At the very least, he wanted Julia to have something else other than that damned smile on her lips. He wanted—
He jerked back even as the thought formed in his mind. Yet he seemed incapable of erasing it once it took hold. He wanted her at his side always. What he felt was not simply desire or infatuation. It was love.
Why did the look in her eyes make him doubt that she would welcome an offer of marriage?
“I know Victor is waiting for you.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “We can speak later. After you’re certain he’s recovering.”
He couldn’t help but think that, if left to her, the time when they could speak might never come. That if it did, she would only find another reason to postpone it.
“Yes, I should see to him.” Yet Oliver stood unmoving, not wanting to let her go. He studied her more closely, trying to determine what was going on in her mind. It wasn’t as though she didn’t care for him. He knew she did. And he knew she desired him. Their kiss had made that clear. Then what could it be?
“I look forward to hearing from you soon.” Julia gave him a hug then pulled away.
“Yes, soon.” He said it firmly, stating a vow rather than a hope. Because no matter what doubt she had circling her mind, there was one thing he knew—she was his. Nothing could change that.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“He [the prison governor] has a firm belief that the best way of ‘breaking’ a bad boy, is to appeal to his bygone affection for his mother.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Julia’s heart felt as though it might beat out of her chest as she neared Oliver’s front door. The desire to run back into his arms was nearly more than she could bear. She’d finally met a man who had her questioning everything—what she believed, what she thought possible, what she wanted...
How sad was it that she lacked the courage to reach out and take what he offered?
Yet the voice of doubt in the back of her mind refused to be silenced. It reminded her that he hadn’t suggested anything—not a future, not a commitment, and certainly not the three words that might change everything.
I love you.
They’d been on the tip of her tongue, threatening to burst forth given the slightest opportunity. But her disbelief held them back as did the memory of her father saying them countless times to her mother while her mother gave nothing in return except a placating smile.
She couldn’t bear it if Oliver treated her that way. Mere physical affection wouldn’t fill her. She wanted the sort of promises that couldn’t possibly be kept—a bone-deep, to-the-bottom-of-my-heart sort of love. The kind of love that didn’t fade with time but grew deeper. The kind that rarely existed except within the pages of novels.
Better to walk away with her heart whole than to risk years of heartache. She’d watched her father live—or rather, exist—with that. She couldn’t bear it.
She heard footsteps on the stairs and couldn’t resist turning to watch him disappear out of sight, leaving her alone in the foyer. The servants must’ve been busy seeing to the injured visitor or discussing his arrival in the kitchen.
The knowledge that she couldn’t return here was emblazoned on her mind. It was far too dangerous to her heart. Each time she saw Oliver, her defenses crumbled away a little more. Each time he took her into his arms was another hole in her protective wall. Before long, she’d be begging him to stay with her, willing to do or become whatever he wanted just so he’d care for her.
No. She couldn’t lose herself like that. While she might not be completely happy at the moment, at least she functioned and found pleasure in each day. That, along with caring for her father, had to be enough. When Oliver called on them, she’d have to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore.
And it needed to be soon.
She had no doubt she’d shatter and break into a million pieces when Oliver’s attentions turned elsewhere. And they would. There was no possible way she could hold his interest for more than a fortnight, let alone a lifetime. She blinked quickly to chase away her tears.
She opened the door only to realize this would be her last chance to grant her father his wish to see The Book of Secrets. The image of it sitting on the corner of Oliver’s desk flooded her mind.
With a glance at the empty stairs, she closed the door and hurried back across the foyer, returning to the library, every sense poised for a sign of Oliver’s return.
But he didn’t come.
She reached his desk and opened the book, imagining it in the hands of a medieval monk. What had he thought as he’d copied the words so carefully? Had he understood any of the secrets it contained? Had he experimented with any of the ideas within these pages? She could imagine her father’s joy if he had the chance to peruse its ancient words, even if only for a short time. It might be the boost that ensured or perhaps even quickened his recovery.
Surely Oliver wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it for a few hours. She’d leave him a note to tell him she had it, and that she’d send it back after she’d shown it to her father. Oliver would be busy with Victor and the doctor for most of the afternoon. He wouldn’t mind, would he?
Finding paper and pen, she jotted a note telling Oliver she was borrowing the book and would return it later that day. Then, using great care, she wrapped the book with the cloth in which Victor had brought it and picked it up, still hesitating. No harm could come from her borrowing it.
With resolve, she carried the book across the library, taking one last look around the wonderful room that she’d never see again, her heart hurting more than she could bear.
Walking away was the right thing to do. For both of them. It would save pain and heartache. Yet despite all her logical arguments, she couldn’t quite convince herself. Heaving a sigh, she looked down once more at the wrapped book.
She tried to envision the look on her father’s face when he saw it; his expression would be one of absolute delight.
But moss-green eyes full of secrets got in the way.
Her breath quickening once more, she entered the foyer, relieved to find it empty. Still she paused, her feet feeling as though they were made of lead, keeping her from moving forward, but preventing her from going back.
Why did guilt weigh her down? She’d left a note, explaining that she had the book. If only she’d thought to ask Oliver before he’d gone upstairs.
She crossed the foyer, waiting for someone to insist she stop and return it. Is this what a professional thief felt like? A terrible mix of spiraling nerves and daring? The short book she’d read had made it sound much more adventurous.
This was ridiculous. She was only borrowing it for a few hours. Nothing more. Oliver would be so busy he might not even realize it was missing unless he saw her note.
Then why did she feel so worried?
She opened the door and stepped outside, closing it quietly behind her. Her carriage was just down the street but seemed a long distance away. She kept her gaze trained on it, glad she’d left her maid at home today. Sally would’ve wondered at Julia’s odd behavior. She told herself there was no need to be concerned. The book would be back in Oliver’s hands in a few short hours.
As she hurried down the walk, a movement from the bushes had her turning in surprise. A man emerged, his scruffy appearance startling her all the more, thoroughly out of place in this neighborhood.
“I need ye to come with me,” he demanded as he reached for her, casting a wary glance at the front door.
“I will do no such thing.” She drew back, clutching the book tightly. Surely he wasn’t interested in it. Or her. How could he possibly know who she was or what she held?
He smiled but it was far from pleasant. Nor was the pistol he withdrew from his coat pocket. “I beg to differ, miss. Hand over the book, else I’ll be forced to use this.”
Julia stared at the weapon, her heart in her throat.
Oh, no. What had she done?
~*~
Oliver watched Victor as he dozed,
wishing he’d been quicker and caught the boy awake. But sleep was no doubt the best thing for him. His face was pale and pinched against the white bedding. The knife wounds had to hurt like hell. Hopefully the doctor would arrive soon to treat them and give the lad something to ease his pain.
He couldn’t believe Victor had taken the book from Smithby. How had he managed such a feat? While Oliver was anxious to hear the story, he wanted Victor’s wounds tended to first. With luck, Victor would be able to share some details on Smithby’s operations after the doctor’s visit. That meant they were all the closer to catching the man.
No wonder he’d been filled with that terrible foreboding today. Unfortunately, it had yet to pass, as did the anger simmering deep inside him.
With a muffled oath, he moved to the window overlooking the front of the house. The room was on the third floor and provided a fine view of the surrounding area. Though the day was overcast, he could still see a fair distance.
Julia’s carriage was approaching the front door, much to his surprise. He thought she’d already departed, but the bigger question was why the carriage was picking her up in front of his home. She’d been careful to be as discreet as possible when calling upon him.
His gaze caught on movement directly below. His heart leapt to his throat as a rough-looking man forced Julia down the walk toward the carriage. Her posture was odd but it wasn’t until she turned that he realized she held the same wrapped bundle Victor had carried—The Book of Secrets.
Terror seized his mind as the pair neared the carriage, her driver seeming to argue with the man.
Not bothering to watch any further, Oliver rushed out of the room and tore down the three flights of stairs that separated them. While he had no idea why Julia had taken the book, it didn’t matter. That man had to be stopped before he abducted Julia. Oliver could only hope she’d show the same spirit she’d shown fighting off Malverson with this man.
He threw open the door and leapt down the front steps, only to watch as the carriage pulled away. “Halt!” But his demand fell on deaf ears as the driver flicked his reins to urge the horse faster.
Oliver ran after them but was no match for the horse and carriage. They quickly outdistanced him, rounding the corner and disappearing out of sight. Out of breath, he turned and ran back home.
His heart had left his chest. He was certain of it. And it had nothing to do with running.
“Damn it to hell.”
The idea of Julia in Smithby’s possession made the rage he’d tried so hard to control threaten to explode. He tried to think logically, to understand what had happened so he could anticipate their destination.
Smithby had to be behind this. His man must’ve either followed Victor here or, as Oliver had thought earlier, already been following Oliver.
That detail was irrelevant. Nothing mattered except where the man had taken Julia. How could Oliver find them when he had no idea where they’d gone?
He hurried back inside, calling for Tubbs as he entered. He’d have a horse readied so he could pursue them.
“My lord?” Tubbs rushed into the foyer.
“A man just took Lady Julia,” Oliver explained between breaths.
Tubbs hurried away to call for a footman to have a horse prepared.
Only a few minutes had passed when a knock sounded at the door.
Oliver jerked it open to find Hawke’s fist poised to knock again. He’d never been so relieved to see his friend. “One of Smithby’s men has Julia.”
“What?” Hawke’s brow furrowed at his news. “When?”
“Just now. I couldn’t catch the carriage.”
“We’ll take mine.” Hawke started out the door where his waited. “Perhaps we can catch them.”
Oliver turned to Tubbs. “Wait here for the doctor. Be sure he does all he can to aid Victor.”
“Be careful, my lord. Don’t worry about the lad. I’ll go check on him now.”
In short order, he and Hawke were traveling in the direction Oliver had seen Julia’s carriage go as quickly as the traffic permitted.
“If we don’t catch sight of them soon, I think we should return to the warehouse we previously watched,” Hawke suggested.
“Agreed.” Oliver stared out the window despite his limited view, his frustration building with each moment that passed.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Victor managed to steal The Book of Secrets and bring it to me. He was stabbed in the process, but I don’t know where he was when this occurred.” Oliver continued to explain what had happened before Hawke’s arrival.
“We must devise some sort of plan to free her when we find her,” Hawke said as the carriage rushed through the streets.
While Oliver was grateful he didn’t say “if”, he still glared at his friend. “I intend to tear the place apart until I find her.”
“I appreciate how worried you must be, but we must proceed with caution.” When Oliver didn’t respond, Hawke added, “You won’t be able to save her if you’re dead.”
Oliver closed his eyes, trying to push back the rage and acknowledge the wisdom of his friend’s words. “We aren’t in a position to negotiate. Smithby will have both Julia and The Book of Secrets. If we involve the police, I fear that will only put Julia’s life in further jeopardy.”
“True.” Hawke scowled.
“Allow me to handle this,” Oliver suggested. “I don’t want you to be in danger. You have Miss Fairchild to consider.”
Now Hawke turned to glare at Oliver. “Have you lost your wits? You can’t believe for even a moment that I’d allow you to attempt a rescue on your own.”
“It’s far too dangerous for a man soon-to-be married,” Oliver argued.
“Perhaps we can find a way to break in through a window or the rear door,” Hawke continued as though Oliver hadn’t spoken. “We need to employ something unexpected. An event that would take Smithby off guard.”
Oliver clenched his jaw. Hawke was right. He had to use his head and apply some sort of strategy. The only weapon he had was the knife he kept tucked in the top of his boot. “Very well. Any ideas?”
“None at the moment. Perhaps a brilliant idea will arise upon our arrival.”
“If we’re right about where the man is taking her.”
“One can hope. Why did he take her? Why not simply retrieve the book and flee?”
“I have no idea. Maybe the man worried that she’d raise the alarm if he left her behind.”
“Where was she going with it?”
“I don’t know. I can only guess that she wanted to show it to her father.” Oliver’s heart twisted painfully. Why hadn’t she told him that was her intention? All of the possible answers left him with the same terrible feeling—because she didn’t trust him, because she didn’t intend to see him again, because...
“No purpose can be served in guessing. We’ll find out soon enough once we save her.”
Oliver drew in a deep breath, grateful for Hawke’s confidence.
“May I ask if you’ve decided what your intentions are toward Julia?”
“At this moment, I have no idea.” Equal parts of him wanted to throttle her or hold her and never let her go.
“Ah.” Hawke put emphasis on the word that had Oliver staring.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Your confusion is an answer in itself.”
“You aren’t making any sense.”
“All right.” Hawke looked out the window as though to check their progress.
“What?” Oliver’s annoyance was growing by the moment.
“I am agreeing with you.”
“No, you’re attempting to placate me. Speak plainly.”
Hawke turned back to him. “I felt the same way. It’s easier if you just go along with it.”
“With what?” Oliver was so exasperated he could hardly form words to respond.
“With love.” He held Oliver’s gaze, offered a small smile then looke
d back out the window, leaving Oliver reeling.
A roaring sound echoed in his ears. Never mind that he’d already suspected a similar thing himself. Now he knew beyond a doubt. This feeling of not being able to breathe without her yet feeling so unsettled when he was with her had only one explanation.
Love.
Yes, that was it exactly. He wasn’t certain if she felt the same, and that was the worst feeling of all. There was nothing to be done about it except tell her. To ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.
He only hoped he had the chance to do so.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“No possible good can arise from piecing and patching with creditable stuff the old cloak of sin they [small criminals] were clothed in at their birth, and have worn ever since, till it has become a second skin to them.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Julia glanced about as she stepped out of the carriage, all too aware of the pistol pointed at her back. The briny scent of the Thames was impossible to ignore, as was the factory smoke that hung in the air. This rough neighborhood near the docks suited her escort far better than Oliver’s neighborhood had, but she felt completely out of place.
“Give me the book,” the man demanded for what must’ve been the tenth time.
“As I told you before, Mr. Crawford, I’m not giving it to you. You’ll have to shoot me and pry it out of my dead hands.” Julia was determined not to relinquish the book. Not when it was her fault that it was about to be returned to Smithby. She had to think of some way to keep it and could only hope Crawford would not call her bluff. She’d insisted he tell her his name if he was going to point the pistol at her.
The man had already tried to wrest it from her grip as soon as he’d forced her into the carriage, ensuing in a physical struggle. She’d apparently surprised him with both her stubbornness and her hold on the book.
A passage she’d read in the Seven Curses had come to mind about criminals being remorseful when they were reminded of their mother. Whether it’d been her asking what his own mother might think of his conduct or her ferocious behavior, he’d soon given up. Perhaps brawling with a lady was beyond his pay scale. Of course, he’d been trying to take the book with only one hand as he refused to relinquish the pistol.
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 25