Chapter Three
“...a human bird of prey, in short, [is] bound to a desperate pursuit of that terrible course of life into which vice or misfortune originally casts him; a wily, cunning man-wolf, constantly on the watch, seeking whom he may devour.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Oliver bid good day to Lord Burnham, feeling ten times more frustrated than when he’d arrived. How he’d managed to shift from buying the book to suggesting topics the lord should search for annoyed him to no end. Why had he agreed to such a course of action? He had no answer other than sympathy for the old man and an inability to take away his obvious pleasure at the task.
He’d gone so far as to ask to see De Animalibus so he could peruse a few pages of the text himself but had been told it was upstairs in Burnham’s bedroom. No matter how many hints Oliver made, the earl hadn’t offered to send anyone after it.
Oliver closed the library door, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Yet what choice did he have? He needed to know what was in that book. After careful consideration, he’d decided against telling Lord Burnham the entire tale of why he was so interested. That might prove more than the man could handle in his present state since he was still obviously recovering from an illness.
Though he should’ve flat out told the lord he wasn’t interested in working with him, Oliver hadn’t found the heart to do so. Not when Burnham had been so delighted at the prospect. Oliver wondered if he’d end up in a similar state if he continued his reclusive ways, thrilled if someone chose to call upon him.
Then again, his days locked in his home may have already come to an end. He’d ventured out twice in the last two days. That was hardly the behavior of a recluse. No matter that he looked forward to returning home more than he could say.
“Viscount Frost?”
He paused in the foyer at the lilting tone and turned to see Lady Julia standing in the doorway of the drawing room.
“I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time?” she asked, bestowing that charming smile of hers.
He scowled in response. The less time he spent in her company, the better. Somehow he knew his sanity depended on it. He was certain Lady Julia had the power to upset his already imbalanced life.
“Of course,” he managed with as much civility as he could muster.
She gestured for him to come into the drawing room and eased the door partially closed behind him. He had to surmise she didn’t want her father to overhear their conversation. He braced himself for the berating he was certain would be forthcoming.
Today her gown was a pale blue shade that made her eyes appear even brighter than yesterday. Her hair was swept back in a looser chignon, leaving several strands to frame her face. Her lilac fragrance teased him as her presence drew him closer.
“Needless to say, I was surprised to find you visiting with my father.” She looked up at him from under the long sweep of her lashes.
“As was I,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
“I was merely saying that I decided a call on him might be worthwhile.”
“You mean you hoped he’d give you the book.”
The lady had more spine that her angelic appearance suggested.
“Indeed. I offered him twice what he paid for it, but he didn’t want to sell it.” Though Burnham hadn’t actually said no, he’d merely avoided responding to the offer. Oliver still wasn’t certain how his simple request had gotten so twisted.
“He has a great fondness for books.”
“As do I.” Oliver studied her. Perhaps all was not lost. Not if he could convince Lady Julia to speak with her father on his behalf. “I truly need that text. Would it be possible for me to borrow it for a few weeks? I’d be happy to pay for the use of it.”
“That would be up to my father.”
“He didn’t seem open to the idea.” Lord knew Oliver had tried.
“Perhaps he will be able to save you some time on whatever you’re searching for within its pages.”
“Humph.” It was difficult to tell anyone what to look for when he didn’t know himself.
“I wanted to advise you that he is often ill. I wouldn’t want this project to become too much for him.”
Oliver stepped closer as his frustration flared. “Then convince him to sell me the book.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not now.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s very excited by the idea of working with you. Convincing him to either sell you the book or allow you to borrow it would take that away.”
“You don’t want me to tire him yet you won’t help me obtain the book?” He hoped she realized how ridiculous she was being.
Her chin rose, making him see he wasn’t convincing her to see his side of the situation. “Avoiding overtaxing him shouldn’t be that difficult. Surely there’s no rush for the information you seek.”
Anger sparked within Oliver. “I would have you know that this project might be a matter of life or death. It is not merely some hobby in which I am indulging.”
“How can some dusty old book help save a life?”
He ran a hand through his hair as he considered his options. Did he dare risk explaining the situation? Yet he was certain she held sway over her father. If she were more sympathetic to Oliver’s plight, she’d be more inclined to help.
Still he hesitated. This was a dangerous situation. Jasper Smithby was a daring man who’d been far too successful in his many illegal ventures thus far. Oliver didn’t want to risk placing the earl or his daughter in harm’s way. But he had no reason to believe his existence had gained Smithby’s attention, therefore it was safe to assume any conversation he had with Lady Julia wouldn’t either.
“It is rather a long story,” he began, wondering if a lady of the ton would possibly care about any of this. Yet when Hawke’s betrothed, Letitia Fairchild, came to mind, he realized it was worth a try to attempt to explain it to Lady Julia.
“I would be interested in hearing it if you have the time. I’d like to know what my father is becoming involved in.”
“After you.” He watched as she took a seat, surprised when she gestured for him to sit beside her on the settee. She shifted to face him, those amazing blue eyes intent on him. The light of interest in her face made him want to tell her everything—anything—as long as she would keep her attention focused on him.
Shaking off the temptation, he decided to gauge her reaction as he spoke. He still wasn’t certain what he was getting into nor did he want to overwhelm her. The entire situation was complicated.
“Jasper Smithby is a London criminal with a ring of thieves at his disposal. His activities range from stealing young girls off the street to work in brothels both in London and Brussels as well as selling large quantities of stolen or illegal goods. Those are merely the ones a friend of mine you may know, Nathaniel Hawke, has discovered thus far. No doubt Smithby has other ventures as well.”
“Are you referring to Captain Hawke?” she asked. At his nod, she added, “His betrothed, Lettie Fairchild, is a dear friend of mine. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she is somehow involved in this.”
“She is indeed working with Hawke on some aspects of the situation.”
Lady Julia said little as he continued his explanation. He hoped he told her enough to portray the seriousness of the situation. Oliver couldn’t tell if she was simply being polite with her attentiveness or if what he shared caught her interest.
When he finished, she asked, “How did Captain Hawke come to be aware of all this?”
“He stumbled upon Smithby when he rescued several young girls from his clutches. He discovered more details when he read another book called The Seven Curses of London, a recent publication. Have you heard of it?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“It notes in rather vivid detail seven of the worst problems that plague our city. While not light reading, it is very informative.”
“Excellent question. The author of that book, a man known as Albert the Great, was supposedly also the author of another book called The Book of Secrets. It is said to contain some sort of dark magic dealing with the physical sciences. I am hopeful the book you obtained for your father might have some of the same information. Smithby has managed to convince his thugs that the book gives him power.”
“What sort of power?”
“We don’t know much other than his men are frightened of him, especially when he refers to the book. They believe he has gained some kind of knowledge from it that gives him unnatural power.”
“Many people are superstitious. Perhaps he plays into that somehow.”
Oliver nodded. Lady Julia was obviously intelligent. Most other women her age seemed more concerned with balls and gowns than the troubling issues that lingered in the city only a short distance from their homes. “However Smithby does it, he’s quite effective.”
“And you gave some suggestions to my father as to what he might look for as he studies his book?”
“Yes, though I’m not certain what it contains. I didn’t mention the reasons behind it.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best. Otherwise he might become overly anxious and tire himself in his search.”
Oliver bit back his frustration but couldn’t help adding, “While I wouldn’t want any harm to befall him, time is of the essence. I hope you’ll advise me if he no longer has interest in reading the text.”
“Certainly. We’ll keep you apprised of progress as well as any lack thereof.”
“I suppose that is all I can ask at this point.” He couldn’t help the impatience in his voice. How could he make any progress toward uncovering Smithby’s secrets when he had no method to do so?
Lady Julia’s hand on his arm stopped his thoughts. Stopped his breathing. His focus shifted to her, something he’d been trying to avoid.
“Lord Frost.”
What would his given name sound like on her lips?
“I hope you understand how much this means to my father.”
The heat of her hand on his sleeve spread slowly up his arm, extending to places he hadn’t realized were so cold.
“He finds little that truly captures his interest these days.” The tip of her tongue appeared briefly from the corner of her mouth, teasing him.
He could barely understand what she was saying.
“I owe you an apology,” she continued. “I feared you were here to take the book.”
“Oh?” he asked, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say. Her blue eyes held his with an openness that lanced straight through him, loosening his restraint. His gaze fell again to her rosy lips, wondering what they might feel like beneath his.
“I’m so pleased you offered him a chance to aid you in this quest.” She gave his arm a squeeze.
Whether it was the squeeze or the word “quest”, his tightly leashed control slipped another notch. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his hold on the slippery beast. He drew a quick breath to gather himself, but his nose filled with her lilac scent, which only confused him more.
His gaze fell to the gentle pulse of her heartbeat visible in the little dip where her neck met her collarbone. Lord, but he wanted to taste her there almost as much as he wanted to know more about her. She fascinated him, inside and out. How could it be that she was not yet married and raising a family of her own?
“I am in your debt.” She leaned forward as she whispered those words, only mere inches from him, close enough that he could feel her heat. Her sweet scent clouded his thoughts, muddling his resolve.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth and the sharp pang of longing that speared through him pushed him closer. Unable to resist, he eased closer, wondering if he dared to kiss her even while knowing it was a terrible idea.
A tiny gasp escaped her lips, and the sound snapped his meager restraint. He pressed his mouth to hers but the sensation only deepened his longing. It had been so very long since he’d felt like this—when passion threatened his common sense.
Her mouth was soft beneath his. She met the kiss with a strength of her own, surprising him, matching him perfectly. He reached out to hold her gently, fearful she’d shift away.
Her hand tightened on his arm then let go only to flutter up to his chest, resting there. He took that as a sign of encouragement and deepened the kiss, enjoying the womanly feel of her, the pleasure of it spinning quickly out of control.
When her fingers touched his neck, bare flesh to bare flesh, he lost his grip on the beast completely. He teased the seam of her lips apart with his tongue and took possession of her in the most primal way. Her tongue that had teased him earlier now met his own, stroke for stroke. His body hardened with desire, all for Julia.
Her soft moan made him want to please her even more, to make her feel even a portion of what he did. He released her lips to kiss the slender column of her throat, moving toward the spot that had beckoned him. She tipped her head back as though to give him better access, and her breath quickened, rewarding him. He nuzzled the soft skin beneath her ear as her hand touched the hair at the nape of his neck. Nothing had ever felt as good as her gentle touch. Then her hand moved to cup his cheek as though to guide him to kiss her once more.
Oliver was happy to oblige even as he knew he should ease back.
Take this slow.
Think.
But his desire for this woman, this ray of light, blocked out all else, including the tight rein of control he normally held over himself.
“Julia?” The muffled voice from the hall caused Oliver to draw back, wondering if he’d even heard it. “Julia?”
“Oh.” She pulled away with a start. “My father.”
Reality settled like an unwelcome blanket on Oliver, slowly smothering his smoldering desire.
Her eyes sought his, and what he saw there made him want to draw her back into his embrace. All he’d felt seemed to be reflected in her gaze—the same longing, the same heat.
“My father,” she whispered again as though telling them both.
“Yes,” Oliver agreed and attempted to gain his senses. He rose with her, his hands lingering on her waist.
Her lips parted as though to say something only to quickly close. She shut her eyes, her long lashes brushing her cheeks, and she drew in a breath. When she at last looked back up at him, the passion in her eyes had cooled, leaving nothing for Oliver but a memory. “I must go.”
He nodded though he still held her, his body unwilling to release her and the light and warmth she gave him.
She placed her hands over his and the brief contact had him aching with desire. Then she stepped out of his reach and turned to leave. At the door, she glanced back. “I—I hope I will see you soon?”
The question in her gaze was one he couldn’t answer. So he said nothing as she disappeared through the doorway.
Already the light faded, leaving him once again in darkness. Damn if he didn’t miss it.
~*~
Late that night, Julia lay awake, unable to sleep. Over and over she replayed the events of the day in her mind but still found no plausible explanation for her behavior.
Or Viscount Frost’s for that matter.
She’d dealt with amorous men before. After all, this was her third Season. She enjoyed interacting with men in general. Only one had made her wonder if there was some way marriage and a family might be possible. That perhaps somehow she could make it work.
But then she’d returned home to her father and realized how dependent he was on her, in every possible way—emotionally, spiritually, and physically. She could step away, she knew. Her father would encourage it. In fact, he’d be appalled if he knew what she was doing.
Yet she also knew that if she left him in this big house with no one except Aunt Matilda for company, he’
d let go. He’d release his fragile hold on the will to live and slowly fade away. He’d let an illness take him under. Such a thin veil separated him from the afterlife.
After all, her mother was somewhere on the other side. She was who he truly wanted to be with. Despite her cheating, her lies, her blatant disregard for their marriage, her father had loved her body and soul.
Julia was pleased she’d been able to convince her younger brother to proceed with his plans to travel with friends after completing his exams at university last year. If he were here, he’d soon realize how frail their father was. She didn’t want to worry him. His duties and responsibilities would take up his time soon enough.
Besides, his relationship with Father was rocky at best. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he questioned whether he was the legitimate heir to the Burnham title. He was as different from their father as night and day. Did he see it? Did he wonder as she did whether one of their mother’s indiscretions had caused his existence?
Oh, she hoped not. She wanted him to go through life with no doubt as to who he was or whence he came. Julia looked enough like her father—shared his blue eyes—that she had little doubt, but when she looked at her brother, there was no sign of their father. Not in looks, mannerisms, or temperament.
Despite the unsettled way Viscount Frost made her feel, she was grateful for the diversion he’d given her father. She couldn’t understand, given all the men she’d met, why this one rude, insufferable, gruff man and his moss-green eyes appealed to her in so many ways.
No. That wasn’t quite true. That hint of vulnerability she’d caught a glimpse of appealed to her, not to mention the gentle way he spoke with her father. She sensed a loneliness beneath his brusque exterior that made her want to help him.
Yet there was something even more than that, as though some corner of her soul recognized a part of him. That was what prevented her from removing his image from her mind along with the feel of his lips from hers. His hands—oh, those hands had moved over her as though they knew just where to go. She’d been so taken with him that her inhibitions had slid away, much like candle wax melting under a flame. Even his scent appealed to her—a mix of sandalwood and the freshness of the forest.
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 3
