Olivia Twist

by Lorie Langdon

  Then the back of her knees hit the bed and Olivia realized she couldn’t breathe.

  Pulling away from Jack, she pushed against his shoulder. “I … can’t … brea—”

  “That’s normal, love.” Still holding her around the waist, he lowered his mouth to the pulse hammering in her throat.

  Now she really couldn’t breathe! She arched back and wiggled until he dropped her to her feet. Frantic, she began tugging at the buttons of her shirt, gasping like a fish on the dock.

  Jack flicked the hair out of his eyes and volunteered, “Let me help with that.” His large hands reached for the tiny buttons, but she pushed him away. When she’d parted the sides of her shirt, he stared at her bound chest, his eyes darting in incomprehension.

  Olivia reached around her side and released the metal fasteners that held the cloth in place. As soon as she’d unhooked the top two she drew in several exquisite gulps of air.

  Jack grinned wickedly. “I thought you’d felt curvier before.”

  Her limbs shook with the effort, but she stepped back and drew the shirt closed. Her sense returning, she knew the next few moments could have irreversible consequences. “I care for you, Jack … but … I have my reputation to think about … my future.”

  Something desolate filled his eyes before he schooled his expression. Olivia took several deliberate steps away from him, tears burning her throat.

  Shoving the hair off his forehead, Jack stared at something beyond her shoulder. “Your future?” he asked, as if the thought of life after this moment had just occurred to him.

  “Yes, I have to—”

  He cut her off with a frosty look. “It’s Grimwig, isn’t it?” He shoved off the bed. “You’re saving yourself for that idiotic dolt!”

  Olivia refused to answer, her sorrow dissolving into a slow burn as she watched him pace in front of the window. He was so entitled! Never sharing anything with her about his own life, yet demanding answers from her every time she turned around. “Speaking of dolts, what were you doing with my cousin tonight?”

  A bang sounded from overhead, and Brom growled from where he’d been sleeping by the fire. Jack and Olivia froze and stared up at the ceiling.

  After several seconds of quiet, Jack glared at Olivia and hissed, “I care nothing for Francesca.”

  “Then why would you invite her to the theater?” she demanded as she felt the sting of her fingernails pressing into the flesh of her palms.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Olivia suppressed a groan of frustration. He made no sense whatsoever. “You need not lie to me, Jack. Or have you forgotten that I saw you there with her?”

  A predatory light sparked in his eyes, reminiscent of a lion with its tail twitching in the air as he stalked toward her. He backed her across the room and spoke with slow deliberation. “Would it kill you to have a little faith in me? Just for once? To give me the benefit of the bloody doubt?”

  Olivia stopped when her back hit the dresser. “I—”

  He leaned in and braced a hand on either side of her, trapping her between his arms. Her pulse accelerated in time with the warning vein throbbing in his throat.

  “Does Grimwig kiss you until you can’t stand?” he demanded.

  Olivia didn’t move, words failing her.

  “Can he make you lose your breath?” Jack’s tone softened. “Can he?”

  When she shook her head, all the tension left his arms and he took her chin between his fingers. Clearly, he wanted to kiss her, but something held him back.

  She touched his hand and stared into those soul-searing blue eyes. “What is it you want, Jack?”

  He blinked. And Olivia prayed he wouldn’t run away, like every other time she’d asked him anything personal. She waited, holding her breath.

  His hands dropped to his sides and he stepped back, his features slammed shut. “Nothing. There’s nothing I want.”

  Olivia sighed. “Jack, I want to trust you. I do. But I know very little about you.” She took his broad hand in hers, knowing she was about to scare the living daylights out of him but willing to take the chance. “What makes Jack MacCarron get up in the morning? What motivates him to plot his next brilliant heist? Do you want to be a jewel thief for the rest of your life? What do you want for your future?”

  Jack froze like a statue of solid rock, the muscle ticking in his jaw the only discernible movement. For someone who was constantly in motion, the contrast was … disconcerting.

  Just when she thought he wouldn’t answer, he said, “You don’t understand. The goal is to want nothing.” He swallowed and looked away. When he turned back it was with a brash half grin. “I have everything I need: the scent of London air, good food in my belly, and a soft place to rest my head. What else is there?”

  It was the most personal admission she’d ever heard him make, but it was utter nonsense. Olivia let go of his hand, and turning her back on him, walked to the fireplace. She knelt down and began gathering the pins that had fallen from her hair. Brom opened one eye and watched her for a moment before falling back to sleep. How could a person want nothing for their future? It was completely counterintuitive that he went to such lengths to rob the rich, and yet claimed there was no motivation behind such a risk.

  Sitting down at her vanity, she shoved pins into her hair and watched Jack in the mirror as he plucked his jacket off the floor and shrugged it on. Her face heated as she realized she’d removed that jacket from his shoulders just moments before. He then picked up his hat and angled it low over his eyes.

  Would he leave without another word? She jerked her gaze back to her reflection, refusing to give in to the emotion building in her chest. Grabbing the hairnet, she tugged it onto her head, viciously tucking strands into the netting. If he wanted to go, then good riddance! She was done playing his game.

  Warm fingers touched the back of her head as Jack coiled up a section of curls and slid it beneath the net. Olivia jerked her head away from him, but when his soft touch brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck her resistance turned to mush. He gathered another section of hair, and tingles raced across her scalp. Her shoulders slumping in defeat, she closed her eyes and melted into his gentle ministrations.

  Exhausted from many nights with little sleep, she couldn’t motivate her jellylike muscles to move, even after he finished. As if in a dream, Olivia felt Jack’s hands on her shoulders and his warm breath in her ear. “I didn’t lie to you. There’s no point in wanting something you can never have.”

  Her eyes flew open, searching for the meaning behind his words, but he’d already moved away. She turned, and he threw her mousy wig into her lap. “If you’re still planning on going to the Hill tonight, we should leave now.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The sharp scent of wood smoke swirled through the frosty night air, causing Olivia to long for a warm fire and a cozy blanket. Her eyes grew heavy as she pushed her feet to move faster. Jack had not spoken a word since they’d climbed through the dining room window—the one with the now broken lock.

  As they turned onto the Strand, Jack blurted, “I killed a man once.” The words overlapped and rushed out of him as if he could no longer take the pressure of keeping them inside.

  Olivia nearly tripped over his confession. Only when she was sure she could conceal her shock did she venture a glance at his face. His eyes darted to hers and then away. When several seconds passed and he didn’t elaborate, Olivia decided a bit of prompting couldn’t hurt. She swallowed and endeavored to sound blasé, as if people confessed murder to her every other day. “What happened?”

  After tucking his trusty umbrella under his arm, he pushed the hat back on his head then ran a hand over his face. “It was a few years after you went to live with your uncle. I was leading my own gang by then, and one of the boys disappeared. Daniel. He was the youngest of the group, around Chip’s age. His mother had died, leaving him with an opium-addicted father who threatened to sell him at every turn. One day the father fo
llowed through on the threat, and Daniel ran. That’s when I found him sleeping in the street.” Jack paused and tugged the hat low over his eyes, his jaw set in a grim line. “Daniel had been with us a few months when he didn’t return from picking. None of the other kids saw where he went, but I knew. Somehow I knew his father had found him.”

  Jack’s stride slowed, and his next words seemed to scratch through his throat. “I made inquiries, and the clues led me to a brothel in Seven Dials.”

  Olivia sucked in an involuntary breath. Seven Dials was the point where seven crooked streets, narrow alleys, and obscure lanes met in an irregular square. But beyond its seemingly innocuous architecture, the district’s heart was rotten to the core. If one sought to gorge himself on the most debased vices imaginable, Seven Dials more than fed their needs. But for an unprotected child, or even a street-wise young adult …

  Olivia shivered so hard that Brom whined and butted her hand with his furry head. She clamped her fingers on Jack’s arm. “Please tell me you did not go there alone.”

  He finally looked at her, his eyes unreadable in the shadowed street. “What would you have done?”

  “Not go alone!”

  Jack shoved his hands in his pants pockets and stared at his feet, kicking a pebble down the dark sidewalk. “When I reached the Dials, the brothel was heavily guarded. So, I snuck in through a broken window at the back of a public house two doors down, crossed the eaves, and entered through the attic. After reaching the second-floor hallway and picking lock after lock, I’d gotten an eyeful of flesh, but no Daniel.”

  Olivia was beginning to dread where the story was headed, but she kept her mouth shut. Jack obviously needed to get this off his chest. And she was honored, and not a little astonished, that he’d chosen to bare his soul to her.

  “I’d reached the final door before the staircase, and as I jimmied the lock I heard heavy footfalls approaching. I slipped through the door. But instead of another bedroom, I found a staircase that I followed to a secluded third-floor chamber.” Jack paused and drew a heavy breath before continuing. “Instinct prodded me to pick the lock quickly. I slammed into the room and found Daniel gagged and bound, a man flogging him with a whip.”

  Tendrils of horror wrapped themselves around Olivia’s heart and squeezed. She didn’t want to hear any more. Yet, she remained silent.

  Jack stared ahead, his next words coming out in a rush. “It sounds crazy, but it was as if a red veil fell over my eyes and I lost control of my own actions. Like a wild animal, I tackled the man and began beating him. I got several good hits in before he turned on me and banged my head against the floor. He pulled a gun and shot, but I managed to dodge the bullet and … we scuffled again. The man had wrestled me to the floor. I managed to get away, and when I scrambled to my feet, he didn’t move again. My knife was buried in his chest.”

  A crosswind blew the stench of the Thames across their path, curdling Olivia’s stomach with the combination of human waste and dead fish. She swallowed hard and squeezed Jack’s arm tighter, hoping to convey her understanding since she couldn’t find her voice.

  “After it was over, I noticed the man’s fine clothes. He wasn’t some lowlife, Dials scum. I killed a toff.” Their eyes met and unshed tears hovered on Jack’s dark lashes.

  Olivia stopped in a shadowy spot between streetlamps, pulled him into her arms, and held him tight. “Jack,” she said against his shoulder, “he may have been a gentleman, but he was the worst kind of human to have done that to a little boy. Just think of all the other children you likely saved from the same fate.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t make it right,” he whispered.

  She leaned back, and seeing that he’d regained control of his emotions, asked, “What happened to Daniel?”

  “That’s the worst part.” The edges of his mouth pulled down and he shook his head. “I took him straight to a crow, but he’d lost too much blood. He didn’t make it. I didn’t save him in time.”

  The tears Jack held in seemed to spill from Olivia’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She pressed her cheek against the warm skin of his neck and wept. She cried for Daniel. And she cried for the boy she’d known as Dodger, giving everything to protect others and losing himself along the way.

  A squeak and crunch echoed down the street and Olivia felt Jack’s body tense. Still holding her in his arms, he turned. Swiping the tears from under her eyes, she squinted through the haze and could just make out a spectral figure pushing a cart in their direction.

  Jack released her, gripped the umbrella in his right hand, point out, and muttered, “Stay close.”

  She gave Brom’s leash a firm yank, effectively cutting off the dog’s growl. Then she scanned the area, but the man with the cart appeared to be alone. She grabbed Jack’s coat and tried to pull him to the other side of the street. He didn’t budge. The slow progress of the cart rumbled forward over the cobbles. “Come on,” Olivia hissed.

  “It’s all right. I think I know him,” Jack replied.

  The costermonger passed through a pool of light, and Olivia gasped. Same flat-brimmed black hat, hawkish nose and wiry beard … it was their old kidsman, Fagin. How he was still alive, she couldn’t fathom. She’d thought him ancient back when he’d taken her in all those years ago. Olivia shrunk behind Jack’s shoulder. Fagin had acted the kindly old gentleman, but he could turn like a viper, striking when you least expected it.

  “Care ta buy a bobble, my dears?” The craggy old man approached, leaning on his cart like a crutch. When he drew up under the nearest lamp, Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth. Fagin’s teeth were completely gone, his lips sunken in around his gums, and his eyes were covered with a thick, milky film. By the way he lifted his chin and turned his head from side to side, she could tell he’d lost most of his vision. No recognition dawned as his unfocused gaze settled in their direction.

  “What have you got for sale, old man?” Jack asked.

  The assortment of junk piled in his cart looked to have been plucked fresh from the garbage—a broken rattrap, chipped dishes, a few rotten pieces of fruit. Olivia spied a stained pallet tied to the side of the wagon and realized the old man must be homeless. Compassion sparked in her chest, despite her apprehension.

  “Oh, this is prime merchandise, it is. How about a lovely apple or two, hm?”

  Jack reached for a piece of fruit, but stopped just before touching the foul produce wriggling with maggots. He pulled back his hand and then paused. Olivia could see the tension leave his shoulders as a look of resignation settled over his countenance. He reached inside his coat and produced a wad of pound notes. Handing several bills to Fagin, he instructed, “Tuck this away and go get yourself a room where you can die in peace, old man. The Three Cripples will likely take you in.”

  Fagin took the cash and lifted his windfall to the meager light with trembling hands, straining to see as he shuffled through the notes. His lips began to quiver when the amount of his good fortune dawned.

  Jack took Olivia’s arm and steered her around the cart. When they drew even with the old man, Jack’s hand whipped out and grasped both of Fagin’s, lowering his arms. “Stash this before someone takes it from you, eh?”

  Fagin turned leaky eyes to Jack, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank ye, my dear.” He called everyone by the same endearment—boy, girl, or a little of both as had been her case.

  Jack gave him a single nod before leading Olivia away. He set a quick pace, and she imagined he was as eager as she to leave that bit of their shared past behind.

  After they’d rounded the corner, Jack released her arm and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. His profile set into hard lines, his whole demeanor aloof.

  Olivia felt the absence of his warmth all the way to her toes, but she followed suit and stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. They’d made such strides tonight, she couldn’t allow him to retreat inside himself again. She moved closer and caught his eye. “That was a very kind thing you just did.�
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  After a brief silence, he said, “Not so much kind as guilt-driven.”

  She arched a brow in question.

  “He called me his ‘best worker,’ and I left him behind.” Jack shrugged both his shoulders.

  “But you didn’t owe him anything, Jack. He took from you for years.”

  “Perhaps, but he also taught me the craft, and where would I be now without it?” His voice had taken on a flat quality, and he’d maneuvered Brom so the dog walked between them.

  “Monks, my … er …” Her mouth worked but it took a few tries for the title to emerge. “My brother was a big reason you went out on your own, right?”

  He gave a tight nod. “Have you found any more information about Leeford … Monks, from your uncle?”

  “He doesn’t know any more than I do, and when I asked him to see the letter from my mother, he couldn’t recall where he put it. I plan to search his study at the first opportunity.”

  “We need to figure out why that bludger is after you.” He fingered the scar on his right cheekbone. “He’s not to be underestimated.”

  “Why, Jack?” What wasn’t he telling her? “Did he … hurt you?”

  He jerked his hand back to his side and shoved it into his pocket, his fingers balled into a fist.

  Olivia could sense him slipping away from her again, so she blurted, “I know you left Fagin because of Monks. But how did you end up working with Lois March?” After the words were out, she wished she could take them back. He’d shut her down before for asking precisely the same question.

  “You need not answer. Sometimes I don’t know when to leave off.”

  They were nearing the workhouse district, so she hoped it wouldn’t seem too peculiar that she lifted her lavender-scented kerchief to cover her nose and mouth, surreptitiously disguising her heated cheeks. She increased her pace and pulled ahead, leaving Jack and Brom to follow.