Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  Guilt returned, never far from his side. He’d been avoiding her. There was no denying it. Being with her seemed to have unleashed an even more powerful feeling than the one he already fought.

  Hope.

  Hope that he could have a normal life, a happy one. How could one afternoon with her have done that? But it wasn’t only because of their time together in his library. It was the past weeks he’d spent with her.

  It had started when he’d walked into the bookshop and seen her standing like a beam of light in his dark world. That may have been the moment when hope, and something far stronger, had begun to flicker to life.

  He set his hat on the opposite bench and ran a hand through his hair. He had yet to decide what to do about that damned hope. But the past two days of him keeping his distance hadn’t solved anything.

  Feeling the weight of her gaze, he looked up and was lost again in her light. “Julia.”

  She was in his embrace before he realized either of them had moved, her arms wrapped around him as though she needed him as much as he needed her. Might it be true?

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” he whispered, breathing in her lilac scent as heat seeped through his veins, chasing away the cold.

  He felt her nod against his shoulder.

  “When I saw him touching you—” He couldn’t finish, couldn’t begin to describe the feelings coursing through him at that moment. “I’m sorry.”

  She leaned back, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “You have nothing for which to apologize. That was all him.” She reached up to smooth his brow. “I’m fine. Truly.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and he did what he’d been longing to do since Malverson’s carriage had left his sight—he kissed her, long and deep, needing the connection as much as he needed air. The warmth of her in his arms, the taste of her, the feel of her hands on him, all helped to convince him that she was truly well.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he asked. She stilled, causing a fissure of worry in the back of his mind.

  Then she leaned back and smiled up at him, but he could see it was forced. “We are going to enjoy each other. Enjoy the moments we spend together.”

  Before he could question her, the carriage drew to a halt, and he heard the footman alighting to open the door. She squeezed his hand and scooted toward the door.

  Oliver stepped out after her, his senses still reeling. Whether it was from their kiss or that odd smile of hers, he couldn’t say.

  ~*~

  Julia exited the carriage without another glance at Oliver, well aware he was directly behind her. She didn’t want him to say anything more. While part of her was relieved to know that he wanted her, she feared he was going to insist there was more to their relationship than she intended.

  That was something she couldn’t allow.

  If he said he truly cared for her, that he wanted to offer for her, she didn’t think she had the strength to resist.

  But she couldn’t put her happiness over her father’s. If she married and left home, it would destroy him.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Who was she trying to fool? In truth, she feared that if she allowed herself to love Oliver truly, she’d end up just like her father—a shell of a person barely existing and never able to find happiness. Oliver couldn’t possibly care for her to the same extent she cared for him. That would make them no different than her parents. The pain of their marriage was something she couldn’t forget. Nor would she take such a risk.

  She needed to find a way to convince Oliver their relationship was fine as it was.

  Lovers on occasion. Friends at times. But nothing more.

  Or she’d be left with nothing. A husk easily broken.

  She glanced up at him, pasting a bright smile on her face. “I’ll only be a moment at the apothecary’s.”

  Oliver stared at her as though she’d said something he needed to decipher. “I’m coming with you.”

  She tamped down a surge of panic. She needed a moment to herself to regain her equilibrium, to find a way to affect a casualness she was far from feeling. But one look at his face told her there was no arguing. What could she do but offer an even brighter smile?

  He glanced around the area and offered his elbow, moving toward the shop.

  The tinkling bell of the door brought Mr. Skyrme, the odd apothecary, from the rear of the store. “Lady Julia, how nice to see you,” he greeted her warmly.

  “Thank you. I hope you have the tonic ready for my father?”

  “Of course.” He reached for a brown glass bottle on the shelf behind the counter. “Here it is. How is Lord Burnham feeling?”

  “Better. Thank you.” She took the bottle and stared at the label, but the letters printed on it refused to make sense. Not with Oliver watching her so closely. He stepped even closer to look over her shoulder at the bottle. “Yes, this is it,” she declared as she handed it back to the lanky man, hoping it was true.

  “I believe he’ll find it quite beneficial.” Mr. Skyrme pulled some brown paper from beneath the counter to wrap it. “I’ve had many comments from others who’ve used it with excellent results.”

  The tightness in her shoulders eased as she felt Oliver’s gaze shift to glance around the shop. The way he examined things, she almost wondered if he’d ever been inside an apothecary. What did he think of the snakes preserved in bottles or the stuffed alligator hanging from the rafters?

  She finished her purchases quickly though she wasn’t anxious to return to the privacy of the carriage or their conversation. If Oliver broached the subject of their relationship again, she’d either have to distract him, or be honest and tell him that her future was already taken with caring for her father. She wasn’t certain she was strong enough to do the latter and wished to avoid being put in that situation if possible.

  As they exited the store, Oliver took the package from her. “Did you read the claims on the tonic label?”

  She paused, uncertain whether to answer honestly. “It was recommended to Father by a friend of his.”

  “You do realize the primary ingredient in most of the tonics offered for sale in there was either alcohol or an opiate of some sort. I hope your father’s expectations for results are not high.”

  She studied him for a moment. “Sometimes it’s not the actual medicine, but what one thinks the medicine will do that helps the most.” He frowned at her, so she tried again. “What you believe will happen is often what happens.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Maybe you should think on that before you disagree. If you look hard enough, I’m certain you’ll find it in one of those books you’re so fond of.” She said it as a reminder to herself as much as to him. She kept a smile on her face as often as possible partly because if she pretended to be happy, she often was, and partly because when she expected good things to occur, they often did. It also helped convince others to do what she wanted them to. But none of that had happened today.

  Her world felt upside down. And she had no idea what to do about it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Of the children who are not the progeny of thieves, but who somehow find their way into the criminal ranks, it is undoubtedly true that pernicious literature...does much to influence them towards evil courses.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Jasper Smithby looked up from his desk in the warehouse as Rutter strolled in. The man had returned to the living with a newfound respect from the other men and seemed to be enjoying his status. Jasper was pleased to have him back.

  “That shipment ye were waitin’ fer arrived last night,” Rutter announced. “The men are unloadin’ it now.”

  “Excellent.” Jasper sorted through a stack of papers and retrieved one. “Here’s where the contents need to go.”

  Rutter took the paper and studied it. “Porter’s Import and Export shop, eh? He’s been handlin’ a lot of the goods of late.”

  “He’s able to move them
quickly, especially the gold and silver-plated items, carpets, and the fine furniture. The less time they spend lingering about, the less chance anyone has of tracing them. The wine will be taken elsewhere.”

  Crawford entered the warehouse as well, casting a wary glance at Rutter.

  Rutter nodded in greeting.

  “How are ye farin’, Rutter?” Crawford asked. When his gaze fell to the scarf Rutter had taken to wearing around his neck to hide the long cut there, Jasper hid his smile.

  Rutter rocked back on his heels then adjusted the scarf, obviously pleased with the attention. “Grateful to be alive.”

  That was just the reaction Jasper had hoped for when he’d planned Rutter’s escape. The men suspected Jasper of using his special powers to cut Rutter’s throat while he lay in his cell, not realizing Rutter had done it to himself. Though deeper than Jasper had expected, it served the purpose of making the men believe in Jasper’s abilities. If only the news sheets had reported what Smithby had wanted them to—that dark magic had caused his death.

  “Can I see it again?” Crawford asked.

  Rutter smiled and untied the scarf with one hand. He appeared rather proud to display the injury as he lifted his chin to give Crawford a good view of the jagged cut.

  Crawford shuddered as he stared at it. “’Tis a miracle ye survived that.”

  Rutter shared a look with Jasper. “A miracle created by Smithby. I wouldn’t be standin’ here if it weren’t fer him.”

  That much was true, Jasper acknowledged. He’d still be in prison. No one knew the full truth except he and Rutter. Jasper was proud of him for keeping his mouth shut.

  Crawford’s gaze swung to Jasper, his expression holding the hint of fear that had been noticeably absent before. That pleased Smithby to no end. “I, ah, found out the man’s name who assisted the police with the drawings.”

  “Oh?” Jasper’s gaze narrowed. “Who?”

  “Was it Captain Hawke?” Rutter asked with a scowl.

  “No, but he’s a friend of his. Viscount Frost.”

  “Crawford, I want you to find him and keep an eye on him. I want to know what else he’s up to.”

  “Sure, boss.” Crawford moved to go only to turn back. “Did either of ye see a lad hangin’ about outside the past day or two?”

  “I noticed one just across the street earlier today,” Rutter said. “Is he still there?”

  “No, but he was there yesterday. I’ve seen him off and on. I think he’s the same boy I caught outside of Porter’s shop. I would’ve sworn he was tryin’ to listen to our conversation that day.”

  “If either of ye sees him again, catch him,” Jasper ordered. “We don’t need anybody snooping about when we have so many goods coming in and out of here every day.”

  “Maybe McCarthy sent him to see what he could find out,” Rutter suggested.

  “Then we’d best be asking the lad some questions,” Jasper said, the mention of his competitor setting his teeth on edge. “I doubt he’s hanging about of his own accord. I want to know what he’s up to.”

  “We’ll take a look for him now.” Rutter gestured for Crawford to follow him and the two men left.

  Jasper considered who the boy might be working for. No matter who it was, it couldn’t be good. He intended to put an end to his nosing around.

  ~*~

  Julia turned the last page on the little book she’d come across at the bookshop the previous day, disturbed by the story. Dick Turpin was a publication that romanticized thievery. A highwayman who stole and murdered was the hero of the story and his victims were portrayed as villains. To think of children with little to no hope of a future living in the East End surrounded by poverty reading such a book was terrible. Stories like this one had been mentioned in The Seven Curses of London, and when she’d spotted it at the bookshop, she’d impulsively purchased it.

  An overwhelming urge to discuss it with Oliver came to mind. But she couldn’t. Or rather, wouldn’t. The more time she spent with him, the more confused she was about what she wanted both now and in the future. Yet she was so outraged by the contents she was beside herself. The story clearly promoted the exploits of thieves. An impressionable boy reading this would be excited at the idea of mimicking that life. It even sounded exciting to her.

  How terrible to think of young children being encouraged to choose such a life. Something should be done to stop such publications from being distributed. She shouldn’t have given in to her curiosity and purchased it, as that only gave more money to those publishing such trash.

  The thought of Oliver had her sighing. She was so grateful for his rescue the previous day. A shudder passed through her at the close call she’d had with Lord Malverson. Somehow she had to find a way to avoid the lord in the future. She couldn’t help but wonder what Malverson had meant about Oliver’s activities in Ethiopia. But she also knew beyond a doubt that nothing would change her opinion of Oliver. He was an amazing man she was honored to know.

  With a shake of her head, she admitted the truth—a man she was honored to love. The surge of emotion the admission brought forth filled her eyes with tears.

  “My lady?” A footman stood at the door of the drawing room. Julia blinked rapidly to clear the moisture as he said, “His lordship requests your presence in the library.”

  “Of course.” With the book in hand, she rose and hurried to the library. This was the first day her father had made it down to his desk. She hadn’t wanted to hover but dearly wanted to know how he was doing.

  “How is the project progressing, Father?” she asked as she neared his desk. Though a trifle pale and overly thin, he appeared better than he had since falling ill. An air of vitality surrounded him today, much to her relief.

  “I’ve found something quite interesting,” he said, never taking his gaze from his notes.

  “What is it?”

  “There is a discussion on folk remedies to eliminate household pests that is fascinating.” He looked up at last, the intensity of his gaze at odds with the subject matter.

  “Oh?” She didn’t see how that would assist Oliver in any way.

  “The author mentions a particular herb that causes an unusual reaction if used in the correct dosage.”

  “What sort of reaction?”

  “It can slow the heartbeat.”

  “Truly?” She moved to the side of his desk to read his notes over his shoulder.

  “Apparently it was used to rid homes of rats, but the pests reanimated.”

  An image of a pile of dead rats suddenly starting to move filled her mind and she shuddered. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yes, but what if it were used on a human?” Her father’s blue eyes, so like her own, were lit with excitement.

  “So someone would be thought dead only to rise later?”

  “Exactly. Frost needs to be told this as quickly as possible. I’m certain it will be of great interest to him.”

  “Are you going to send him a note?”

  “It would be too difficult to explain all this in a message. I’d like you to deliver the information to him.”

  “Surely a message would suffice.” Her stomach fluttered at the idea of seeing Oliver again. Especially at his home. Alone. She wasn’t strong enough to resist what might occur if she were to venture there again. The danger to her heart was far too great.

  “I can’t possibly explain everything in a note. I’ll write down the name of the herb and the specific references from the book, but I’d like you to take him my message and explain.” At her hesitation, he frowned up at her. “It’s terribly important. I’m certain of it.”

  “Yes, of course.” She could do this.

  Her focus would remain on the information and not on her feelings. How hard could that be? Yet the niggle of doubt continued, refusing to let go.

  Her father explained further, reading the passage to her as though worried he might not have translated everything properly.

  She was of no assistance as she
knew little Latin but reassured him before his agitation returned him to his bed. Resigned to delivering the message, she went up to change while he wrote down some of the details. The pale lavender gown she donned was one of her favorites. She hadn’t picked it to please Oliver, but rather to bolster her confidence. Or so she kept telling herself.

  By the time she was ready, her father had his message written. He went through the information one more time, making her repeat the details to be sure she remembered them. Then she was off, her stomach dancing with nerves.

  ~*~

  Oliver stared out the windows of the library, surprised at the urge to step outside. He was restless today despite his and Tubbs’ lengthy sparring match earlier that morning, unsettled in a way that made him wonder if the weather was going to change or if something else more alarming was coming. The sense of knowing that hovered over him suggested danger was imminent.

  Unfortunately, this feeling didn’t provide specific details but only a sense of foreboding. What he was to do with it was another matter. He couldn’t take action based on a feeling. The best he could do was remain alert, but waiting set his nerves on edge.

  He’d briefly wondered if he was being followed when he’d paid a visit to Malverson’s home early this morning. When he hadn’t seen anyone, he continued with his plan and demanded that the injured man leave the country for a time.

  Malverson had sputtered reasons he couldn’t possibly do so, but there was a sliver of fear in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Oliver could only surmise Malverson realized he’d had a close call. That along with the fact that Oliver had threatened to reveal his preference for young girls to his family and friends as well as placing a notice in the newspaper were enough to convince the man to leave.

  At any rate, the lord should be departing England tomorrow. Julia wouldn’t have to worry about encountering him again for a long time.

  When voices sounded in the foyer, Oliver wasn’t surprised—only curious to see who’d arrived. The feminine pitch echoing in the hall had his alertness shifting to anticipation. He’d done his best to put aside the feelings that had threatened when he’d last seen her. As though ignoring them would make them go away. In truth, he had no idea what to do with them. Nor had Julia seemed to welcome a discussion on the topic. That worried him more than anything.