Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2)

by Williams, Lana

  Oliver noticed Julia’s smile as her father spoke. The deep affection she had for her father was admirable. He wondered what happened to her mother. Was she an only child? He’d never heard mention of a sibling. Berating himself, he reminded himself that none of those questions mattered. The less he knew about her and her family, the better.

  He and her father discussed the book and notes for several minutes. Oliver did all he could to direct the earl’s focus to what was truly helpful rather than what the older man found interesting. The book was long and written in Latin. Translating it took time and effort. He couldn’t help but worry that Burnham would miss something, but Oliver no longer had the heart to press him to sell it.

  “I must be going,” Oliver said when he once again felt anxiety creeping back as more attendees left the lecture hall to stand outside.

  Was it his imagination or had the light in Julia’s eyes dimmed at his announcement? If she knew how broken he was, of all that he hid inside, he doubted she’d encourage her father to keep working with him, let alone want to spend time with him herself.

  He needed to make certain she never found out.

  ~*~

  Julia was pleased to find Lettie at the ball that evening, hovering near the entrance.

  “Another gorgeous gown,” she told her friend as she gave her a hug. Lettie had taken to wearing more vivid colors since her engagement to Captain Hawke. Tonight’s version was in a deep ruby shade that made her skin look amazing.

  “Thank you. I’m quite fond of this one,” Lettie said as she ran gloved hands down the fitted silk gown.

  While the change in her attire from pastels to more vivid shades was attractive, Julia knew her changed appearance had more to do with her happiness. “You are positively radiant.”

  Lettie gave her a smile that lit her face even more and leaned close. “I am so very happy. I had no idea feeling like this was even possible.”

  It took all of Julia’s resolve to keep her own smile in place. She wanted to ask Lettie what it was like to experience that level of joy. But she herself had nothing to complain about. She was very lucky. There was no pressure to marry, other than her aunt’s nagging. They had money enough that she’d never be forced to find a wealthy husband. She was in good health and had many friends. Yes, she was very lucky.

  But in the past few days, she’d realized she wasn’t especially happy. Even the contentment she’d previously felt had slipped away. She wasn’t about to admit any of that to Lettie. Her friend would think her ridiculous. Unlike Lettie, she didn’t have four younger sisters to worry over, only a younger brother who required very little from her, and a father who wished to be reunited with his wife.

  Now was not the time to dwell on any of that.

  “I’m pleased to hear that.” Julia reached out and took Lettie’s hand. And she was. “You deserve happiness. How are wedding plans progressing?”

  “Very well, thank you. My mother is so busy with my sister’s wedding plans that she’s allowing me to make most of the decisions myself.”

  “Does that mean your gown won’t have a large bow on it or be layered in ruffles?” Julia was well aware that Lettie’s mother’s taste didn’t suit her eldest daughter’s figure or coloring.

  “Not one.” Lettie stifled a giggle. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”

  They discussed the plans for a few minutes before Lettie said, “I’m sorry I missed your visit yesterday.”

  Julia mentioned her search for the books. Lettie wasn’t encouraging. “I visited several bookshops with no success. I’d be happy to provide you with a list of them.”

  “Thank you. It would help my search.” She hesitated before asking her other question. Would learning more about Oliver help in any way or only feed her fascination for the man?

  The weight of Lettie’s gaze made her even more indecisive. Surely she should discover more about him and his past because he was interacting with her father. Perhaps there were things she should know in order to protect her father. “Has Captain Hawke mentioned anything more about Viscount Frost?”

  “Nothing specific. I do know Frost is helping him to do all he can to stop Smithby.”

  “That’s the man who held you in his warehouse, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. He’s a terrible person.” Lettie gave a shudder. “The things he’s done are not an appropriate topic for a ballroom discussion.”

  “How did you find out about him?”

  Lettie heaved a sigh. “I obtained a copy of a book.”

  “The Seven Curses of London?”

  “Yes.” Lettie’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “Viscount Frost mentioned it. I bought it yesterday when I was in a bookshop.”

  Lettie smiled. “I’m so pleased. There have been several times when I considered mentioning it to you, but Mother has warned me so often to avoid any topics involving books that I hesitated.”

  Julia looped her arm through Lettie’s. “Please know you can speak with me about anything, including books. Oliver—or rather, Viscount Frost said—”

  “Oliver?” Lettie’s eyes lit with interest. “Do tell. Are the two of you on close terms?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’d call it that.” Julia cursed herself as she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. If she wasn’t careful, the next thing she’d allow to slip was that they’d kissed—on more than one occasion. As much as she enjoyed Lettie, she wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone. “At any rate, he suggested the book might be of interest.”

  “I would label it more concerning than interesting. The atrocities happening on a daily basis are difficult to truly understand. If I hadn’t seen some of it for myself, I’d wouldn’t believe the terrible problems happening so close to where we live.”

  The passion lighting Lettie’s hazel-green eyes was something Julia admired. She wished she felt deeply about a topic the way Lettie did. “I look forward to reading it. Perhaps there is a way I, too, could help.”

  Lettie shook her head. “Don’t make the same mistake I did by becoming overly involved. It’s far more dangerous than you might think. The information in the book should not be treated lightly.” Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize you were so fond of books.”

  “I enjoy reading but not the same books as my father.”

  “What else do you like to do?”

  Julia opened her mouth to give her usual answer, only to realize Lettie truly wanted to know. She was genuinely interested. “I don’t know,” she admitted on a quiet breath, alarmed at the thought. An unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty came over her.

  “I know just what you mean,” Lettie said with a sympathetic look. “I was so busy with my sisters that I lost myself for a time.”

  “I suppose I’ve done the same. Much of my days are spent either caring for my father, worrying about him, or finding some way to aid him.”

  Lettie nodded. “If it weren’t for Nathaniel, I don’t think I would’ve paused to understand what was happening.”

  A pang of envy struck Julia. Not that she wasn’t happy for Lettie. Quite the opposite. She couldn’t think of a person more deserving of the love she and her captain had found. But knowing she wouldn’t ever be planning a wedding of her own with a man who had changed her life as Captain Hawke had changed Lettie’s filled her with regret.

  She tamped down the feelings, reminding herself of what she was supposed to be doing. “I am pleased you found each other. Please let me know if Captain Hawke mentions anything more about Viscount Frost.”

  As she spoke she felt that odd prickle of awareness chase down her spine. A glance over her shoulder showed Oliver directly behind her. Her heart thundered as she studied his expression, wondering if he’d heard her.

  “Good evening,” Lettie said with a knowing smile at Julia.

  Well aware how flushed her cheeks must be, she closed her eyes and waited, trying to decide how best to apologize.

  “Both of you ladies look lovely this ev
ening.”

  Though the words were kind, there was a tightness to his voice that had her opening her eyes to look closer at him.

  His gaze held hers for a long moment, and the vulnerability she saw there had her wondering. Then he glanced about as though searching for danger. The tightness around his eyes and mouth had her speculating what could be the matter. His nostrils flared as a muscle in his jaw flexed.

  “Are you well, my lord?” she asked quietly.

  Those green eyes focused on her. “Of course.”

  She didn’t believe him even for a moment. His tension was undeniable. Wishing only to give him what meager assistance she could, she reached out to touch his arm and moved closer to whisper, “Deep breaths might help.”

  He frowned as though surprised at her suggestion. Rather than dismiss it, he drew in a long, slow breath as his gaze continued to hold hers.

  “Did you happen to see Nathaniel when you arrived?” Lettie asked him, seemingly unaware of their quiet conversation.

  “Not yet. I entered through the garden, and you’re the only guests I recognized.”

  “I assume you’ve come to speak with him,” Lettie said, still searching the crowd.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Unfortunate because of him or the setting?” Julia couldn’t help but ask with a smile. If she knew how much Oliver detested crowds, surely Captain Hawke did as well.

  He answered her smile with one of his own. “The setting. Why he insists on meeting at such events is...annoying.”

  Lettie chuckled. “It’s his attempt to pry you out of your library and away from your books.”

  Oliver glanced away, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. “It’s no crime to prefer books over people.”

  No, Julia thought, but she wished she knew what had caused him to do so.

  “There Nathaniel is now,” Lettie announced.

  Julia turned to follow her gaze and noted the captain making his way toward them with eyes only for his betrothed. Her heart melted at the way he looked at her with such intensity, as though he could learn all she’d experienced since he’d last seen her. He greeted Lettie first before that watchful gaze caught on her and Oliver.

  Julia couldn’t help but observe the pair of them with interest. They might not have said their vows, but they were a unit already. Suddenly she was all too aware of Oliver’s presence beside her. For the briefest of moments, she wondered what it would be like to have him look at her that way.

  The pang of longing was so sharp, she pressed a hand to her chest so she could draw a shuddering breath.

  That sort of relationship was not in her future, she reminded herself. Perhaps she needed to do as Lettie had and find a purpose to fill the hole that suddenly threatened to engulf her.

  She glanced over to see Oliver studying her closely with a frown marring his brow. Her heart gave a little jolt at the sight.

  Surely that wasn’t concern in his expression. He couldn’t possibly be worried about her. She brushed aside the thought but couldn’t so easily dismiss the trickle of warmth spreading through her as his gaze remained on her.

  Chapter Nine

  “It is a fact that at least fifty percent of the young thieves lodged in gaol, when questioned on the subject, affect that it was the shining example furnished by such gallows heroes as “Dick Turpin” and “Blueskin,” that first beguiled them from the path of rectitude...”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Oliver tossed and turned as night eased toward dawn, sucked into the all-too-familiar nightmare. Although a portion of his mind knew it was only a memory—a dream—that didn’t prevent him from feeling the hunger gnawing at his belly or the damp, scratchiness of his uniform as he led his unit through the mountainous terrain.

  The fortress of Magdala was just visible on the horizon but miles upon miles of deep ravines and cliffs separated Oliver and his men from it. They were already hungry, wet, and tired after nearly three months on the march in the remote area of Africa. Yet on and on they’d continued despite the torrential rain and deplorable conditions.

  Oliver’s advance guard was tasked with capturing the artillery at the fortress to prevent the further slaughter of British troops. Another unit was directly behind his and the remainder of the expedition followed, restricted by the narrow valley. He knew trouble was ahead. He felt it. But he couldn’t disobey orders based on conjecture.

  He studied the rain-drenched hillsides that surrounded them, searching for the reason for his unease. When the terrain moved, he had his answer. Thousands of Abyssinian soldiers armed with muskets and spears hurtled toward them, their cries echoing in the tight area.

  “Fall in,” Oliver ordered.

  Their breech-loading Snider rifles in hand, they scrambled into skirmish positions and killed many of the attackers. But some made it through, forcing the British guard, including Oliver, to fight hand-to-hand.

  Within minutes, Oliver realized the unit behind them had fallen back under the onslaught. Desperate, he and his men fought with every weapon in their possession. As one wave of enemy soldiers was defeated, another took its place, seemingly in endless supply.

  Oliver alternated between taking shots when time permitted and using his rifle as a club. The attackers quickly overwhelmed him, and he drew his knife, stabbing and thrusting until his hands were slippery with blood. Reckless rage kept him fighting—rage at the enemy, at himself, at the terrible situation. The sight of each man’s face imprinted on his mind, but still they kept coming. Aware of his men nearby, fighting as hard as he, some successfully and others not, Oliver’s anger only grew until his focus narrowed. The battle continued on and on for what seemed like hours yet lasted perhaps thirty minutes.

  Even as he fought the next soldier, he realized how damned young the man was. No more than a boy, eyes wide with fear as he drew a gurgled breath. But there was no time for regret in the heat of battle. Not when the lives of his men were at stake. He shut off his brain as best he could and held tight to that rage, releasing control. He spun to attack the next soldier then repeated the moves over and over until everything became a blur.

  “Commander!” The heated shout penetrated the fog of his brain.

  He paused to glance about, realizing the boy-soldier before him had tossed aside his weapon and held up his hands. Oliver stared, uncertain as to whether he’d already stabbed the unarmed young man.

  Brown eyes glittering with fear, the boy opened his mouth but no sound emerged. Then he fell back, and Oliver’s heart stopped.

  ~*~

  Oliver woke from the nightmare drenched in sweat and gasping for air. He sat up in bed and tried to catch his breath as he said a word of thanks to any entity listening that he was no longer in Ethiopia. The reminder of his loss of control in the heat of battle made him ill in both mind and body.

  The dream was a familiar one, but no less terrifying. Apparently he’d spent too much time amid crowds as the dream had been so strong. That seemed to trigger it, along with other stressful events.

  The light of dawn peeked through the drapes, urging him out of bed. Returning to sleep was no longer an option. As he rose to wash and dress, he could barely contain the restlessness that filled him.

  For the first time, he wondered if it would help to speak to someone, if it might ease the burden in some way. He was growing weary of hiding in his home, hoping this feeling would eventually go away.

  There was only one person he’d consider speaking to—Hawke. If anyone might understand, it would be him. Before Oliver had time to change his mind, he followed the urge.

  Tubbs halted in surprise as Oliver stepped into the foyer. “May I be of assistance, my lord?”

  “I’m paying a visit to Captain Hawke.”

  “At this hour?” Tubbs’ frown made Oliver realize how rash he acted. It was far too early for visiting, but he knew himself well enough to know it was now or never.

  “Yes. I’ll walk. I won’t need the carriage.” Pe
rhaps by the time he got there, he’d know what to say, what part to tell him.

  “Shall I accompany you?” Tubbs asked as he hurried forward to open the door.

  “No need.” He walked down the front steps, wondering if the damp morning air would clear this strange urge.

  His brisk pace certainly brushed away the cobwebs left from his nightmare but not the need to speak with Hawke. He could only hope his friend was at home. Then he scoffed. Where else would he be at this hour of the morning?

  He knocked at the door on Arlington Street, still uncertain how he might broach the reason for his visit. The footman who answered the door didn’t raise a brow at Oliver’s request, only showed him into Hawke’s library where his friend already sat at his desk.

  Hawke rose, his brows drawn together. “Frost. Is all well?” Before Oliver could answer, Hawke moved around his desk to study him. “Never mind. I can see it’s not. Tell me.”

  Oliver glanced away under his friend’s close regard, trying to find the proper words to explain the reason for this early morning visit.

  Hawke placed his hand on Oliver’s shoulder as though to lend support, his blue eyes steady on Oliver and full of concern. “Sit. Then tell me what’s happened.”

  Taking a seat as Hawke sat beside him, Oliver drew a deep breath. “I have a recurring dream.” He paused, wondering if Hawke would think him crazed for speaking of such a thing.

  “You mean a nightmare?” At Oliver’s reluctant nod, Hawke nodded as well. “As do I.”

  Relief filled him at his friend’s admission, to know he wasn’t alone in this. “I thought perhaps if I spoke of it to someone...” Now that he was here, the notion seemed ludicrous. He glanced at Hawke, prepared to make an excuse and leave.

  “Yes. It helps.” The understanding in Hawke’s eyes lifted a weight from Oliver’s shoulders. “Speak freely. I will not judge.”