Jack realized the line had begun to move and he’d completely missed it. “We’d best start paying attention here.”
She smiled gently as though she understood his struggles. Reaching out, she took Henry’s hand. “Stay close.”
Jack didn’t know if she was speaking to her son or to him, if she recognized that he suddenly wanted to run away. But he stayed near, holding the firm conviction that nothing within that glass and metal building would fascinate him as much as the woman dressed as a boy who now walked beside him.
He became aware of the stares, the attention they were drawing, no doubt because Olivia was talking and acting like a mother, not like a young lad. As though she also became aware of the interest, she glanced around.
She looked at Jack and he could see the panic on her face that people were beginning to notice her, notice that she wasn’t a boy. Before he could reassure her that it was of no consequence, she said, “Bloody hell,” in that deep-throated gargle she seemed to think was the way a young man would talk.
“Bloody hell,” Henry repeated.
Olivia couldn’t have looked more horrified if Jack had lifted her up and planted a kiss on those parted lips. And then she began to giggle, covering her mouth, shaking her head.
“’ere, ’ere, yer language,” the man behind them said.
The eyes of the woman behind them widened considerably. “I don’t think that’s a lad, Jonah. What’s going on ’ere?”
Jack took Olivia’s hand. “Come on.”
She grabbed Henry’s hand. Jack led them away from the line.
“We’re going to lose our place in the line,” Olivia said, but she didn’t sound angry. He could still hear the trace of laughter in her voice.
“We’re going to get a better one,” Jack said, marching them toward the front.
“You’re not thinking of stealing a place.”
“I’ve told you I don’t do that anymore.” He glanced back at her and grinned. “Steal.”
He didn’t want the beginning of the line, because it would be too obvious. But he wanted them closer than they were. He spotted a man, a woman, and a young girl. With Olivia and Henry trailing behind him, Jack approached.
“How many in your group?” Jack asked the man.
“What concern is it of yers?”
“I’ll pay you handsomely for your place here if you’ll take your family to the back of the line,” Jack told him.
“You’re knockers. We’ve been ’ere since five in the morn—”
He looked at the money Jack had shoved into his hand. He lifted his gaze to Jack, then doffed his cap. “See ye, gov’ner.” He turned to the woman and girl. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not—”
“Back of the line, now, love,” he said, pushing the woman away from the crowd, before showing her what he held.
Her eyes widened before she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and happily walked away.
“I thought we were going to work not to get noticed,” Olivia said as Jack drew them into the line.
“We lost that opportunity when you tried to draw attention away from yourself.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Exactly what you did. I should have done this earlier.”
“We’re almost there,” Henry yelled excitedly, tugging on Jack’s hand and jumping.
Yes, they were, and already Jack was wishing this day would never come to an end.
Olivia had never paid much attention to the masses. They weren’t part of her world. Yet, walking among them, she couldn’t help but notice that they didn’t seem so very different. Jack blended in very well, but she knew it was because he was making a point to do so. She’d considered him as coming from the dregs of society, but that wasn’t where he belonged. She thought he belonged exactly where he was.
It was improper for her to be so very much aware of another man and yet it seemed so natural. She knew when Jack would grin—before he grinned—because a bit of the devil would first appear in his eyes and then it would work its way into a slow smile. He didn’t grin often, but when he did, it had the power to steal her breath. When he wasn’t quite certain of himself or was thinking through a problem, he rubbed the underside of his jaw. His voice always sounded confident, but she was beginning to suspect there were times when he wasn’t, and that small mannerism somehow shored up his self-assurance. She wasn’t quite certain why she detected that vulnerability in him, but she did.
She was positively charmed, watching as he explained things to Henry, lifted him up so he could have a more advantageous view, and sat him on his shoulders when he grew tired of walking. She suspected none of that would have happened if they’d come on any other day. Henry would have been expected to behave in a manner befitting his station, his title. Or perhaps there would have been no difference. Jack might have taught him not to care what people thought.
Yes, that was more likely. If she didn’t marry, if she had no husband to usurp Jack’s role as guardian, she had no doubt Henry would grow up with little fear of expressing his opinion. She wasn’t altogether certain that was a bad thing.
Of all the artwork, inventions, and wonders to explore at the Great Exhibition, Henry was most fascinated with the huge locomotive.
“Have you never traveled on the railway, lad?” Jack asked.
With eyes wide, Henry shook his head.
“Many of these folks—that’s how they got here. Traveling on the railway. Before that, it would have taken them days and days to get into London. Imagine what they would have missed.”
“Have you traveled on the railway?” Olivia asked. She kept meaning to speak in a deeper voice, but she’d get entranced by everything surrounding them and forget. People weren’t paying attention to them anyway. Too many marvels drew their interest, and they paid no heed to the oddly dressed trio.
Jack shook his head. “I’ve never been outside London.”
“Never?”
He rolled his shoulders into a careless shrug. “Why would I?”
“The country’s very different. I daresay you’re in for a treat when we travel to the estates.”
He rubbed his jaw. “When we do, sure.”
“You’re not afraid—”
“’Course not,” he interjected, cutting her off. “London suits me just fine. Never had a need to go elsewhere.”
“How can you know if you’ve never been anywhere else?”
“I simply know.”
“I don’t see how you could.”
“How do you know you wouldn’t enjoy a bit of wickedness?” he demanded hotly. At her silence, he arched a brow and that slow smile that started in his eyes eased down to his mouth.
She knew exactly what he was asking with that look. How could she question his judging what he’d never experienced when she was guilty of the same thing? She’d never sinned, and God help her, she was beginning to realize she’d never truly desired her husband. In the beginning, she’d thought of him before she went to sleep, missed him, felt the loneliness of his leaving her bed. She hadn’t anticipated seeing him at breakfast in the morning. She hadn’t thought the afternoons without him were too long and the evenings in his company too short.
She hadn’t thought of him with yearning. She suspected if she wasn’t very, very careful that, when it came to Jack, she could find herself yearning for more than a kiss—
She grabbed Henry’s hand. “I think we’ve dawdled here long enough.”
Henry glanced back. “Can we g-go on the rail-railway?”
“Someday, lad.”
She heard in Jack’s voice the promise.
The sun had disappeared by the time the coach pulled up in front of the residence. Henry—all of them—had eaten at the refreshment area, enjoying a variety of offerings. Olivia didn’t think any of them would be in the mood for dinner, which was a good thing as Henry was already asleep.
With Henry clinging to him like a little monkey—his arms around his neck, his
legs around his waist—Jack gracefully exited the coach. As they walked toward the manor, Olivia felt tears prick her eyes at the sight of the tall, strapping man beside her and the small boy who trusted him implicitly. She couldn’t deny that what she was beginning to feel for Jack was wondrous in its scope, frightening in its intensity.
She wanted to be with him in ways she knew she should not. Scandalous ways, sinful ways. She had to shore up her resolve to resist what she knew would only lead to disaster. To abandon her upbringing for a night of passion in the bed of a man to whom she was not wed, a man who had plans to marry her off to another—it was a foolish, foolish woman who would contemplate traveling such a road.
Henry stirred not at all as they entered the house and began their ascent up the stairs. He was well and truly worn out. Olivia certainly understood that feeling. She would welcome a warm bath and an early night.
Ida greeted them in the nursery. “How is the young duke?”
“Dead to the world,” Jack said as he laid Henry on his bed with a gentleness that surprised Olivia. After all this time, she was still astonished that where Henry was concerned, Jack showed such extreme consideration.
“I’ll prepare him for bed,” Ida whispered. “You see to yourselves.”
Leaning down, Olivia kissed Henry’s forehead. “Good night, sweetheart.”
She followed Jack into the hallway. “I haven’t the strength for dinner.”
His eyes held concern when he looked at her. “Was today too much?”
“It was perfect. I’m just tired. If you don’t mind, I’ll use the dressing room first.”
“I have to go out, and where I’m going my present appearance will serve me well.”
“Where are you going?”
“I want to find my locket.”
“Do you think you’ll have any luck?”
“I know where it’s likely to be pawned. I’ll find it.”
He had such confidence. Confidence in everything.
She placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you so much for today.”
He splayed his fingers beneath her chin and they curled around her neck. Her breath hitched with thoughts of him drawing her near and giving her a scalding kiss before marching off to attend to his business.
His gaze took a leisurely journey from her toes back to her eyes. “I have to confess that I’d not expected you to look so delectable in trousers.”
She felt a spurt of giddiness.
“Damn, if you don’t make me wish I was a man who’d settle for only a kiss.”
“I suppose I could forbid you.”
Only one corner of his mouth lifted, as though he were faintly amused by her shameful wantonness.
“For now, where’s the harm?” he asked in that smoky voice that did strange things to her insides. “It’ll just add to your debt.”
She didn’t bother to correct him, to inform him that she’d never pay what he presumed she owed. She’d not go to his bed. As much as the notion was beginning to appeal to her, she would hold onto the moral high ground even as he lowered his mouth to hers, even as she rose up on her toes to meet it.
It was, after all, only a kiss.
But it felt like so much more. From the moment his lips touched hers, she became lost in the sensations of his mouth playing over hers. She sensed that he tempered his hunger, that he held himself in check as though he feared he’d not have the power this time to settle for anything less than having her beneath him.
But this kiss was as marvelous as the first. A distant part of her was aware of her boy’s cap leaving her head. As she skimmed her hands up over his shoulders, she felt his arms come around her, holding her nearer, and then her hair tumbled around her. He was a man of nimble fingers and talented mouth. He could distract her so easily until all she cared about was him.
His bedroom was so near. If he was to lift her into his arms, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to resist. She might simply lean down and open the door for him.
No, no, she had to be stronger than that. She had to take this kiss that stirred her desire and be content with it. They both had to be content with it.
Suddenly changing the angle of his mouth, he deepened the kiss, his tongue leisurely exploring, enticing her to do the same. As he drew her nearer, held her close, she was not hampered by layers of petticoats or skirts. Quite frankly, there was little more than a few pieces of fabric separating her skin from his. His body responded with a fierceness that she needed no imagination to envision. She knew exactly what he looked like, images of him in the dressing room bombarding her, igniting a fire low in her belly.
She heard a harsh plea and feared it came from her.
Breathing heavily, he tore his mouth from hers. Only then did she realize she’d fairly wound herself around him. She immediately dropped her arms, stepped back.
“You do bewitch me,” he rasped. “Fair warning, Duchess, I fear this is the last time I can settle for only a kiss.”
With that, he spun on his heel and headed toward the stairs. Closing her eyes, she sank against the wall.
His warning wasn’t at all fair. All it did was make her anticipate their next meeting.
Climbing out of his brougham, Jack inhaled the foul stench that had surrounded him for much of his youth. He didn’t return to the rookeries often, but when he did, it was always with a sense of coming home.
What sort of sad commentary was that on his life when this filth was where he felt most comfortable? He snatched the burlap sack out of the carriage and slung it over his shoulder. He knew there’d be nothing left of his carriage if it remained. “Drive off, return here in an hour,” he ordered the driver.
“Yes, sir.”
Jack could see the clear relief on the driver’s face right before he set the horses into motion. No one wanted to be here, not even those who lived in the dilapidated buildings. It was late evening, yet children were still scurrying around. When they got too curious, too close, he reached in his pocket and tossed a few coins into the dirt and filth to send them scrambling away from him.
He reached the dwelling he wanted. The door was a challenge to open because it wasn’t secured to all its hinges. Inside was dark and dreary, the stench of decay even thicker. He started up the stairs, knowing which steps were broken, which squeaked, which to avoid. Nothing improved in this area of London. He discovered a new hole had formed in one of the steps when his foot went through it. Cursing, he worked his boot free and continued on up, albeit a bit more carefully. At the top of the stairs, he turned down the blackened hallway, treading carefully over what he couldn’t see but knew was garbage.
Once he left this place, he’d burn the clothes he wore. It was the only way to ensure he brought back with him no disease or infestations. Lice, fleas, crawling things. He’d always hated the feel of tiny bugs.
When he reached the door at the end, he tapped three times, waited a second, tapped two times, waited, tapped thrice. He heard a shuffling movement on the other side of the door. It slowly creaked open. A grimy, wrinkled face appeared. What had once been vibrant hair, as red as Frannie’s, was now pale, almost white. The long, scraggly beard was white as well. Rotting teeth formed a smile framed by cracked and bleeding lips.
“Well, if it’s not me dodger.” With bent and gnarled fingers, he urged Jack inside. “Come on in, boy. Let’s see wot ye got for ol’ Feagan.”
Jack stepped into the squalor and he was transported back to a time when he’d slept on the floor like a dog, spooning around whoever slept beside him, offering and receiving warmth. He’d seldom gone to bed hungry. Feagan had always been good about feeding his crew. A sickly child wasn’t of much use to him.
“Wot ye got? Wot ye got?” Feagan asked, making his way to the rickety chair at the scarred table where a single burning candle standing upright in the mouth of a brown bottle provided the only light in the room.
Jack could see the milky-white film that now hampered Feagan’s vision. He moved the sack
off his shoulder, set it on the table, and unveiled four bottles: two each of whiskey and rum.
Feagan cackled again. “Oh, me dodger. Ye was always good to Feagan.”
Jack’s mentor had always been in the habit of referring to himself as though he were another person in the room. It was one of the reasons Jack had never been convinced Feagan was his real name—it was as though he was always having to remind himself, remind others who he was. It wasn’t unusual for people in the rookeries—after they’d been arrested—to move to another section of London and change their names. Only once had Feagan reminisced about his past, and it was a story Jack intended to take to the grave.
Jack opened a bottle of whiskey and poured it into the dented tin cup Feagan extended with a shaking hand, a hand that had taught so many how to slip into tight places without being detected. “You should let me move you into a flat at Dodger’s.”
Feagan took a gulp, then his tongue darted around his lips, determined not to let any drops go to waste. “Wot good would that do Feagan, I ask ye?”
Jack took the chair across from him. “You’d have food, warmth, company. I’d even give you a gambling allowance.”
“Ye was always kinder than anybody give ye credit fer.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it. I don’t like trudging through the filth to get to you when I need you.”
“Yer the only one wot comes to see me.” He leaned forward. “’ow’s me darlin’ Frannie?”
“Doing well.”
“Married?”
“No.”
He shook his head sadly. “I shoulda taken better care of ’er.”
“We all should have.” She’d been forced into the white slave trade at the age of twelve. Luke had taken it upon himself to kill the man responsible. Olivia might consider him a murderer; Jack didn’t. Some dogs needed to be put down.
“But she ain’t the reason yer ’ere.”
“No.” He sighed heavily. “I had my locket picked.”
Feagan guffawed, coughed, sounded like he was choking with merriment. “Ye? Ye was me sharpest.”
“I was distracted.”
Feagan gave him a crafty look. “That’s not like ye. She must be a fancy piece.”
Between the Devil and Desire Page 21