Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  “Julia is a very special woman. I hope you tread lightly, Viscount Frost. Her heart is tender and far too giving.”

  The mention of her heart set his racing. While willing to admit that his body reacted to her, he didn’t like to think of her heart. It truly would be best if he left now and never returned. Surely he could send a message, stating he’d had to leave for the country. He could pretend to visit his parents. A few weeks away would surely calm his desire for Julia, wouldn’t it?

  Doubt filled him as he knew what he felt wasn’t simple desire. Not anymore.

  “Oh.” The single word spoken from the doorway had both of them turning to see Julia standing there, her gaze searching between them, obviously wondering what they’d been speaking about.

  “I introduced myself to the viscount,” her aunt said with a smile.

  “I see.” Julia’s gaze searched his as though concerned as to what her aunt might’ve said.

  “It was a delight to meet you,” Lady Matilda said then turned to go.

  “And you as well,” Oliver replied, still puzzled by her comments. After she’d left the room, Oliver turned to Julia. “She’s an interesting woman.”

  “Oh dear. What did she say?”

  “Just the usual pleasantries.” Oliver didn’t care to bring up her parents or their relationship, or lack thereof. He was certain Julia wouldn’t be comfortable with all that her aunt had shared.

  “Somehow I doubt that,” Julia muttered even as she shook her head. “Aunt Matilda tends to be outspoken. Unfortunately, Father isn’t up to seeing anyone today but asked if you could possibly call upon him tomorrow?” Her brow quirked as though hoping he might say yes.

  He searched for the excuse he’d thought of only moments before, but his mind was blank as he stared at those sky-blue eyes. Heaven forbid she ever realized how hard pressed he’d be to deny her anything. “Of course.”

  She drew nearer, her hands folded before her once again. “Don’t say that unless you’re certain you can come. The mention of your visit pleased him greatly.”

  “I’d be happy to come if it might aid him.” Cursing himself, he stepped close to trail a finger along her cheek. “If it pleases you.”

  A tiny intake of breath sent heat through him. “Yes, it would please us both.”

  If it hadn’t been for that quick breath, he’d have guessed her unaffected by his touch. He leaned toward her, longing coursing through him. “I don’t care to see you so worried,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes briefly. “He fell ill so quickly this time that it frightened me. Just as his sudden lack of interest in anything frightens me.”

  “How do you mean?”

  She hesitated before at last saying, “I can’t help but think that one day soon, he’ll look around and see nothing to hold him here on earth anymore. That he’ll simply let go.”

  Her quiet words touched him. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing any more than he could stop himself from gathering her into his arms. He held her tight, hoping his embrace brought her some measure of comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s mi—”

  Her abrupt pause had him drawing back to look at her, wondering what she’d been about to say. But now her lips were pursed firmly, as though she wasn’t pleased with what she’d nearly told him.

  “If I can assist you in any way, please let me know.” Then he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, hoping she’d take it as the comfort he intended.

  She stayed there, in his arms, accepting his embrace for a long moment. Then she stood back, placing the distance he’d felt earlier between them once again.

  “Thank you for calling.” Her gaze returned to that spot above his shoulder that made him want to force her to look at him, to talk to him.

  He didn’t pretend to understand what was going on in her mind, but he didn’t like it. She’d appeared to have the perfect life when he’d first met her, but now he realized she was living as imbalanced a life as he was. Perhaps not to the extent of his own, but imperfect all the same.

  With no choice, he dipped his head as he bid her farewell. “I look forward to the morrow then.”

  She said nothing as he walked out the door, leaving him uneasy as he wondered what was behind those worried blue eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “It is when ‘hard up’ times set in, and it is difficult indeed to earn an honest penny, that rudimentary exercises in the art of pillage tell against a man. It is then that he requires his armour of proof against temptation, and lo! it is full of holes and rust-eaten places, and he falls at the first assault of the enemy.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Julia breathed a sigh of relief as the sound of the front door closing echoed in the foyer. She pressed her hands to her cheeks to cool the heat there. She’d wanted nothing more than to lean into Oliver, accept his comfort, and share the worry over her father. But what purpose would that serve? This was something she had to handle on her own. Oliver was a temporary distraction in her life. Nothing more.

  If only she could make her heart believe it.

  No matter how much she might wish he’d come to her rescue, he couldn’t. No one could. The need to help others, beginning with her father, was her solace—the only way she could find contentment and purpose in her own life. Without that, she’d be nothing. She’d be just a shell, a pretty object that wasn’t good for anything, much like the knick-knacks displayed so carefully about the room. Pleasing to look upon but nothing to hold anyone’s interest.

  She breathed deeply, trying to control her emotions as she walked upstairs to her father’s bedroom to sit with him for a time. He was developing a cough. That worry was far more important than determining what Oliver had meant by his embrace.

  Her hand was on her father’s doorknob when her aunt called from the other end of the hallway. “Julia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Viscount Frost is a wonderful man.” Aunt Matilda drew closer. “His concern for your father is touching.”

  “Indeed. Though I wouldn’t have described the viscount as kind in any way. He’s normally rather rude.”

  “Sometimes gruff men hide a soft heart,” her aunt said with a smile.

  “Oh?” She didn’t want to know such things. She already enjoyed his company far too much. If only she were strong enough to avoid seeing him. After all, nothing could come of her growing feelings for the man.

  “I hope you have a chance to find out.” With another smile, her aunt walked down the stairs.

  Julia shook her head, confused as to what she meant. Sometimes the poor dear made no sense.

  The drapes in her father’s room were drawn. She wanted to pull them back and let in the light, but her father preferred his room dark when he was feeling poorly. She believed the dim interior added to his melancholy and therefore his ill health. Unfortunately, she couldn’t convince her father of that.

  She walked slowly toward the bed as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and took a nearby chair.

  “Julia? Is that you?” his weak voice asked.

  She moved to sit on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. “I’m here.”

  He drew a breath, the rattle in his chest alarming her. “Did you tell Frost to return on the morrow?”

  “Yes, and he said he’d be happy to do so.”

  “I must apologize to him for falling behind on the research he wanted.”

  “I’m certain he understands.” That was the last thing her father needed to worry about. She wished he would simply give Oliver the book or at least allow him to borrow it for a time, but she’d already suggested that only to have her father adamantly refuse.

  “I’d give anything to read the other book he mentioned. After reading De Animalibus for Frost, I’m even more intrigued by The Book of Secrets. I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but the author is said to have discovered the Philosopher’s Stone.” The reverence in his whispered words tugged at her.


  Her mother had never understood her father’s fascination with such things. She’d insisted studying the past was a waste of time. That had been only one of the many things on which they’d disagreed. Her father had put aside his interests for years in an effort to please her mother. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been enough to make her happy.

  But Julia enjoyed her father’s interests. She might not share all of them, but she certainly appreciated his enthusiasm.

  “Yes, I remember you mentioning that before. It would be a privilege to read all of his books,” she agreed, wishing she knew of some way to find The Book of Secrets.

  “You haven’t found any trace of it?”

  Oh, how she hated to tell him no, hated to deny him anything, especially when he was ill. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t. I will continue my search though. One never knows where it might surface.”

  “A man couldn’t ask for a better daughter than you.” He gripped her hand for a moment, squeezing her heart as well. His sweetness when he was ill made her want to try even harder to aid him however she could.

  “I must caution you not to raise your hopes,” she warned him. “Viscount Frost has been searching for it for some time with no success. If he hasn’t located it, I’m not certain I’ll be able to do so.”

  “You were clever enough to get the copy of the last one before him. Perhaps you’ll be able to do so again. I have faith in you.”

  She didn’t care to imagine Oliver’s expression if he discovered she’d acquired it, despite all his efforts. He’d never forgive her. Yet how could she deny her father his request? The chances of her finding the book seemed so slim that she decided not to worry over it.

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling so poorly, Father.”

  “No need to apologize. It’s certainly not your fault.” He coughed again, each breath in between them a painful wheeze.

  Then why did she feel so guilty as she did each time he fell ill? It was as though all her efforts to make him happy were insufficient. That she was insufficient.

  “I’ll send for the doctor again.” She rose to adjust his pillow to a more comfortable position. She detested the helpless feeling that always came over her when he was ill. How she wished she knew exactly what to do to help him. Then again, not even the doctor seemed to know that.

  He waved his hand in the air. “What for? He rarely has anything helpful to say, let alone any medicine that aids me.”

  That wave of helplessness flowed even stronger. “We still must try.”

  “Perhaps you should just let me go, Julia.” His voice was filled with hopelessness. “I seem to be ill more and more frequently of late. I’m a burden to you.”

  “No.” The word came out so strongly that her father’s eyes widened in surprise. She breathed deep to regain control. “No,” she repeated more calmly, brushing the grey hair from his forehead. “I refuse to allow you to leave me.”

  “I have to wonder if it would be for the best.” He rubbed his chest as though it hurt. “Julia?” he whispered, his eyes drifting closed.

  “Yes?”

  “Never risk falling in love. It is far too painful to live with no heart. Without it, you’re only skin and bones.”

  She couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her lips at the wrenching advice. How miserable was he still after losing her mother so many years ago to say such a thing?

  His even breathing suggested sleep, stealing away the chance for her to argue with him. Then again, what could she possibly say?

  The lump in her throat nearly choked her as she thought of Oliver. Was her father right? Was the risk too great?

  ~*~

  Jasper growled with rage, crumpling the newspaper Crawford had handed him and tossing it aside. “A farce? They think the murder was a farce?”

  Crawford wisely drew back as Jasper stalked past him.

  “I planned that carefully,” Jasper continued, astounded that Rutter’s death and the markings on the wall hadn’t created panic in the streets.

  “Did ye use the right marks?” Crawford asked.

  Jasper spun to face him, eager for an outlet for his anger. “You dare to question me?”

  “No, sir.” Though the words were respectful, they lacked the fear to which Jasper had grown accustomed. On which he thrived.

  Perhaps Crawford wasn’t the right person to assist him after all. He much preferred it if men trembled with fear when he spoke. He needed someone behind him who reinforced that fear amongst his men.

  He needed Rutter.

  “Do ye think McCarthy had anything to do with this?”

  Jasper shook his head. He didn’t think his enemy had those sort of connections in the police department or among reporters, though he supposed it was possible.

  “You don’t even know what symbols I used.” Jasper had no doubt he was far more intelligent and better educated than Crawford or any of his men.

  “Do ye?” Crawford asked.

  Jasper glared at the man, astounded at his audacity.

  “No offense, sir.” Crawford seemed to understand his mistake. “I’m only askin’ if ye truly understand all it says in that book. Perhaps ye missed something in the message ye left on the cell wall.”

  “No, you idiot. Nothing was missing.” Jasper wanted to throw something, but nothing in the warehouse was within reach except papers. They wouldn’t make a satisfying thud.

  Another glare at Crawford kept the man from sharing any more of his thoughts. Jasper had built his empire himself and certainly didn’t require the advice of someone like Crawford. The man’s questions made Jasper realize he’d handled Rutter’s ‘demise’ the right way. Soon Rutter would recover and take Crawford’s place.

  It had taken some convincing for Rutter to slit his own throat, but the superficial wound had been necessary to make his death appear like a suicide. The tonic Jasper provided gave Rutter time to lie back down on the mattress in the jail cell, dump the pig’s blood on his cot, and pose before he lost consciousness and his heartbeat slowed. Jasper couldn’t wait to see the look on Crawford’s face when he realized Rutter still lived.

  If only the entire ploy had created the panic Jasper had hoped. Now it seemed as if it had all been a waste. At least he’d have Rutter back once he recovered from the aftereffects of the tonic. He yet held hope that word of Rutter’s resurrection would spread among the underworld and cause unease amongst his men and his enemies.

  “I have a task for you,” Jasper said as a new plan formed in his mind. “I need you to discover who the expert is that the article says the police consulted. Perhaps when he turns up dead, the police will think twice about playing such games with me.”

  Crawford’s eyes widened. “I’m not certain how to find that out. The police aren’t likely to tell me.”

  Jasper stalked closer. “Don’t bother me with such details. Figure it out. Rutter would’ve.”

  “Very well, sir.” Once again the words were right, but the way he said them didn’t please Jasper in the least.

  Surely he wasn’t losing his hold over his men, was he? He’d hoped by now that he wouldn’t have to use the damned book and its supposed power to create fear in their bellies. But as Crawford walked out without a backward glance, he knew he needed to do something to reestablish his dark power. Perhaps he could use the reappearance of Rutter to aid him.

  With luck, Crawford would find the expert, and Jasper would do away with him the same way he’d dealt with Rutter, except with a more permanent end. That should help make the men, and the police for that matter, quake in their boots.

  ~*~

  Oliver glanced up from his desk when Tubbs entered the library the next morning.

  “A message for you, my lord,” the footman advised as he handed him the sealed missive.

  The distraction was a relief from watching the clock for the time to come when he could call upon Julia and her father. But his relief was quickly dashed as he read the sweeping curves that formed a few brief words.
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  Please do not come today.

  J.

  Did that mean her father had worsened during the night? If so, surely there was something he could do to help. He rose, deciding to call on them anyway, only to halt.

  If Julia didn’t want him there, who was he to decide otherwise?

  “Is there a reply?” Tubbs asked.

  Oliver latched onto the suggestion. Not bothering with a new piece of paper, he grabbed his pen and scrawled an equally brief reply.

  Let me know when.

  O.

  As Tubbs left the room, the emptiness of the day stretched before him like a blank page, and he had no idea how to fill it.

  ~*~

  After a long, restless night, Oliver whiled away the morning in his library, watching the clock once again. Surely Lord Burnham would feel up to a visit today. Julia would no doubt welcome some help to lift her father’s spirits.

  As he glanced around the tall shelves filled with his beloved books, he couldn’t help but marvel at how his feelings for this room had shifted of late. What had once been a refuge felt more like a prison. He shook off the unfamiliar thoughts, certain they were due to his lack of sleep.

  When he heard the knock on the front door shortly after ten o’clock, he braced himself, his mood faltering as Tubbs entered the library with a message in hand.

  Unable to halt the hope that filled him, he opened it with care.

  Nor today.

  J.

  He stared at the words, wishing she would’ve shared more. He regretted the brevity of his own messages to her only a few days ago. Perhaps if he would’ve been more communicative then, she would be so now.

  He penned a quick reply:

  Soon, I hope.

  O.

  As Tubbs left with his message, Oliver closed his eyes at the worry filling him. For the thousandth time, he wondered if the blame for the earl’s illness could be placed with him. He’d known Burnham’s health was fragile. Why hadn’t he taken the time to stop by that day, however briefly? Despite the events occurring, he could’ve done so. He wished he had the day to repeat and fix his mistake.

  It had been a long while since he’d felt responsible for anyone. After his time in the service, he’d hoped never to bear that weight again. He wasn’t good at it since he’d returned to civilian life. He rarely knew what the right thing to do was. And far too often, he allowed his anger to guide his actions.