Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  “Of course, you weren’t,” he whispered. “I’m here for you. Trust me.” He dipped his head so quickly that she couldn’t avoid his lips.

  “No. I insist you stop this,” she managed as she twisted her head to the side, then shoved her hands against his chest. Unfortunately, he didn’t move.

  “Come now, my dear. We both know what you want.” His arms suddenly felt like bands of steel wrapped about her, impossible to break. Again he attempted a kiss, this time even more determined than before.

  His hot breath smelled of whisky and cigars and turned her stomach. She moved her head to the side but couldn’t escape his damp lips. Bile rose in the back of her throat along with panic. This couldn’t be happening.

  “No,” she demanded again. The sounds of the crowded ballroom were so muffled that she knew no one could hear her if she called for help. Nor did she care to be caught alone with this man.

  Gathering herself, she stomped on his foot, but her effort had little effect. She twisted and turned as best she could, but his arms only tightened more, stealing her breath. A hopeless feeling washed through her at the onslaught. How dare he take such liberties when she’d truly only wanted fresh air.

  Only one way to stop him came to mind—she pretended to faint. Though it was difficult as every bone in her body demanded she fight, she went completely limp, taking the lord by surprise.

  “Hold,” a deep voice commanded from the shadowed darkness of the garden.

  “What?” Malverson turned at the voice, trying to hold Julia.

  Uncertain who approached, Julia remained limp with her eyes closed. Malverson’s hands squeezed her waist painfully. Why didn’t he simply let go so she might fall to the ground?

  “Release her.”

  Something about the gruffness of that voice sounded familiar. Her eyes popped open. Viscount Frost?

  She gave up feigning unconsciousness and glanced at her would-be rescuer. It was indeed the very man who’d stolen her sleep the previous night. She straightened, once again trying to shove away Lord Malverson’s hands.

  Malverson looked from Frost then to her as though uncertain on whom he should focus then glared at Frost. “Your presence is not needed here.”

  “Let her go.” When Malverson didn’t immediately comply, Viscount Frost shoved Malverson’s shoulder, forcing the lord to release her and she stumbled back.

  Frost spun Malverson to face him then delivered a blow to his jaw.

  “Damn you,” Malverson muttered as he righted himself and wiped his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. “This is none of your affair.”

  “The hell it isn’t. The lady said no.” The viscount’s gaze met hers as though to reassure himself that she was well. The cold rage there took her aback.

  Malverson lunged for Frost. Rather than dodging his grasp, Frost reached for him as though eager for the fight.

  Julia’s heart leaped to her throat as she watched the men struggle.

  Frost dodged Malverson’s blow then threw one of his own. Malverson doubled over in pain, a keening sound coming out of his mouth.

  “Stop,” Julia ordered, though her voice was barely above a whisper. Her entire body trembled as the two men continued their battle. She’d never seen such a sight.

  The viscount seized Malverson’s upper arms as though he hadn’t heard her. He forced him upright only to strike him in the stomach again. Malverson reared several steps back from the blow then roared as he rushed forward, head down, toward Frost.

  Frost easily shoved his advance to the side. Malverson caught his balance then spun back, fists at the ready as he approached Frost again.

  “Mind your own business,” Malverson said with a snarl, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t need your comments at the club this afternoon, and I certainly don’t need you to interfere now.”

  “I beg to differ.” Frost didn’t have his hands raised to defend himself, making Julia wonder why he wasn’t going to protect himself.

  Malverson threw a punch.

  Frost’s reaction was so quick, it was nothing but a blur to Julia. He blocked Malverson’s fist with his forearm then cuffed Malverson’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. Frost followed and struck him again. Malverson plowed into a bush, cursing as he attempted to regain his feet. Despite the noise the men were making, no one came out of the ballroom to investigate.

  “Please, stop,” Julia demanded, her voice stronger. She no longer believed this fight was solely about her. The men obviously had some sort of history.

  Frost’s gaze remained on Malverson, ignoring Julia. When his fists clenched as though prepared to deliver another blow, Julia stepped forward and gripped his arm.

  “Viscount Frost.” The absolute focus that etched his features, from the fierce line of his brow to the muscle ticking in his jaw, was evident even in the dim light.

  She squeezed his arm and at last her presence seemed to penetrate his anger. He blinked as though clearing his mind, his gaze sweeping her face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. At her nod, the stiffness eased from his body. He looked again at Malverson who now stood a few feet away, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Damn you, Frost.”

  “No. Damn you, Malverson. Your behavior is unacceptable and always has been. Money can’t hide your disgusting behavior.”

  The lord raised his chin. “And what of yours, Frost? You are far from innocent. Do you think what you did in Ethiopia went untold?”

  Julia looked between the two men. Though she had no idea of what they spoke, she did know there was only one man before her who she would trust—Viscount Frost.

  Even as she reached that conclusion, he glanced down at her warily, doubt in his expression, as though expecting her to run in fright from Malverson’s implication.

  Did this have something to do with the secrets he held in those eyes?

  No matter. She might not know him, but she knew herself, and all her instincts told her he was a man on whom she could count.

  “Lady Julia, step away,” Malverson demanded. “You do not want to be associated with the likes of him.”

  “I prefer his company over yours.” She kept her hand on Frost’s arm.

  Malverson sneered. “You have poor taste.”

  “Leave, Malverson, before I throw you out myself.”

  Even now, Julia could feel the barely contained energy in Frost, despite the layers separating them. It radiated off him much like heat from a fire.

  “Take care that you don’t venture into my circles again, Frost, or I will tell everyone who you really are.” Then the lord turned on his heel and disappeared into the rear of the garden, leaving silence in his wake.

  Julia drew a shuddering breath, as much of one as her corset allowed, realizing her knees were weak from the entire encounter. She closed her eyes, thinking how stupid she’d been to step into the garden with Malverson to begin with.

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” Frost asked, his quiet, deep voice threatening the tight hold she had over her roiling emotions.

  She thought she nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t dare open her eyes. Not until she’d regained her equilibrium.

  Warm hands drew her forward, feeling so different from the terrible, overbearing ones holding her earlier. His strength made her feel all the weaker as she allowed him to wrap her in his embrace.

  She took another breath, trying to keep her composure.

  “Why on earth would you come outside with anyone, let alone Malverson?” The reprimand in his tone was impossible to ignore and made Julia feel even worse.

  “I didn’t intend to. I—I wasn’t feeling well and needed fresh air.” Her words were muffled as her face was pressed against his suit coat.

  The oath he muttered didn’t bear repeating.

  A hot ball of emotion stuck in her throat. How could he not realize she felt bad enough already? He was once again the rude, insufferable man she
’d initially thought. Why had she believed any differently? She latched onto the anger gratefully, anything to push back the tears.

  She straightened, determined to leave Viscount Frost in the dark garden by himself. Obviously, he preferred his own company above anyone else’s. Her aunt would no doubt be wondering where she was.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He pulled her back, holding her tight against him.

  After stilling for a long moment, she gave up, taking the comfort he offered.

  “Lady Julia.”

  She knew he wanted her to look at him, but she wasn’t ready.

  Then he had the gall to put the gentlest of hands along her cheek. Her heart turned within her chest.

  “Julia.” His whispered use of her given name drained all resistance. She looked up into the shadowed depths of his secret-filled, green eyes, and her heart took another twist.

  “I’m sorry Malverson accosted you. I wish I would’ve arrived sooner.”

  “I’m only glad you aided me when you did.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and she wanted nothing more than for him to kiss her, to wipe away the memory of Malverson’s mouth on hers.

  Yet he merely continued to hold her, leaving her longing for more. Thoughts of her aunt and anyone else who might have noticed her absence from the ball fell away.

  When his gaze returned to hers, it only took a moment for her to realize desire was in their depths. That was all she needed to know. She lifted up on her toes, raising her hands to his shoulders and kissed him.

  For a moment, he was unresponsive. Then with a groan, he returned the kiss, his mouth hot against hers. His arms shifted from a comforting hold to a warm embrace. He eased her closer, still being gentle as though afraid he’d frighten her. While she appreciated his efforts, that wasn’t what she needed, what she wanted. At this moment, she wanted his desire and all that came with it.

  “Julia,” he whispered again. The passion in his voice sent shivers dancing over her skin.

  Yes. This was exactly what she needed. A part of her was shocked at her behavior. Again. But after what she’d experienced in Oliver’s arms the previous day, this was no surprise, only pleasure. Each moment with him pushed away Malverson’s detestable behavior.

  Oliver’s hands felt marvelous as they roamed over her back, spanning her waist, then shifting up. Her breasts tingled in response as though anticipating his touch. His tongue sought entrance, and she willingly gave it. The slide of it against hers made her body quiver.

  He drew back, resting his forehead against hers as though trying to regain control. But she didn’t want him to. Not yet. Perhaps not ever, but definitely not yet. Her body tingled in places she hadn’t known it could, and she wasn’t ready to let that go.

  Placing her hands on either side of his face, she kissed him again, passionately, deeply. He drew her tightly against his hard length. It felt marvelous to think he might need and want her as much as she did him. She couldn’t help but shift against him, reveling in their differences. His hands travelled along her body as though sculpting her curves until she hummed with desire.

  “So sweet,” he whispered as he captured her lips once more.

  So this was what it was like, she marveled. Finding passion in a man’s arms was nothing like she’d expected. She hadn’t anticipated being so tempted to discover more.

  But now was not the time or the place. She had responsibilities that couldn’t be set aside. Not even for this.

  She shifted to draw back from their embrace. As though he read her thoughts, he loosened his arms and simply held her. Oddly enough, it didn’t calm the flame burning inside. If anything, the sweetness of his embrace only fanned it. She remained in his arms, letting her heart slow its rapid pace.

  “I would offer an apology for my behavior, but I am not sorry for kissing you.” The rumble of his voice settled into her chest, lodging something there.

  She eased back to look up into his face, wondering what she’d find there. But his expression was carefully guarded.

  “I don’t want an apology,” she responded. She wanted something else she couldn’t put a name to, but it certainly wasn’t an apology.

  “I will assist you to return inside.”

  She nodded as she straightened her gown and smoothed her hair, hoping her appearance wasn’t as ruffled as she felt. “My aunt will no doubt be wondering where I am.”

  “You’re certain you’re all right? He didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. Frightened me, yes. And if you hadn’t come along when you did...” She glanced at Oliver as they neared the garden door to return to the ballroom. Malverson hadn’t hurt her, but she was beginning to wonder if this man had the power to do so.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “It is a recognised fact that there is a great disposition on the part of children to follow the vocation of their father, and in the case of the children of thieves there is no alternative. They become thieves, because they are educated in the way, and have no other trade to apply themselves to.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Oliver remained in the darkness of the garden for several minutes as he watched Julia smooth her skirts before entering the ballroom. The last thing she needed was to be seen with someone as she returned. He wanted to leave, to turn and walk away from all that she made him feel. But that wouldn’t solve his problem, and Julia was definitely becoming a problem.

  When she’d looked up at him with such vulnerability, it had nearly been his undoing. The longing that had pierced him when she’d touched him felt as though it had landed in his soul.

  That would never do.

  He needed some distance—both time and physical space—to put all of this in perspective. His lust for her was overriding his logic. Another reason he needed to keep her at arm’s length.

  He remained in the shadows of the garden as she wove her way through the throng of people, greeting several acquaintances. No outward sign remained of what she’d experienced. Was she as composed on the inside after what she’d been through?

  Her slow progress made him realize how many people were in the ballroom. He unclenched his fists and straightened his jacket. Unease spread through him, quickly snuffing out his desire. He’d come through the garden entrance with the hope of avoiding much of the crush. He was glad he had, or he never would’ve come upon Julia.

  Hawke had insisted the ball would be the perfect place to meet. If Oliver didn’t know better, he’d guess Hawke was attempting to force him into crowds as some sort of test. First, it had been Blackfriars Bridge last week, which was a busy street. Then had come the visit to the men’s club for which Hawke had insisted he didn’t have time. Now a ball. While Oliver was making inroads to end his reclusive ways, it couldn’t be done overnight. Nor did it feel as though it was getting easier—at least not as he stared at the mass of people inside.

  The colorful attire became a blur. The rising crest of music mixed with conversation hummed in his ears. His palms dampened and his heartbeat sped as the sights and sensations before him threatened to force him to return home.

  He shifted his focus to the reason he was here, to the many tasks to which he and Hawke needed to attend. The young girls he’d seen on Blackfriars Bridge deserved a chance to live a life of their choosing, not one they’d been tricked into by Smithby.

  The idea of a criminal possessing an ancient medieval text was appalling enough, let alone the knowledge that he was using it for illegal gain.

  He needed to tell Hawke he’d failed to obtain either of the books he’d been searching for, but that Lord Burnham was aiding him with research on one. With a grimace, he realized explaining all that to Hawke was going to be difficult, mainly because it involved thinking of Lady Julia. Remaining stoic while she was on his mind would not be easy.

  Malverson’s actions also needed to be discussed. Hawke should be advised that the lord was going to be a problem. Oliver had been certain of it when he’d spoken with him at t
he club. After seeing how he’d acted with Julia, there was no question. Oliver still found his behavior repulsive. Nothing had changed from their university days.

  The quiet murmur of voices from the opposite side of the garden drew near, and he knew he couldn’t remain where he was any longer. But neither could he seem to leave his current position.

  Julia appeared once more in his line of sight and immediately the tension in his shoulders eased. Her smile was bright as she visited with others, despite all she’d endured. Keeping her in view, he moved to the garden door and stepped inside.

  At last, he shifted his gaze away and searched for Hawke, hoping he was nearby, so Oliver didn’t have to make his way through the crowd. The idea of maneuvering through all those people nauseated him. He finally spotted Hawke and his betrothed, Letitia Fairchild. She was a lovely, intelligent woman who seemed to suit Hawke perfectly from Oliver’s brief acquaintance.

  Why were they standing so close to the dance floor? Surely Hawke didn’t dance with his injured leg. Most days he walked with a cane.

  Oliver tried to catch Hawke’s attention with the hope he wouldn’t have to venture any closer.

  Hawke nodded in acknowledgment then gestured for him to come closer. Blast him. Oliver shook his head and returned the gesture. Hawke only smiled, remaining firmly in place.

  With a scowl, Oliver surveyed the crowd, trying to determine some way to navigate through so many people without losing his mind. His continued anxiousness annoyed him, especially compared to his life two years ago. He’d been very good at his duties in the Navy. Perhaps too good. He’d completed missions on three continents, saved countless lives, and now he was too nervous to walk through a ballroom.

  Oliver welcomed the anger he felt at himself—as long as he could keep it contained. That was key. He drew a deep breath and moved forward. Julia had long since moved out of sight. He kept his gaze on Hawke and made his way through the crowd, focusing on drawing steady, long breaths and on Hawke’s face.