“There was with us a knight, a worthy man who, from the very first time he began to ride about, loved honor, chivalry, the spirit of giving, truth and courtesy.” He continued the story, falling into a rhythm as he read, the words both familiar and dear. His own grandfather’s voice echoed in his head.
He’d spent many pleasurable hours with his grandfather who had read the tales to Oliver, stopping here and there to ask Oliver’s opinion and his interpretation, sharing his enthusiasm for the carefully chosen words.
That was where his love of ancient texts had begun. His father preferred more modern books, but had still encouraged Oliver’s love of reading.
He’d read several pages of the text when he glanced up again to find the old man snoring softly. He wasn’t certain whether to be annoyed or pleased. Had he bored him to sleep, or had the earl found some peace in the reading that allowed him to drift to sleep?
As Oliver closed the book, he decided it surely was the latter. Reading the book gave him a certain level of peace as well.
He watched Lord Burnham for a moment longer then rose quietly, intending to slip out and find Julia, only to discover her standing in the open door.
Embarrassment battled with delight but he realized at once his feelings were far more complicated—far deeper—than that.
~*~
Julia drew a quick breath as Oliver’s gaze tangled with hers, her face heating at the idea of being caught eavesdropping. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
Oliver’s deep, gravelly voice was perfectly suited for reading Chaucer. He kept just enough of the old English language to make it sound as though a knight were sitting in her father’s bedroom speaking to him.
But now that knight, so big and strong, had risen and was facing her, his guarded expression giving no hint as to his thoughts. She backed up, out the door—partly so as not to wake her father and partly because Oliver kept walking toward her. He matched her step for step into the empty hall, closing the door behind him.
“I didn’t mean to listen,” she offered though it was a complete lie.
He quirked a brow and kept coming toward her, forcing her to take another step back. Which brought her against the wall.
“I mean, I didn’t realize you were here. With Father. Reading.” No coherent words came to mind when he continued to regard her so closely.
“How long were you listening?” he asked, his voice still quiet as he drew close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through her gown.
“I’m rather fond of Chaucer.” She lifted a shoulder, hoping to avoid answering.
“How long?” He reached out one long finger and ran it along her jaw, causing her heart to beat even more rapidly.
“Nearly since the beginning,” she admitted. He almost seemed embarrassed at the thought of her listening. “I liked it.”
Heat flared in his eyes at her admission.
They were still speaking about the book, weren’t they? She swallowed hard as his gaze dropped to her lips, his finger following.
“Did you?” That deep voice did things to her, sending chills of awareness down her spine then outward to other parts of her body best left unnamed.
“I—I did. Yes. Very much.” Each breath she took was an effort. With one finger, he’d pinned her helpless against the wall.
“What else do you like?”
She frowned, wondering again if they were still discussing the book, yet what else could it be? “Chaucer is an excellent writer, is he not?” Her head tipped back of its own accord as his finger lowered to trail gently along her neck, heat building low in her belly.
“Yes.” The word held intonations she couldn’t interpret though her body seemed to understand. “Yes,” he muttered again as his gaze trailed lower, following that finger.
“Yes,” she repeated as her eyes drifted closed and sensation took over. Her entire world shifted to that single point of contact. The tip of her breasts tightened with desire as though preparing for his touch.
“Yes, what?”
Now she could feel his breath on her cheek while his finger traced a pattern along her collarbone then lower, teasing the swell of her breasts.
“Yes, touch me. Please.” Where she found the courage to request such a thing was a mystery, but she was ever so glad when his finger teased the top of her gown.
“Like this?” he asked, whispering the words in her ear to send another wave of shivers along her body.
“Oh, yes.”
As though a reward for her response, he kissed her ear, then her cheek, moving closer to her mouth. Unable to wait, she raised to her toes and turned to capture his lips with her own, her desire clearing all thought.
He drew back far too quickly, that finger moving up to her collarbone. “We’re standing in the hall.”
She opened her eyes, not understanding his remark.
“Where anyone might walk by. Including your aunt.” The regret in his eyes eased her return to reality.
“Of course,” she said, blinking several times to clear her mind.
As though unable to resist, he placed a quick kiss on her lips before taking her hand in his and tucking it under his arm. He turned toward the stairs. “Shall we?”
It took every fiber of her being to not guide him to the privacy of her bedroom and lock the door. But if she did such a thing, she feared she’d be lost. She’d give him everything. She couldn’t do that, not when her father’s words about guarding her heart still echoed in her ears.
“Of course,” she said at last, this time meaning something very different than she had before. With each step down the stairs, she reminded herself he was not a noble knight come to save her. He was just a man, a temporary acquaintance. Why did she have such difficulty believing that?
Once they reached the drawing room, he released her, leaving her bereft without that contact.
“It’s very kind of you to visit my father,” she said, still attempting to gather her composure.
“I enjoy speaking with him.” Oliver frowned. “Would it be rude of me to request tea?”
“Not at all. Where are my manners?” She refused to be hurt by the knowledge that she was embroiled in emotional conflict while he was merely hungry.
She rang the bell and ordered tea and sandwiches, grateful to have such a normal thing to do to help her regain her balance.
“Thank you,” he said when she returned to his side after speaking with a maid. “I’m quite famished.”
He gestured toward the settee then took a seat beside her, placing an arm along the back of it as he faced her. “Do you truly like Chaucer?”
“Actually, yes. It was one of the first medieval texts I attempted to read.”
“Many find it too difficult to bother.”
“It’s a bit like a puzzle, isn’t it?” she asked. “Trying to determine the author’s meaning in today’s terms.”
Oliver stared at her as if she were speaking a language with which he was unfamiliar.
She raised a brow at his surprised expression, wondering what she’d said to concern him so.
He shifted to face her fully, taking her hand in his. “That is exactly it. That is how I feel when I’m able to translate a particularly difficult text. I don’t think anyone has understood or explained it quite so well before.”
“Oh.” She put her hand over his, enjoying his touch once more. “I truly appreciate how it must feel each time you do so. What draws you to that period of history?”
“I’ve asked myself that question many times before. I suppose I admire the code of chivalry. The apparent order of society. Though I’m certain the books I’ve studied oversimplify it compared to what life was actually like then.”
They discussed the subject at length, barely pausing as a footman delivered tea and sandwiches. To her surprise, Oliver filled a plate for her, placing far more on it than she would’ve. After nearly half an hour of discussion, she glanced down at her plate to find it empty. Had she tru
ly eaten all that food? “More tea?” she asked Oliver.
At his nod, she poured as he placed another biscuit on her plate.
“Oh, please, no more. I’m full to the brim,” she said with a laugh.
“You couldn’t be. You obviously haven’t bothered to eat since your father fell ill. That leaves you much to make up for.”
Her chest tightened at the idea of someone worrying over her.
“And I’ve missed your smile,” he added, his quiet tone adding to the statement. Her gaze held his as he continued, “I miss the light it brings to your eyes.”
She hardly knew what to say, not when his words filled her heart as surely as their tea had filled her stomach. What was she to do with this man? He was such a contradictory mix of emotions. She never knew what to expect. She liked him, she realized, and not just because of the elemental attraction she felt. It was far more than that. Which concerned her to no end.
~*~
The next morning, Oliver was less than surprised to see Hawke enter his library well before normal visiting hours. The way his friend strode forward, despite his limp and the cane that aided him, Oliver could tell he had news.
“Good day to you,” Oliver greeted, certain the attempt at pleasantries would annoy his impatient friend to no end.
“We’ve no time for that,” Hawke said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve a lead on a possible location for Smithby’s warehouse.”
Oliver rose, pleased to hear it. “Where?”
“By the docks, near the area your lad mentioned.”
“Did this information come from the police?”
“No. They can’t seem to make progress on the case unless I hand it to them. Even then it’s not a certainty. Langston came across one of Smithby’s men last night at a pub and followed him to this location.”
Oliver had met Robert Langston once before. The man was a former police officer who’d grown tired of the bureaucracy, and in many cases the dishonesty, of some of his superiors and decided he could do more good without the limitations of the law holding him back. But he had enough knowledge of such matters to work around them. From what Hawke had said, he’d been most helpful.
“I assume we’re going to have a look for ourselves?” Oliver asked as he followed Hawke out the door.
“Yes. I would like to observe the place for a time myself to make certain it’s a lead worth turning over to the police. I can’t help but wonder if watching it might lead us to Smithby’s other locations.”
Oliver nodded, more than ready to have a look. He dearly wanted to find Smithby’s headquarters with the hope the man would have The Book of Secrets there. Leaving such a valuable text in the hands of the police should they manage to raid the place seemed a sure way for the book to become lost.
That was not a risk he was willing to take.
They took Hawke’s carriage to the vicinity not far from the docks, leaving it to continue on foot. Oliver had Tubbs come along in case they needed an extra man. Though he was quite certain he couldn’t have convinced his footman to remain behind even if he’d tried.
The carriage drew to a halt and Tubbs opened the door, his gaze immediately seeking Oliver’s as though to gauge his demeanor. Tubbs’ watchful regard steadied him, and he alighted from the carriage with only momentary hesitation.
“I told Langston to take the rest of the day off,” Hawke said. “He’s been working far too hard on this already. He has young children at home.”
It was amazing how that changed priorities. “Not long and you’ll have the same reason to stay out of trouble.”
Hawke’s expression softened and a smile graced his lips. “Perhaps I will. One can hope.”
Oliver shook his head in amazement at the change in his friend. Remarkable. “What is our plan?” He glanced down at his own clothes, then at Hawke’s. “Neither of us appear to be dressed for the occasion.”
“We’ll keep our distance. I only want to watch who’s coming in and out. Perhaps there’s a shop from where we can watch.”
He nodded, pleased at Hawke’s caution. Observing was a recently learned skill for him. During his time in the Navy, he’d have charged in with weapons drawn. Oliver didn’t care for that approach if it could be avoided. At times, more could be gained from knowledge than action.
As they neared the docks with Tubbs trailing behind them, the busyness of the streets soaked into Oliver’s awareness. Between the people walking along, the clatter of wagons and carts loaded with goods, horses, and all else, the scene was complete chaos. His anxiety level increased as they continued on.
“Is all well?” Hawke asked, his voice sounding hollow to Oliver’s ears.
“Fine,” he gritted out, focusing on drawing one slow breath after another despite the unpleasant smell.
“I beg to differ.”
Oliver closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the feeling of panic threatening him. “I still seem to suffer from some nervousness when in crowds.”
“I’d remind you that many soldiers have the same issue. Anything from loud noises to crowds tend to bring on a feeling of unease. After being in battle, who wouldn’t be affected by those?”
He studied his friend more closely. “Does it bother you as well?”
“While it makes me uncomfortable, I don’t have the same level of physical symptoms others do.” He patted his thigh. “Perhaps that’s because I have other problems. One can only be burdened with so much, eh?”
Oliver immediately felt guilty. How ridiculous of him to be concerned with his mild issues when Hawke would never recover from his injury.
“No,” Hawke said emphatically.
“No, what?” he asked, confused by both the word and the tone.
“I can tell what you’re thinking. No, that does not make one worse than the other. Nearly everyone suffers in some way after being through a difficult situation, especially if it’s life threatening.”
Somehow the idea that he wasn’t alone in his problem made it easier to bear. Not that he wished the anxiety on anyone but the knowledge changed how he thought about it and himself.
“Let me know if it all becomes too much,” Hawke said as he paused to glance up and down the street as though to get his bearings. “I will assist you in any way I can.”
“I’ll be fine.” Oliver hoped it was true, that he had the strength of will to hold down his unease. He kept his attention on following Hawke down the crowded street, knowing Tubbs was directly behind.
Hawke seemed to understand that Oliver appreciated him serving as a knife to cut through the swath of people. Oliver steeled himself as they continued, doing his best to ignore the crowded streets around him.
A deep breath to steady himself only brought forth the stench of the docks. From the briny scent of the air to the smoke from the tar and candle factories to the scent of the biscuit baker’s, it all swirled together into an unpleasant odor that had him wrinkling his nose.
“I think it’s near.” Hawke studied the buildings. “Langston said it was close to this corner. There it is.” He pointed to a two-story red brick building. At least it used to be red. Now it was soot-covered with only a hint of red remaining.
“Are you certain?” Oliver noted the grime-coated windows, which looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years. The large, wooden double doors were filthy as well. “It looks abandoned.”
“This is the one. With luck, we’ll know soon enough.”
Oliver turned to see Tubbs had already managed to blend into his surroundings. He’d retrieved a newspaper someone had tossed away and now leaned against a building, pretending to read it as he watched over the top of the pages.
“We should bring him with us more often,” Hawke said as he observed Tubbs.
“Two well-dressed men and their footman standing about would’ve drawn far too much attention. Now that he’s more or less hidden, what would you suggest for us?”
“Let us walk a bit farther before we find a post.”
&n
bsp; They found a place where they could step out of the way, next to a building. Loitering there shouldn’t draw too much interest but allowed them to see the warehouse.
After an hour passed, Hawke began to lean heavily on his cane. Oliver could only imagine how much his leg was bothering him.
“Need a rest?” Oliver asked. “I can watch for a time.”
Hawke sighed, bending down to rub his thigh. “The blasted thing tightens up if I stand for too long. It does far better if I’m moving.”
“I suppose walking up and down with that cane of yours would gather notice.”
“Wouldn’t want to take the risk. Not with my limp.”
Oliver didn’t bother mentioning that many gentlemen carried a cane these days. At times Hawke’s limp was hardly noticeable but today was obviously not a good day.
“Ah, here we are,” Hawke said as he watched over Oliver’s shoulder. “In a moment or two, look at the man with the brown bowler hat.”
He waited then turned as though glancing about and caught sight of the man to which Hawke had referred. “Seen him before?”
“On two different occasions. I’m certain he works for Smithby.”
They took turns watching him, pleased when he paused to knock on the warehouse door. Another man opened the door from within, stepped outside to glance up and down the street before allowing the other man admittance.
One look at Hawke’s pale face had Oliver studying the men more closely to see what had upset his friend. He didn’t recognize either of them, but obviously Hawke did. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
“Hawke? What is it?”
“I cannot believe it.” Hawke’s gaze continued to follow the man who was waiting at the door of the warehouse.
“What?” Oliver studied the man but still didn’t understand Hawke’s astonishment.
“Culbert Rutter.”
Chapter Seventeen
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 18