his own younger sister? Oliver continued, sharing his conversation with Jonston and Malverson.
“Malverson is a brute, but we’ve always known that,” Hawke said.
“It may be even worse than we thought.”
Hawke studied him. “How so?”
Oliver shook his head. “I’ll explain later.”
“I think the sooner you explain, the better.” He glanced at Letitia who drew nearer. “You may speak in confidence.”
Oliver glanced around to make certain no one could overhear. “He was attempting to take liberties with Lady Julia in the garden. After she’d said no.”
“Damn. Is she all right?”
Letitia’s eyes went wide.
He nodded, trying to hide his anger at Malverson and guilt at his own behavior toward her. He needed to keep his desire reined in. She was a lady, and he couldn’t offer her a future, so he had no business pursuing her.
“I’m going to find Julia,” Letitia announced. With her expression full of worry, she took her leave.
“What are you not telling me?” Hawke asked eyes narrowed.
Oliver shook his head. He had no intention of discussing this longing with anyone. More than ready to change the subject, he asked, “Why are you standing so close to the dance floor?”
“We were about to dance when I saw you.”
Oliver could only stare at his friend. “You never liked to dance even when you had two good legs.”
A smile tilted the corner of Hawke’s mouth. “It’s amazing what one is willing to do to please the right lady. Making Letitia happy makes me happy.” At Oliver’s raised brow, he continued, “We manage in our own way on the dance floor. Together.”
An odd pang filled Oliver. Already Hawke and Miss Fairchild were a couple in every way that mattered. That was special, but nothing he intended to experience. In order to do so, he’d have to allow more emotions in his life. That couldn’t be permitted. Lamenting the fact or feeling envy for Hawke and his lady served no purpose.
Books were all he needed.
Unfortunately, that no longer filled him with the pleasure it used to.
~*~
Julia finally found her aunt speaking with a friend near the top of the ballroom.
“I was wondering where you’d gone to,” Aunt Matilda said, her toe tapping to the rhythm of the music. “I nearly decided a search was in order.”
“I—I stepped out for a breath of fresh air.” Julia tried to keep her expression calm. She didn’t want to tell her aunt all that had occurred. Or any of it, for that matter. Not when it had been so stupid of her to walk outside with Lord Malverson. She didn’t trust the man. Now she knew her instincts had been correct.
“What happened?” Aunt Matilda slipped her gloved hand into Julia’s and gave a squeeze.
“What do you mean?” Julia hoped that perhaps she referred to something else.
“I can see something’s amiss. Tell me.”
With a sigh, Julia realized she couldn’t keep it from her aunt. “Lord Malverson made advances toward me that I did not invite.”
“Julia.” The concern in her aunt’s voice along with the tight grip of her hand had tears filling Julia’s eyes.
“I’m fine. Nothing occurred. Truly. But I admit I was beginning to panic when Viscount Frost came upon us.”
“Frost?” Aunt Matilda’s eyes widened. “I knew I liked that man.”
“You haven’t yet met him.”
“No matter. Sometimes that’s not necessary to gain a sense of a person. I’ve made a few inquiries of my own in addition to what you’ve told me about him. Now tell me what happened.”
Julia shook her head. “Malverson made unwanted advances. Frost interrupted. Fists were thrown.”
“Oh, my.” Aunt Matilda’s gaze never left Julia’s. “You’re certain you’re all right?”
“Yes. I’m merely mad at myself for allowing him the opportunity.” Julia had to take care that she never did so again.
“Fists, you say? But Frost had the upper hand, did he not?” The gleeful look in her aunt’s eyes was alarming.
“He did.” Julia, at last, permitted herself a small smile. Her heart had leapt to her throat at Oliver’s forcefulness. The way he’d handled Malverson with ease had been impressive. His skill had been frightening in some respects—those efficient movements, the cold glint in his eyes, his relentlessness.
“Good evening, Julia,” Lettie Fairchild greeted her.
“How nice to see you. I was looking for you earlier.” Julia was pleased to see her friend. She and Lettie had known each other for several years but had grown much closer in recent weeks.
Lettie greeted her aunt then stood on the opposite side of Julia. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Are you all right?”
Julia raised a brow, uncertain what exactly she meant. How could she know?
“Viscount Frost spoke with us briefly.”
“He told you?” Her face heated at the idea of Oliver discussing what had happened.
“Not the details.”
“I’m fine. Nothing happened.”
“You still must’ve been frightened.” Lettie touched her arm. “That terrible man.”
Julia held Lettie’s gaze, grateful she understood. “It was for a few moments. Until Viscount Frost arrived.”
“Do you know him well?” Aunt Matilda asked Lettie. Obviously, she’d overheard the conversation despite Lettie’s attempt to be quiet.
“I only met him last week. His library is incredible.”
Julia shook her head. Trust Lettie to be impressed with his books. “Do you know anything else about him? Has Captain Hawke shared any details?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. He was in the Navy with Nathaniel but left almost two years prior to him.” Lettie frowned as she stared at the couples dancing. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Julia searched for whatever had surprised her friend.
Lettie let out a delicate scoff of disbelief as she glared at a couple on the dance floor. “Tell me the Earl of Adair is not dancing with Lady Samantha.”
The desperate edge to Lettie’s tone made Julia search for Captain Hawke’s older brother. Sure enough, it was true. While Lady Samantha was attractive in a rather sharp way, Julia had never cared for the woman, and she knew Lettie had reason to dislike her. “I wish I could.”
With a scowl, Lettie muttered, “What on earth is he thinking? I shall have to ask Nathaniel to say something to him.”
“Surely he’s only dancing with her to be polite.” Julia could understand Lettie’s upset after how rudely Samantha had acted toward her on numerous occasions.
“He doesn’t do anything out of politeness from what little I know of him.” She shook her head and turned away from the dancers as though unable to bear the sight. “You’re certain you’re all right?”
“Yes, but if you learn anything more about Viscount Frost, I would be interested to hear it. He’s working with my father.”
“Of course.”
Julia waited, hoping Lettie would add something more but she said nothing else. That was so like Lettie as she’d never been one to gossip. While it was one of her more admirable qualities, in this instance, it wasn’t helpful.
“I am most anxious to meet Viscount Frost,” Aunt Matilda said. “Will you introduce me?”
“He’s already left,” Lettie countered.
Julia was taken aback at the disappointment that filled her. Since when had her enjoyment of an event depended on anyone? It seemed the viscount had invaded her life in more ways than one.
CHAPTER SIX
“Crime may be suppressed, but it can never be exterminated by simply lopping the flourishing boughs and branches it puts forth; it should be attacked at the root, and the thief child is the root of the adult growth, tough, strong-limbed, and six feet high.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Oliver steadied himself as he stepped onto the busy street late the next morning. When he’d left the house earlier, he’d nearly convinced himself how much easier it was to venture out into the world.
Now he wasn’t so certain.
This area not far from the London docks held an odd mix of people and shops. Taking cues from Hawke, he’d chosen not to wear his normal clothes, but instead, an older suit coat that showed signs of wear. The few well-dressed gentlemen who walked down the street were eyed with either suspicion or a predatory gleam by others.
He gave a nod to Tubbs, who would return for him in half an hour’s time. Surely by then, he’d have completed his business here. He and Tubbs had enjoyed a sparring match in the basement that morning, but a message had arrived, interrupting his intention of remaining home today.
Already passersby jostled him, threatening his composure. A deep breath only brought an unwelcome stench to his attention. It had rained hard last night and, though the precipitation had ceased earlier, the moisture made a muck of the dirt and grime and waste on the streets. Everything from old newspapers to horse droppings to orange peels had mixed into a thick paste that made walking treacherous and coated shoes if one didn’t watch where a foot was placed.
Continuing to breathe despite the stench, he focused on avoiding the puddles and the worst of the sludge as he made his way to ‘Porter’s Imports and Exports.’ Mr. Porter knew of his interest in books and sent a message when an older book crossed his path. He’d sent one yesterday while Oliver was out.
Normally, Oliver had Tubbs fetch the books for him. The footman knew enough to make an educated guess as to whether Oliver would be interested or not. But today, Oliver decided to have a look at the man’s shop himself. Tubbs might miss a book that already sat in Mr. Porter’s establishment. Oliver still carried a faint hope he could locate one of Albert Magnus’s books and purchase it for himself. That would be a better arrangement than the prospect of visiting Lord Burnham on a regular basis.
With a shake of his head, he admitted it wasn’t speaking with the older lord that disturbed him, but the man’s lovely and charming daughter.
Julia had stolen into his dreams last night, moving alongside him in his bed, under him, over him, until he’d woken throbbing with desire. He feared that in such a state of mind, he’d have no restraint the next time he saw her.
Time. That was all he needed. Some distance from his last encounter with her. Part of the reason for this outing today was to force himself to think of something else. Sitting at his desk, attempting to divert himself with an ancient vellum manuscript written by Paulus Orosius, a third-century author, hadn’t worked. Orosius’s methodology was normally one to be admired, but today it had failed miserably at keeping Julia from Oliver’s thoughts. He could smell her sweet lilac scent, taste her, and feel her when he closed his eyes.
Yet it was more than that. Far more than her physical attributes appealed to him. There was an unexpected depth to her easily missed if one focused on her general kindness, not to mention her smile.
He glanced about, realizing that once again the mere thought of her had distracted him from his purpose.
Ridiculous.
Or was it? Thinking of her had delivered him to his destination with ease. He wasn’t certain what to make of that.
He strode toward the door of the import-export store, ignoring the jumble of working men and clerks, as well as wives who held baskets over their arms for their purchases.
The hanging signpost above the shop had faded, but the lettering was still legible, and the images of crates and barrels with a ship in the background suggested the store would contain goods from far-off shores. Of that, Oliver had no doubt. It was whether those goods had been procured legally that he questioned. The display in the window held an odd variety of random items, including an intricately carved ivory box, a miniature Egyptian casket, and bolts of bright silk fabric much like those he’d seen in China. Unfortunately, no books were in sight.
A bell rang as he opened the door and the man who stood behind the counter looked up from a ledger book, a pair of spectacles sitting low on his nose. “May I help you?”
“Viscount Frost to see the book about which you sent a message.”
“Oh.” The stout man’s eyes widened in surprise. “I was expecting your man. I’m Mr. Porter.”
“Thought I’d have a look for myself this time.” Oliver studied him, forming an impression of a confident man focused on business. No doubt running an import-export store was a challenge as one never knew the sort of goods that might be available nor the details of their origin. That required a broad knowledge. But there was a slickness to his demeanor as well that gave Oliver pause.
“If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll retrieve the text. I think you might find it of great interest.”
Oliver looked around as the man made his way through the crowded shop to the back. There were stacks of furniture, shelves crowded with unusual knick-knacks, even a collection of African artifacts. Several weavings graced the walls. One appeared to be a tapestry of a knight bowed low before an angel with an overly bright halo. She held out her hand as though offering forgiveness and light to the knight.
Something about the tapestry drew him forward to study it more closely. If only it were that easy. If only he could bow his head and pray, asking forgiveness for his actions.
He realized a
lmost at once the tapestry was not woven but painted and made in this century, not previous ones. It wasn’t what it should’ve been, much like himself. Fighting his personal demons was what had driven him to stay within the walls of his home during the past two years. They had proven impossible to banish, those demons. But somehow he had to find a way to live with them, keeping them in check, rather than allowing them free rein.
“Here it is,” Mr. Porter called out, drawing nearer. When he came into view, Oliver saw he carried a rather large leather-bound text, the brown cover faded and water-stained in spots. Just the sort of book that never failed to arouse his interest.
He had gained his love of books at his grandfather’s knee. During his childhood, he’d spent many hours listening to his stories about this book or that one, about how monks had painstakingly copied manuscripts for days upon end, their embellishments of the books an art form in itself.
Mr. Porter set the heavy book on the counter with a thud, turning it toward Oliver for his perusal.
Before opening it, Oliver studied the cover in an attempt to determine its age. The leather was well worn in places, spotted in others. With careful movements, he opened it, nearly sighing in appreciation at the musty smell that escaped from the parchment pages. A sense of peace fell over him as it often did when he handled books. He paused for a moment as he realized it was much like the way he felt in Julia’s presence. With a quick shake of his head, he pushed away the thought to consider later.
The elaborate writing inside was a challenge to read, but it appeared to be a copy of Yvain, the Knight of the Lion, a twelfth-century Arthurian romance.
Oliver carefully turned a few pages, noting the good condition. It would be an excellent addition to his collection.
“What do you think?” Mr. Porter asked. “Is it of interest to you?”
Oliver took care to hide how interested he was in the book as he knew the man would raise the price. “Perhaps. What price do you have in mind?”
When the man gave a ridiculous one, Oliver shut the book. “I’ll leave it for another patron.”
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