Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2)

by Williams, Lana

  He seemed uncertain how to deal with her, making her hazard a guess that he rarely, if ever, spoke to ladies.

  She’d done her best to keep him talking during the remainder of the short journey, hoping to learn something that would help Oliver in his pursuit of Smithby. She’d also hoped she might charm the man into releasing both her and the book. Unfortunately, he seemed as determined as she.

  “Ye’d be far better off givin’ me the blasted book and leavin’ with yer life than meetin’ my boss.” Though Mr. Crawford was apparently reluctant to shoot her, thank goodness, she had no doubt he’d do so if forced.

  “I’m anxious to meet him,” she lied as she halted next to the carriage, doing her best to delay the meeting. She hoped Oliver realized what had occurred and given chase. The longer she loitered here, the better chance he had of locating her. Once she disappeared inside one of these buildings, the likelihood of him finding her dropped to nil.

  Mr. Crawford shook his head. “Smithby won’t be pleased.”

  “Surely he’ll appreciate you retrieving his book.”

  The glare he gave her was potent enough to wilt flowers. She did her best to ignore it.

  Glancing about as casually as possible, she searched for Oliver. There was no sign of him, leaving her to assume he hadn’t realized where she’d gone. Fear and despair warred within her. She wrapped her arms tighter about the book. She had to find a way to escape with it. That was the only option. But how?

  A glance at her driver showed his worried gaze watched her. She couldn’t expect him to do anything while she was being threatened with a gun. The few people walking past showed no interest in aiding her. How else could she save herself and the book?

  “Which building are we entering?” she asked, well aware that her driver listened closely.

  “You’ll see soon enough.” The man glared up at her driver. “Off with ye.”

  “But—”

  “If ye value her life, be gone with ye.”

  “Get help,” Julia called out as Crawford grabbed her arm and forced her to proceed toward one of the nearby buildings.

  “Shut yer mouth.”

  “You can’t expect me to go quietly.” She jerked her arm free then stepped forward to run only to be caught again.

  If she hadn’t borrowed the book to begin with, none of this would be happening. His grip on her arm was a painful reminder and did nothing to calm her panic.

  “Give me the damned book.”

  “Stop asking,” she suggested, trying to make her voice sound calm when she was anything but.

  “I’m not askin’ ye, I’m tellin’ ye.” The irritation in the man’s tone should’ve frightened her along with his hold on her. But in truth, she was getting a little irritated herself. Anger felt better than fear.

  “The answer is still no.” She held the book all the tighter, twisting away when he tried to take it. “What would your mother say about your actions?”

  She leveled him a look that would’ve sent a gentleman at a ball scurrying away. Unfortunately, it seemed to have little effect on this man.

  “Fine. Ye can argue with Smithby. I’m warnin’ ye now, he ain’t goin’ to like it. Or ye, for that matter.”

  The look in his dark eyes matched the sneer on his face, sending a shiver coursing through her. But he only turned to knock on the warehouse door.

  After a few short moments, the door unlocked and cracked open. “Who the—”

  “Open the damned door,” Crawford demanded.

  “What are ye doin’? Who’s she?” The glare the other man gave her and Crawford had Julia thinking twice. Perhaps she should hand over the book and escape while she could. Surely there would be a way to retrieve it later.

  When Crawford’s grip tightened on her arm, she knew she’d come to that realization too late. He shoved her through the door as the other man stepped back.

  The damp coolness of the warehouse sank into her bones. Rows between piles of carpets, boxes, and crates formed walkways. Nearly a dozen men worked inside, either loading items onto small carts or hauling them away. The sheer quantity of articles was impressive, and the goose pimples that came over her had more to do with the seriousness of this situation than the temperature.

  The chances of her escaping appeared slimmer than ever.

  As fear settled in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t help but think with regret of the earlier events that led to this.

  And Oliver.

  The lump in her throat had her swallowing hard as Crawford shoved her forward again. She should’ve handled things differently with Oliver. She should’ve found the courage to tell him how she felt. Surely she could convince him that he cared for her as well. Perhaps if she confessed her fear he might understand and even help her with it.

  Love was a gift, and she was choosing to toss it away rather than risk embracing it. Didn’t that make her as bad as her mother? Certainly she’d never leave her father to fend for himself but was there a compromise that might allow her to have both a life of her own and her father’s good health?

  If she saw Oliver again—

  No, when she saw Oliver again, she would tell him how much she loved him.

  The breath she drew hitched. Now she need only find a way to untangle herself from this mess.

  ~*~

  Oliver jumped out of the carriage before it had drawn to a stop and searched the area near the warehouse. His heart sank. Nowhere did he see Julia. The anger that had been his companion since she’d been taken colored his vision, slowing his thoughts.

  “My lord?”

  He turned to see a carriage approaching, the driver waving to gain his attention—Julia’s driver. Hope burned bright once again, lifting the fog of anger.

  “Where is she?” Oliver asked as the man drew to a stop.

  “That man took her into a building two streets over. He’s got a gun but she wouldn’t give him the book. I was on my way to find the police when I came upon you.”

  “Show us.” Oliver gestured for Hawke’s driver to follow and stepped up to ride beside Julia’s driver.

  The man found a place to turn the horse and carriage and returned to the warehouse he’d seen Julia enter, informing Oliver of what little he knew during the brief ride. The poor driver was distraught but had been able to do little while Julia’s abductor had threatened her with a gun.

  Oliver glanced back, noting Hawke’s carriage directly behind them.

  “Find a policeman. Preferably more than one,” Oliver ordered as he hopped down. “We’re going to need all the assistance we can get.”

  “Of course, my lord.” With a flick of his reins, he was gone.

  Hawke alighted from his carriage, cane in hand. “Which building is it?”

  Oliver pointed to a two-story red brick warehouse a few doors.

  “Good thing her driver found us.” Hawke shook his head as though amazed at their luck. “Otherwise, we might not have found her. This location is new to me.”

  Oliver shuddered at the thought. He stared at the building, trying to determine their next step. His rage shortened his breath. It required all his control to stop himself from banging on the door and demanding her freedom. That would only put her in more danger. “Any grand ideas?”

  Hawke scowled. “None. You?”

  “How did you get in the warehouse when you confronted Smithby the last time?”

  “I opened the door and walked in. But I wouldn’t recommend it—I knew the police were on their way.”

  “Only you would be so reckless. I sent Julia’s driver for the police, but I’m not certain we can count on them coming to our aid. Allow us to find out what we’re up against.” Knowing how many men were in there along with the layout of the building and where Julia was would help.

  “The upper windows might provide a good view,” Hawke suggested. “But how?”

  “The rear entrance perhaps?”

  Keeping their distance from the building with the hope no one noted
their arrival, they hurried to the back of the warehouse. The area was mostly deserted.

  “I’ll be back in a moment.” Oliver quickly climbed the rear stairs that led to a small upper loft door. From there, he jumped to the narrow ledge of one of the large windows.

  Though coated in dirt and soot, he could just make out the interior. Julia stood beside the man who’d abducted her by a desk near the center of the building. She appeared to be unharmed and, by the way she shifted, he’d guess she was arguing with her captors. The man behind the desk must be Jasper Smithby. About ten other men worked inside, carting goods in and out.

  Oliver made his way back down to Hawke. “The good news is that she is in there and appears unharmed.”

  “The bad news?”

  “We’re sorely outnumbered. We need to even the odds.”

  “A distraction to lure the men outside?”

  “I believe I saw a kerosene shop down the street. Nothing like the suggestion of a fire to create a little panic.”

  “How do you intend to ‘suggest’ a fire?”

  “Smoke. Lots of smoke.”

  Hawke smiled. “Excellent idea.”

  They rushed back to the busy street and purchased rags along with a gallon of kerosene from the nearby shop. Hawke found an enterprising lad interested in earning a few coins to watch his carriage so his driver, Samuel, could aid them in the distraction.

  At the rear of the building, Oliver tied the rags into several tight bundles, soaking each one with kerosene. “We’ll light these and toss them inside through those upper windows. With luck, they should create more smoke than fire.”

  The idea of Julia being trapped in a burning warehouse had him hesitating. Fear choked him, but he shoved it aside. He needed to control both his fear and his rage to save Julia.

  “We’ve no time to waste.” Hawke lifted two of the bundles gingerly. “I won’t be of much assistance crawling onto the window ledge with my bad leg, but I can hand these to you from the stairs.”

  Samuel picked up two more of the bundles and studied the windows. “Which side do you want me to take?”

  Oliver pointed to the right, which was closer to the stairs. “I’ll take the left. Do you have a tinder box?”

  “Yes. There were two in the carriage to light lamps.” He handed one to Oliver. “After you, my lord.”

  The three men moved quietly up the stairs with Hawke bringing up the rear. Oliver knew his friend carried a pistol, but hoped he could avoid using it. The sound of a shot would draw too much attention. Besides one pistol would be ineffective against so many.

  Oliver and Samuel left the bundles on the small landing at the top of the stairs with Hawke while each jumped to the window ledges. As Oliver had noted, the windows opened from the top. Unfortunately, the latches were coated with filth and rusty from disuse. The last thing they needed was to break the glass.

  After some effort, Oliver managed to open the window and had a better view of the interior. Julia remained by the desk, still holding the wrapped book. He longed to tell her to forget the damned book. He had. He only wanted her out safely.

  Watching her only made him question whether he was doing the right thing. This seemed far too risky an idea yet nothing else came to mind. He clenched his fists, struggling for that elusive control.

  With a shake of his head, he returned his attention to the task at hand. A glance at Samuel showed he had pried open that window as well.

  Keeping his balance on the narrow ledge, Oliver pulled the tinder box from his pocket and lit the first bundle, watching to make certain his timing matched the driver’s. Samuel gave a nod. Oliver had already told him to aim for the floor. The last thing they wanted to do was set the goods on fire. That would put Julia in far more danger.

  With a careful aim, holding a long tail of the rag, he tossed the burning bundle to the floor below. It landed silently and drew no notice. Smoke seeped from it just as Oliver had hoped. Hawke threw him another bundle, and he repeated the process two more times. Already smoke rose from the tightly tied rags, slowly filling the area. It should soon draw notice.

  Oliver jumped back to the landing as Hawke opened the loft door and peeked inside. A glance over his shoulder had an idea forming in Oliver’s mind.

  “I’m going in using the loft,” Oliver told Hawke. “Why don’t you enter through the front?”

  “Good plan. As soon as the majority of men leave because of the smoke, we’ll go in.”

  “My focus will be on freeing Julia. I’ll leave Smithby for you.”

  “What about the book?” Hawke asked.

  “I don’t care about it.” It no longer seemed important. Not compared to Julia’s life. “I only want Julia out safely. If we catch Smithby, that will be a bonus. Hopefully, the police will arrive by then and can arrest him.”

  “Maybe Rutter will be inside, and we can have him captured again as well.” Hawke paused before going down the stairs, his gaze holding Oliver’s. “Take care, my friend.”

  “You do the same.” While Oliver’s anger simmered just below the surface, he had no intention of unleashing it completely. Not this time.

  He opened the loft door and slipped inside. The loft only extended over a small area of the lower level. A rope and pulley hung at the far end to raise items.

  He slowly lowered the rope to the floor and tied it off on a rafter. He could easily climb down the rope once the men smelled the smoke and started leaving. Julia wasn’t visible from this vantage point, which set his nerves on edge.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long.

  “Fire!” The cry created panic among the men in the warehouse. They dropped whatever they carried and rushed toward the front door, stumbling over the top of each other. “Fire!”

  Oliver couldn’t help his own swell of panic at the words. Surely those men had only seen the smoke from the bundles, not actual flames. But he couldn’t quell his worry when not all of the bundles were in sight. What if one had caught some of the goods on fire? He wouldn’t feel better until Julia was in his arms.

  Billows of smoke filled the air along with the stench of kerosene as he started down the rope. If Smithby and the man holding Julia left, Hawke and Samuel should be able to catch them.

  However, Oliver doubted Smithby would leave his livelihood so easily. Already he could hear someone calling out for the men not to panic, demanding they locate the source of the smoke.

  “Stop, you bloody fools,” the authoritative voice continued. “Find the damned fire and put it out.”

  Heart pounding, Oliver reached the ground. The smoke was thick here, making it difficult to see and breathe. Based on his memory of the layout, he moved as quickly as possible toward the desk and Julia.

  As he rounded a row of stacked crates, he came face-to-face with a man who must’ve come in search of the fire. Surprise was on Oliver’s side and he clipped the man under his chin. Out cold, the man collapsed bonelessly to the floor. Oliver kept moving.

  The desk came into view, along with the man he presumed to be Smithby. Oliver’s breath stopped until he eased forward and saw Julia next to her initial captor.

  Oliver clicked off his emotions, aware his worry for Julia would only hinder him. He hurried forward, hoping the concern about the fire held their attention. His first target was the man who’d taken Julia.

  Julia saw him first. Her eyes widened in surprise. She turned to face her captor, whether to distract him or somehow aid Oliver, he wasn’t certain. Her movement revealed the pistol the man held.

  Oliver realized at once that he couldn’t shut off his feelings—not with that gun pointed at the woman he loved. He channeled his rage, using it along with his training and instinct to rush the man.

  Julia stepped aside, shoving the man’s arm down as he caught sight of Oliver.

  “Hey—” The man caught Oliver’s intent too late. “No.”

  Oliver finished what Julia had started, grabbing the man’s hand and holding it down. The gun fired
but, as it was pointed at the ground, did no damage.

  “Frost?” Hawke’s voice called out from the front of the building.

  Releasing his anger, Oliver punched the man, landing two blows before he fell to the ground with a groan. Oliver spun toward Julia only to see the other man, whom he assumed was Smithby, now held her.

  Oliver’s blood ran as cold as ice at the sight of the gun the man held at her cheek. Her blue eyes were dark with fear as she stared at Oliver. He’d never felt so helpless.

  “Jasper Smithby?” he asked, brushing his hands together and straightening his jacket as though he had all the time in the world.

  “Who the hell are you?” The man’s eyes held an intelligent gleam that concerned Oliver all the more. He was no simple thug.

  “Release her.” He couldn’t look at Julia and remain calm, so he kept his focus on Smithby.

  Hawke limped forward, cane in hand. “Smithby.”

  The thief’s gaze narrowed. “Not you again.”

  Hawke smiled without a hint of apology. “I’m afraid so. It appears all of your men have fled. Have you met Viscount Frost?”

  The growl that came out of Smithby sounded like a feral dog. Apparently he didn’t appreciate Hawke’s attempt at introductions.

  Oliver chose to ignore Smithby’s reaction and took another step forward. “Release her.”

  “I’m going to leave with the lady and, if you value her life, you two will remain here.”

  “I can’t allow that.” Oliver refused to even consider the idea. Now that Julia was so close, he never intended to let her go.

  “You have no say in the matter.” Smithby’s gaze dropped to his desk. “Get the book,” he ordered Julia.

  Julia stared at Oliver so intently that he felt it. Unable not to, he looked at her.

  She raised her brows deliberately.

  Before he could guess what she was about, she retrieved the book from the desk only to moan as she stumbled then crumpled to the ground.