Between the Devil and Desire

by Lorraine Heath

  There was a considerable amount that he wanted to yell at her. She was really inconveniencing him. It was damned irritating. She needed to get well, and quickly. He didn’t have time to waste looking in on her, and her, son was worried, so Jack had to take moments away from his work—moments he couldn’t spare—to reassure Henry. He needed to take care of matters here and at his business. He didn’t have the patience for this nonsense.

  Still, he placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward slightly. “No need to worry about your son,” he said in a low voice. “He has a proper nanny now. The Countess of Claybourne helped me locate her.”

  That had been irritating as well: asking Catherine for help. Jack was accustomed to taking care of matters on his own, but he was not as familiar with this world as he was with his. He didn’t want to disappoint Olivia by choosing poorly. That too was irritating: that he cared about pleasing her.

  “You’ll approve of her, the new nanny. Her name is Ida. Henry likes her well enough.”

  Olivia’s eyes fluttered open. He could claim he hadn’t meant to awaken her. After all, he was skilled at lying. But he had wanted her awake, had wanted to see for himself that life remained in those golden eyes. Had wanted to gaze into them again.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  Her eyes closed briefly as though it took all her strength to respond. “Tired.”

  He thought about touching her forehead to test the extent of her fever, but he could see the flush in her cheeks, the dew on her skin. He had no doubt she was still fevered.

  “Henry?” she croaked.

  “He’s fine. He’s asleep now.”

  “Time?”

  “A little after midnight. I can give you the precise time if you like. You’ve got all the damned clocks in here.”

  One corner of her mouth shifted up into a weak smile. “Gave them…to him.”

  “You gave Lovingdon all the clocks?”

  She nodded slightly. No wonder she’d been upset that Jack had thought so little of the precious collection.

  “He always said time was his enemy.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Tried to make him see it wasn’t. But he claimed there were things he needed to do. Things to set to right.”

  “What things?”

  She shook her head slowly, closed her eyes, and opened them. “Wouldn’t say. His secrets.”

  Jack couldn’t help but wonder if any of those secrets concerned him. He looked around the room again. Nothing looked familiar, but it could have changed as much as London had. The man who’d taken him in had given him a room next to his, but Jack didn’t think this was it.

  “So sorry,” she rasped.

  He looked back at her, for the briefest of moments fearing she had the ability to read his mind, to know the dark roads down which his thoughts had traveled. So his tongue was a bit sharper than he’d intended when he finally spoke. “What do you keep apologizing for? What did you do that requires eternal apologies?”

  “Lovingdon. I killed him.”

  Chapter 13

  Jack stared at Olivia. She’d closed her eyes as soon as the words were spoken, as though her admission had taken all her remaining strength. Did she think she was dying, in need of a deathbed confession? Why had she said such a thing? Had she suddenly climbed out of bed, removed all her clothes, and run through the London streets stark naked, Jack wouldn’t have been more surprised.

  A sound startled him, and to his everlasting irritation, his body jerked. The nurse was standing at the foot of the bed. Did they all have to creep around? He was going to insist bells be sewn onto everyone’s clothes so he was aware of them approaching.

  “Was she awake?” she asked.

  “For a minute.”

  “Did you give her anything to drink?”

  “No.”

  Colleen scowled at him as though he’d revealed that he’d been more interested in undoing Olivia’s buttons than seeing to her comfort. She moved around to the other side of the bed. She touched her fingers to Olivia’s brow. Olivia mumbled incoherently.

  “Dear Lord, she’s on fire.”

  Which meant her confession was probably the result of delirium. It could have been spawned by a dream, a nightmare, a hidden wish for her older husband to die so she could marry a younger man.

  He scoffed. The last was unlikely. She was in a position now to marry a younger man and she rebuffed Jack’s attempts to match her up with one. Of course, the fact she didn’t seem to want to marry didn’t mean she didn’t want to be free of her husband. But to kill him? She didn’t seem the bloodthirsty type.

  Colleen reached for the bellpull.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asked.

  “I’m going to have to put her in a cold bath. I’ve got to get the fever down.”

  He nodded. “Get it ready. I’ll put her in the tub.”

  “That’s not proper.”

  “Modesty be damned. She’s not in any condition to walk on her own. You’re not strong enough to carry her. And I’m certainly not going to let one of the male servants do it. I’m paying your wages, you’ll do as I say. Get the bath ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A few minutes later, a flurry of activity commenced as maids scurried around, bringing up water and ice under the careful eye of Brittles. Jack wondered if the butler slept in his clothes, as he always seemed ready to tend to any situation that arose. Perhaps it was only that they were all concerned about the duchess and keeping vigil in their respective parts of the residence.

  Jack removed his jacket and turned to toss it on a nearby chair. It was then that he noticed the flash of blond curls at the doorway. Rolling up his sleeves as he went, he walked into the hallway. Young Henry was squatting beside the door, his back pressed to the wall, holding his puppy close, fear evident in his eyes.

  He’d obviously heard the commotion and was expecting the worst. Jack assumed all the rushing about might have also occurred the night the duke died.

  Jack crouched in front of the boy. “She’s going to be all right, lad.”

  “C-can I see her?”

  “It’s best if you don’t, not right now at least. She’d never forgive me if you got sick as well.” Jack barely had a second to ponder why he was concerned with the notion that he might do something for which she wouldn’t forgive him.

  “What if she d-dies?”

  “She won’t, lad. I promise you that, and Jack Dodger is a man who keeps his promises. Ask anyone.”

  “Who?”

  Jack grinned. “No one you know, fortunately.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Now go back to bed, so I can see to your mum.”

  With a nod, the boy got to his feet and started scuffling back to his room. His nanny was waiting for him at the door. She hugged Henry when he reached her, and Jack felt more confident that he’d selected the right woman for the boy. He unfolded his body and went back into the duchess’s bedchamber.

  “It’s ready,” Colleen said.

  He quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it onto the jacket. His cravat followed. He walked to the bed and threw back the covers. Olivia was modestly dressed, with her nightgown bunched around her knees. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the dressing room. He hesitated. No welcoming steam rose from the water. Ice bobbed along its surface. He was familiar with the unpleasantness of a cold bath. It had been years since he’d been dunked in cold water at the prison and scrubbed unmercifully, but it wasn’t an experience easily forgotten.

  “Sir, it’s for her own good,” Colleen said quietly.

  As though Jack were a man who cared about the comfort of others, which he surely was not.

  “Right.” He walked to the tub, took a deep breath as though he was the one being submerged, and lowered her into the water.

  Olivia jerked awake with a start. She’d been surrounded by warmth, comfort, safety, and suddenly she was being lowered into freezing water. It was cold, so very cold. Chunks of ice clacked together. She sc
reeched, thrashed, clawed, fought to get free, even as her body sank beneath the water and her drenched nightgown floated around her.

  “Olivia.”

  Someone grabbed her wrists, held them in place with one hand as strong as iron, while the other hand grabbed the back of her head. “Olivia. Olivia! Do you want to frighten Henry?”

  She stilled, staring at Jack. At that moment she hated him. “I-i-it’s cold.”

  He released her wrists and cradled her face. His hand was warm, so warm. She wanted to curl her entire body into it.

  “I know, but we’ve got to get your fever down, sweetheart,” he said.

  Shivering, she nodded. He dropped to the floor, sitting beside the tub as though being in the dressing room while she was in there was proper. It wasn’t and she wanted him to leave, but more, she wanted him to stay.

  “Think about something else,” he ordered.

  “L-like wh-what?”

  “The clocks. Do you like clocks?”

  She nodded, her teeth clattering.

  “I’ll buy you a clock for every minute you stay in the tub.”

  “I d-don’t like them th-that much.”

  He laughed, a deep resonate sound.

  “I’m glad s-someone’s having fun,” she stammered.

  “I’m not.”

  She glanced around the room. The only other person was the nurse. What was her name? It danced at the edge of her mind.

  The nurse lowered herself to the other side of the tub. “Only a couple of minutes, Your Grace.”

  Olivia nodded. She was miserable, so very miserable.

  “Think about how lovely it’ll be when you get out,” Jack said.

  Olivia jerked her head up and down. “Will you hold me again? You’re so comfortable and warm.” She released a half laugh. “Silly to want to be warm when that’s what got me here in the first place.”

  “When you get out, you’re going to have some warm soup,” he said. “You don’t eat enough.”

  “How w-would you know?”

  “I’ve carried you three times now and you’re a wisp of a woman.”

  She was certain he’d managed to insult her, but she really didn’t care.

  “It’s h-hurting.” She grabbed the edges of the tub.

  “Here.” He slipped his hand beneath hers. “Squeeze my hand.”

  “I m-might b-break b-bones.”

  “It’s not like they won’t mend. Come on, squeeze.”

  She did, squeezing his hand, squeezing her eyes shut, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. “T-talk to me.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “Your childhood. T-tell me a story. Your thumb.”

  “Why is everyone so fascinated with my thumb?”

  “W-hat did you s-steal?”

  Tenderly he brushed some hair back from her face. “Nothing.”

  “You were innocent?”

  “Of that particular crime, yes. But I was guilty enough of others that I took the punishment as my due.”

  “Here, Your Grace,” the nurse said, pressing a rolled cloth to Olivia’s mouth. “You need to clamp down on this, before you bite your tongue.”

  She did as told then ground out a muffled, “Talk.”

  He sighed as though he had no more patience for her, but then he said, “It was Claybourne. He tried to steal a block of cheese. You always want to steal something small that you can slip in your pocket or easily hand off to someone else without being seen. But he stupidly wanted the cheese. I went back and tried to break the grocer’s hold on him, and all I managed to do was get myself caught. It was the only time I got caught, by the way.”

  He sounded so proud of that achievement. She nodded, urging him to go on. When he spoke, she could lose herself in his gravelly voice and almost forget the agony she was in.

  “I was ten. We were sentenced to three months in prison. When we were released, we returned to our life on the street, a bit wiser and a bit more careful. Frannie was our little mother. She’s younger than most of us, but she tended our scrapes. And I think you’ve had enough of this bath.”

  “Another minute,” the nurse said.

  Olivia hated her, hated Jack for hiring her.

  “She’s turning blue,” he said. “She’s had enough.”

  “No, sir.”

  “She’s had enough,” he said in that irritating voice that signaled he thought he was master. She hated it.

  She loved it as one arm went beneath her knees, the other behind her shoulders, then he lifted her out with a grunt. Perhaps she wasn’t so light after all.

  He set her on a chair. “Grab the towels.”

  “I’ll see to her, sir,” the nurse said.

  Jack stepped back and Olivia saw that his shirt was almost as soaked as she was.

  “I’m going to my club,” he said. “Send word if I’m needed.”

  Olivia almost reminded him that she needed him to hold her, to warm her, but the cloth was still in her mouth and she was afraid if she removed it, she’d bite off her tongue. The nurse was trying to help her out of her nightgown, and she was fairly certain she’d be warm again soon. But still she couldn’t deny the disappointment that it wasn’t Jack who was going to be warming her.

  As Jack tore off his wet clothes, he was determined to leave the residence as quickly as possible. He’d not promised Olivia that he’d hold her, but he couldn’t get her request out of his mind. He reminded himself that she was sick, delirious, possibly not even aware of what she was saying. The very last thing she probably wanted was to be held by him.

  Jerking on his dry clothes, he could see her shivering in the tub. Forcing her to stay in the frigid water had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Chill bumps had erupted over her skin. Her dark nipples had hardened. He knew they were dark because they’d been almost visible through her drenched nightgown. Thank God, she was too ill to notice he was well aware of every aspect of her soaked state.

  As soon as she’d started thrashing, he’d wanted to take her back to bed. But he’d promised Henry she wouldn’t die and if the nurse thought a cold soak was needed, a cold soak she’d get. He rubbed his brow. Whatever had possessed him to make such a promise?

  He jerked open his door and stormed into the hallway—

  “D-did she die?”

  Jack swung around. Henry stood there in his nightshirt, appearing so small and afraid, his eyes huge.

  “No, lad.” He walked over and crouched in front of him. “She’s going to get well. Where’s your nanny?”

  “Sleeping.” Henry looked at the door, peered back at Jack.

  “You can’t see her yet, lad. Do you want to sit outside her room for a bit?”

  He bobbed his head.

  Jack sat on the floor with his back to the wall. Henry crawled onto his lap, pressing his face to Jack’s chest. “She’ll be all right, lad. She’ll be all right.”

  They sat in silence for a moment before Jack said, “You can suck your thumb if you want.”

  Henry shook his head.

  “Here.” Jack reached in his jacket pocket, removed his locket, and handed it to Henry. “Hold it for good luck.”

  Henry’s small hand fisted around it.

  “Do you know Lord Claybourne?” Jack asked.

  Henry glanced up at him. “No.”

  His voice was so soft, as though he feared disturbing his mother, that Jack almost didn’t hear him. “Well, I suspect you will someday. I lived with the previous Lord Claybourne for a time. One day I was trying to decide if I wanted to run off. I was standing at the back gate, looking at my locket when your father approached.”

  Henry’s golden eyes widened.

  “This was years ago,” Jack said. “Before you were born. He thought I’d stolen it, but I told him my mum had given it to me…”

  Jack remembered that day as though it were yesterday.

  “I’ll give you a shilling to let me look at it,” Lovingdon said.

  “Why do you care?”
r />   “A girl I once knew carried a locket that looked very much like that one.”

  Jack didn’t like him. He didn’t trust anyone with green eyes. They reminded him of the man who’d hurt him so long ago. But where was the harm in taking a coin? “A crown.”

  The man smiled. “You are a bargainer. But it’s a deal.”

  He gave Jack the crown and as soon as he held it in his hand, he wanted to run. Take the coin and dash off. Instead, with a tightness in his throat that he thought might suffocate him, he handed over his precious possession.

  The duke very slowly opened the locket and studied the miniature for what seemed an eternity. Then he closed it and handed it back to Jack. “It’s a very pretty locket, but not the one I was remembering.”

  Jack tucked the locket away and gave him a cocky grin. “Thanks for the crown.”

  “Are you thinking of leaving?”

  “I don’t see it’s any of yer business.”

  “The earl is offering you an opportunity here that few such as yourself are given. If you don’t want to learn from him, perhaps you’d be willing to learn from me.”

  “Yer not offerin’ nothin’ I want. Besides, yer wrong. I wasn’t plannin’ to leave. My mates are ’ere. I’m stayin’.”

  “Good for you, lad. Good for you.”

  By the time Jack finished relating his story, Henry had fallen asleep. Jack carefully extricated the locket from his tiny grasp, opened it, and gazed on the miniature of his mother. She had dark hair and eyes—like his. He’d always thought her beautiful.

  His thoughts kept coming back to the man who had bought him. Was it possible he had been Lovingdon? It might explain why the locket had looked familiar to him. The man who bought him had been standing nearby when Jack’s mother had given it to Jack as she said good-bye.

  No, Jack refused to believe Lovingdon was that man. He’d go insane with the thought of him touching Livy, of being Henry’s father.