“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 on 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.”
“I will be certain to pick up a copy.” She tapped a finger on her pursed lips. “How does the book my father has connect to all of this?”
“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 unique 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 an 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 squeezed his arm.
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 O
liver 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 close quickly. 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.
Her reaction was a dangerous risk she couldn’t afford. She had to find a way to guard herself against him. When next they met, she needed to act as though he were merely a friend of her father’s, a fellow scholar who loved books.
Why did that seem so impossible? Perhaps it would be best if she could find another copy of that book to give to the viscount or convince her father to give up his copy after all. The sooner she removed the intriguing Oliver from her life, the better.
~*~
Jasper Smithby surveyed the exterior of the new warehouse with a critical gaze though vision was limited on this foggy night. The location just off Wentworth Street in the East End should prove safer in one respect as the police were reluctant to venture into the rough area. It also put him in the vicinity of Jack McCarthy’s neighborhood.
McCarthy, who controlled many of the lodging-houses nearby, had been a thorn in his side for some time. The man had stepped into Jasper’s territory by controlling prostitutes, arranging fights, and moving stolen goods in the same neighborhoods.
Jasper had already had about enough of him. This particular warehouse would allow him to keep a better watch on his rival and retaliate when the opportunity arose.
Unfortunately, the bad outweighed the good here. That meant he had to watch his men all the closer as the temptation to steal was everywhere. He just had to make certain they didn’t pilfer from him.
The majority of those who worked for him were hardened thieves. Most had a long history of it, often dating back to their childhood. Some even had thieves for fathers, if they knew who their fathers were. Jasper appreciated both their skills and their lineage.
With a nod of satisfaction, he decided he wouldn’t trade his life for anything. He’d started young as well and had been driven by the need to prove his father wrong—that he wouldn’t amount to anything.
Now he had an empire to be proud of with money coming in steadily. He was far better educated than anyone else he knew and had an affinity for languages, including French and Latin. It was not easy to manage the business he’d built. The diversity that saved him also made his domain complicated.
He was still regrouping after the raid last week that had cost him a warehouse full of stolen goods, several young girls he’d hoped to sell to a brothel, not to mention one of his best men, Culbert Rutter.
Rutter still sat in jail. Jasper hadn’t decided if he wanted to use his connections to gain Rutter’s freedom or not. He’d already done so twice. Getting him out again might draw too much attention. What concerned him was whether Rutter would keep his mouth shut. The man liked to brag far too much.
Jasper shook off his worries to step around a puddle and enter the warehouse, leaving the foggy night behind. A smile lit his face at the sight of the interior, bustling with activity despite the late hour. Men stacked crates in one corner while others set up shelves to store smaller goods.
“Put it over there,” he directed two men who hefted a large wooden desk toward the far end of the warehouse.
Though several offices were in the back, he preferred to remain where his men could see him and he could see them. A watchful eye was necessary when one worked with thieves. He chuckled to himself at the thought.
Another man brought in a fancy, black leather chair, making Jasper smile all the broader. He appreciated the finer things in life, especially since he’d grown up with so little.
One corner would hold items to be sold in local stores while another would hold those awaiting a buyer. He li
ked to keep things organized so when a buyer was located, he could easily send them an entire shipment of goods.
Quantity was what made him money. Shop owners were often willing to look the other way if they could purchase numerous items at a low cost. There was always another ship whose cargo could be mysteriously unloaded in the middle of the night with no one the wiser.
Jasper decided this location would serve as his import-export business. He imported certain items from ships into his warehouse then exported the goods to those willing to pay with cash. He didn’t believe in setting buyers up on accounts that they could pay later. That type of payment structure had taken his father out of business.
“Bring that gas lamp over here,” he directed one of the men who carried in goods. “Put it on my desk.”
“This was supposed to be part of the delivery for tomorrow’s order,” the man protested.
Jasper glared at him, and the man hurried forward to do as Jasper asked.
Thomas Crawford, one of his newer hires, came to stand at his side. “Did ye decide what to do with Rutter?”
“Not yet. The police are still far too interested in him for my liking. If I decide to free him, it will be after their attention has shifted elsewhere.”
Thomas nodded as he watched crates being stacked nearby. “I suppose ye might be lookin’ for a replacement for him.”
“I might,” Jasper admitted. “At least temporarily. Are you applying for the job?”
Thomas gave a one-shouldered shrug in his ratty brown jacket. “I wouldn’t mind earnin’ a bit more.”
“The position comes with additional responsibility.”
“I seen for meself what Rutter did. And what he didn’t do.” Thomas turned to look Jasper in the eye.
“Oh?” Jasper wasn’t sure if he liked that look. Was there no honor among thieves these days? Then again, he had no doubt Rutter would’ve sold Thomas’s soul if he had the chance.
He’d been careful to build his organization so no one person knew everything. That could easily lead to disaster. Though it was difficult to manage it all without Rutter, he wasn’t certain he could trust Thomas.
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