Olivia Twist

by Lorie Langdon

  Olivia returned the woman’s stare for several seconds, wondering how she had read her thoughts. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good. Well, if you’ve collected yourself, there’s a gentleman waiting for you outside. He asked me to look in on you.”

  Max. He’d come after her! Perhaps they weren’t so disconnected after all. Olivia rose to her feet, straightened her skirts, and dipped a quick curtsy to the woman. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  The woman nodded with a knowing smile as Olivia rushed out the door and into the shadowed hallway, and almost walked past Jack.

  Jack?

  She stopped and looked up and down the passageway. He was the only one there. She walked over to where he leaned with a shoulder against the wall, one booted foot crossed in front of the other, comfortable as you please, watching her with a disconcerting familiarity.

  “Jack, what are you doing here?”

  He responded with a sardonic lift of one brow, as if the answer should be obvious. “Checking on you.” The deep timbre of his voice vibrated over her skin.

  “Why? I—” Olivia stopped to swallow. “I thought you were angry with me.”

  “I am … was.” A corner of his lips curled and he plucked off his top hat, dark hair falling into his eyes as he fidgeted with the ribbon around the brim. “But something was clearly wrong for you to leave in the middle of such an engaging performance.”

  “How did you—Wait. Were you watching me?”

  “Plays bore me.” He shrugged and met her gaze. “Besides, I don’t believe opera glasses were intended for the stage.”

  “True enough.” Olivia’s heart skipped a beat as he confirmed he’d been watching her instead of the show. “What about Francesca?”

  “What about her? I came to check on you.” His words melted through her like warm brandy, leaving her light headed.

  Jack shifted to lean with his back against the wall and studied his fingernails. “Do you want to go somewhere with me … to talk?” His eyes lifted, burning into hers, and Olivia stopped breathing.

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “I …” Did she want to leave the theater in the middle of the performance? Abandon both their companions without a word? With Jack?

  He looked down at the tip of his shoe, shoved a hand in his pocket and waited, giving her time to decide. She noticed he’d removed his cravat, displaying the strong column of his throat; his too-long hair brushed his collar, and stubble darkened the hard angle of his jaw. He was danger and temptation personified. And she’d never wanted anything more in her life than to allow him to lead her where he may.

  She glanced up and down the hallway. They were still very much alone. Could she truly shut down the warnings in her head and follow her heart? Listen to her inner voice?

  Olivia moved toward him and his eyes widened a fraction, his whole body tensing. A thrill of power coursed through her, and she knew the answer. She took another step and tilted her face up to his. “Yes.”

  Their gazes locked, his eyes sparking with mystery. “Then let’s be off. The night awaits.” He pushed off the wall, cupped the back of her neck, and pulled her in for a single searing kiss that curled her toes in her slippers.

  When he lifted his head, she saw her own exhilaration reflected in his blue gaze. She could not conceive of his motivations, but for now, being with him was enough. He touched the back of her arm and guided her down the passage.

  A bit dizzy, Olivia leaned into his strength. It wasn’t as if they’d never been alone before, but this was somehow different. Perhaps because they weren’t Ollie and Dodger on a mission or Miss Brownlow and Mr. MacCarron putting on airs at a party. They were simply Olivia and Jack, and being together felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  Once they reached the atrium, ushers stood sentinel at every door. All the wall sconces and chandeliers had been lit and raised. Jack walked faster. The intermission was about to begin. As they rushed across the enormous space, the swish of Olivia’s skirts whispered in time with her pulse and the diamond-patterned carpet stretched before them, giving the illusion that it moved beneath their feet.

  When the intermission began, Max and Mr. and Mrs. Grimwig would search for her, panicked at her sudden disappearance. And when she couldn’t be found, they would inform her uncle and possibly the constables to search the city. Uncle Brownlow would be frantic with worry. Olivia’s steps slowed.

  Jack continued past her, but his hand still held her elbow so that when she stopped, his arm stretched out behind him. He turned and met her gaze. Pressure building behind her eyes, she shook her head. The doors opened all around them, and the buzz of hundreds of voices, like a beehive exploding, assaulted her ears. She glanced behind Jack at the exit, so close. Her heart galloped in her chest, compelling her to flee.

  “We can still make it, if we go now,” Jack urged, his crystal-blue eyes imploring.

  With a fortitude she didn’t know she possessed, Olivia stepped back from his touch. “I cannot.”

  “Miss Brownlow!”

  String-bean Grimwig rushed toward them, and Jack had to force his hands to unclench. Blast it all! Where was bloomin’ Grimwig when Olivia fled the theater in distress? He was sitting on his pompous behind, too afraid to go against convention and follow her, that’s where.

  “Miss Brownlow, is something amiss? Why did you leave the performance?” Twin flags of red stained Grimwig’s cheeks as he stopped in front of them, his gaze darting to Jack, and then back to Olivia. “What is he doing here?”

  “I’m fine. I merely needed a spot of fresh air.” Olivia’s mouth twisted in an effort to smile, but she quickly abandoned the attempt and began to fiddle with her reticule. She looked lost, like a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest, and Jack longed to put his arms around her.

  Grimwig’s eyes narrowed in accusation. “I asked you what MacCarron is doing here.”

  “He was … I mean, I …” Olivia floundered, blinking rapidly.

  “Olivia appeared distraught, and I was simply inquiring as to the lass’s wellbeing.” Jack worked to keep his tone light, when he longed to smash his fist into Grimwig’s abnormally large nose.

  “Olivia?” Maxwell’s face turned a disturbing shade of mauve, his raised tone drawing several curious stares.

  Jack suppressed a groan at his slip in address. What could he say? I’ve actually known her since she was a child dressed like a boy and stealing on the streets to survive. So I believe I’ve earned the right to speak her bloody name.

  “It’s quite all right, Max.” Olivia attempted to placate Grimwig with a touch to his sleeve.

  “Did you give MacCarron leave to use your given name?”

  Jack clenched his teeth and took a step forward. Robbing this git was going to be one of the great pleasures of his life. But for Olivia’s sake he would bury his anger and find a way to diffuse the situation. Before he could intervene, however, Olivia took Grimwig by the arm and began leading him away. “Max, you know how I despise formality …”

  At that inopportune moment, Lois and Miss Lancaster approached. “What is going on, here?” Lois demanded. “Jack?”

  Jack watched the graceful line of Olivia’s back as she walked away. He couldn’t blame her for changing her mind, but that didn’t dissipate the disappointment scalding through him like a fever.

  Turning to face his own disastrous situation, he pasted on a wide smile. “Ah, Auntie Lois and Miss Lancaster, so very good to see ye both! Please forgive my earlier absence,” he cooed in his most seductive brogue as he took Miss Lancaster’s hand and placed a lingering kiss on her gloved fingers. Her glare melted into a pout.

  Lois arched a brow, but thankfully kept her mouth shut. By the way her hawklike gaze focused past his shoulder, he could guess she knew he’d been with Olivia Brownlow, and she wasn’t pleased.

  Turning his attention to his neglected companion, Jack apologized again and made his excuses for leaving the pl
ay. Soon, his irreverent critiques of the performance had her laughing, and they joined the line at the refreshment table. As they drank tiny cups of swill being passed off as lemonade, bells tinkled overhead, warning everyone to find their way back to their seats.

  Joining the crush, Jack remained attentive to Francesca while covertly scanning the crowd for Olivia. Just ahead and to the right, he caught a glimpse of her dark-gold curls. He placed his hand on Francesca’s back and maneuvered her through the maze of people. The airless passage wreaked of body odor, hair pomade, and cloying perfumes. Jack excused his way through a cluster of older ladies shuffling along at a snail’s pace. He needed to reach Olivia before the hallway divided.

  “Mr. MacCarron, do slow down. These shoes pinch my feet,” Francesca whined as she struggled to stay at his side. Jack ignored the inane comment. The woman should purchase shoes that actually fit her bloomin’ feet.

  Just before reaching the split, Jack positioned himself directly behind Olivia. Utilizing one of his old pickpocketing moves, he feigned a trip, and his shoulder plowed into Olivia’s arm, knocking the reticule from her hand. She turned and knelt to pick it up, but Jack was already there. Their eyes met and everything seemed to slow around them. “Meet me at the gate. Tonight. Two a.m.”

  Olivia blinked twice, frowned, and then gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. Did she mean not at that time, or not tonight, or not ever? Jack handed the bag back to her, breathing in her sunshine and vanilla scent as they both stood.

  The entire exchange lasted mere seconds and soon they rejoined their companions. Jack caught String-bean’s glare, and returned it with a glacial smirk before leading Francesca down the opposite hall.

  Olivia had been ready to go anywhere with him. He’d read the inclination in her eyes. What had changed in those short minutes after they’d parted? Jack rolled his shoulders and suppressed a sigh of frustration. He would have to put on a good show if he hoped to hold Francesca’s interest. But after he fulfilled his duty and Lois was tucked away in her room, the night was his. He wasn’t giving up on Miss Brownlow so easily.

  CHAPTER 14

  Olivia slipped out of the rose silk gown and gasped in relief as she unlaced her corset. Sitting on the bed, she rolled off her stockings, releasing a sigh as the air hit her bare skin. After hanging her gown in the wardrobe and placing her underthings in the dresser drawer, she fetched the key to the locked chest at the end of her bed and removed her costume.

  She desperately needed to see the boys, but she would have to leave within the next quarter hour to avoid running into Jack. She had no doubt he would arrive at the designated time and place, despite her refusal. He was not one to take denial in stride. She yanked on a pair of trousers, the coarse material scratching against her bare legs.

  Olivia finished winding the binding cloth around her chest, fastened the tiny metal clips down the side, and then shrugged into a cambric shirt, her fingers pausing on the second button. She could still meet him and they could go to the Hill together. Dressed as Ollie, who would know?

  Absolutely not!

  She hastily finished buttoning the shirt over her bound breasts. Her impetuous behavior at the theater had proved she could no longer trust herself around Jack. And as much as she hated to admit it, Max’s warning earlier that evening had struck a chord: If you believe a cad like Jack MacCarron has your best interest at heart, then you’re sadly mistaken. I’ve heard stories about his past that would horrify you. The man is not only a user of women, but possibly a criminal. If you value your reputation—moreover, if you respect my family in the least—you’ll stay well clear of that blackguard.

  Not that Olivia took it all to heart; she knew well of Jack’s “horrifying” past. However, she had to admit he had behaved quite the rogue that evening. Escorting one woman to the theater—her dimwit cousin, no less—and then enticing Olivia to leave with him before the performance concluded. But even beyond Jack’s deceitful actions, the underlying meaning behind Max’s words chilled her to the bone. If he caught her with Jack in another compromising situation, he would break the betrothal.

  Olivia stuffed a stray curl into her hairnet with extra vigor, the painful tug of the tiny hairs on her neck making her eyes sting. Once again she would do what was right and ignore her own wishes and desires. The woman in the washroom at the theater may have meant well, but she did not know of the inescapable prison Olivia had backed herself into.

  She could hardly believe she’d been seconds away from taking the woman’s advice, following Jack from the theater and throwing her whole future, not to mention her uncle’s security, down the gutter. And for what? An alluring smile? A touch that shivered across her skin?

  Olivia sighed and stared at the mousy wig clutched in her hands. It was true that when their lips met she felt it over every inch of her skin, but as much as she wished it so, her feelings for Jack were not merely physical.

  When she’d asked for his help, before she could even explain what she needed, he had responded, Anything. No lectures on propriety. No questions asked. Because he knew the dark fear that drove her. It lived inside of him too.

  Jack could match wits with her all while twirling her in a flawless waltz. He put on airs with the gentry of London, warming his hands by their hearths, consuming their sumptuous feasts, playing their games, all while hiding his true intentions, his true identity. Just as she did. They each had a foot in both worlds, but didn’t fit into either.

  But together, miraculously, they fit.

  Perhaps she’d never stopped caring for the boy who’d once been her champion. But when he’d agreed to unbury his past to save the orphans, regardless of the risks to himself, her feelings had deepened to a dangerous level.

  She collapsed into the hearth chair, something inside her disintegrating at the thought of never seeing him again. Their paths would cross at social events, but they would have to pretend they didn’t share a history, pretend they meant nothing to one another. She stared into the dancing flames behind the grate. A life without Jack would be like a doused fire; ashy shades of gray washed of the light and heat that had created them.

  Brom whined and set his head on her feet. She reached down and rubbed his ears. “I know, boy. I’m going to miss him too.”

  “Miss whom?”

  Olivia hitched a breath and sprang out of her seat. Brom jumped up, tail wagging, and padded over to Jack as he shut the bedroom door softly behind him. He turned and grinned that cocky grin of his, and Olivia’s heart flipped like a pancake on a skillet, a slow sizzle heating her blood.

  “Jack! How did you get in here?” she hissed under her breath.

  “I asked you a question first,” he replied in his normal deep tone of voice.

  “Hush!” Olivia lifted a finger to her lips, glancing at the ceiling. She’d had no time to slip a toddy in Mrs. Foster’s tea, and the evil housekeeper’s room was directly above hers. “Someone will hear you.”

  He shrugged a broad shoulder. “I’m confident in your skills of deception. If someone should come to the door, I’m sure you could manufacture a convincing lie.”

  His words, casual yet provoking, scraped across her frazzled nerves like an onion grater against flesh. “What is that supposed to mean?” She marched over to him, hands fisted on her hips.

  He moved farther into the room, stopped in front of the fireplace, and inspected a porcelain doll on the mantel. “Do you still play with dolls?”

  It was the first toy she’d ever owned—a reminder of her uncle’s generosity. She snatched it out of his hands and placed it gently back on the mantle. “What are you doing here?”

  “We have unfinished business.” His gaze perused her outfit, and returned to her face with an amused lift of his brow. “I’m not sure what to call you right now, love. Being in mid-transformation as you are.”

  Olivia fought against the blush threatening to erupt across her skin. In baggy boy clothes, all her hair tucked into a tight net, she must look a frigh
t. She blinked at Jack, the personification of masculine beauty, his athletic build evident even in his unrefined clothes, and she yanked the net off her head. The rough motion sent pins clinking to the wood floor and her hair tumbling around her shoulders.

  An appreciative smile spread across his face as he reached out and picked up one of her curls, letting it coil around his fingers. “I had no idea your hair was so long. Beautiful,” he whispered as he tugged on the strand, leading her closer.

  She came willingly, drawn into his snare. Every warning thought, every tug of conscience flew out of her head as he closed the space between them. His eyes, like blue flames, locked on hers, his hair falling over his brow. “I’m going to kiss you now, Olivia.” The stirring melody of his voice flooded through her, washing away her fear and the last of her resistance. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him. “But only if you tell me that’s what you want.”

  She nodded her head, unable to speak. He cupped the side of her face and leaned down, brushing aside her hair. Olivia inhaled sharply, his spicy scent flooding her senses as he tilted his head so that his lips grazed her ear. “You need to say it, love,” he murmured.

  A hard shiver wracked down Olivia’s spine, and Jack brought her closer, his body heat soothing her chill.

  “Yes.”

  His mouth hovered a hairsbreadth from hers. “Yes, what?”

  “Kiss me now, blast it!” Olivia clasped the back of his neck and pressed her lips to his. At the touch of his mouth, lights burst behind her closed eyes. She shoved her fingers into the silken layers of his hair, gripping the strands as the entire world tilted on its axis.

  His lips slid over hers and he took her head in his hands, his thumbs caressing her face. Olivia pressed closer still. Responding to her urgency, he deepened the kiss and began to walk, pushing her backward, carrying her with one arm around her waist. The room tipped and spun until all that existed were his hands, his mouth, his skin, a blaze like starlight in her veins.