Jack watched Olivia duck like a turtle into her neckcloth, and then speed ahead. He had no clue what was in that girl’s head, but he was about to find out.
In two long strides, he reached her side.
“Hey,” Jack whispered and pulled the ratty kerchief down, revealing her delicate nose and mouth. God in heaven, she was beautiful. She’d completely smudged the soot-whiskers he’d again painted on her cheeks. But he didn’t even see the black streaks or the ratty wig anymore.
“I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that—”
“Shh. I was going to answer you, but you didn’t give me the chance.” He quirked one side of his mouth in a teasing grin.
She returned his smile, dimples appearing in both of her cheeks, and Jack had to fight the impulse to push her against a wall and kiss her senseless. Instead, he cleared his throat and glanced around the shadowed alley. “Let’s keep moving.”
Once they were on their way, he continued his tale. “After the incident with Daniel, I became like a machine. Taking on more and more kids, training them, saving every shilling I could scrape together. Protecting my turf with a vengeance. All with the aim of escaping the life and making my way to the country. I didn’t care a whit if I had to muck out stalls for the rest of my life … I knew I had to get out of that hellhole. It was around that time that I heard a rumor Leeford had been killed by a group of vigilante beaks, and with the reputation I was building, I feared I might be next.
“I’d saved just about enough, when I robbed an eccentric old woman who caught me red-handed.”
“Lois March?” Olivia exclaimed, her eyes wide as teacups.
“Eh, she did. And no one was more shocked than I. But the old biddy is smart as a whip. Instead of turning me over to the beaks, she offered me a position in her household. If I would rob her toff friends and split the profits with her, she’d teach me how to be a gentleman and allow me to live in her posh townhouse as her long-lost nephew.”
“But why would she do such a thing? She didn’t need the money, did she?” Olivia tucked a clump of her wig behind her ear, exposing the fine lines of her cheekbone and jaw. It completely blew her disguise, but Jack didn’t care. He couldn’t seem to get enough of looking at her.
“Ah, but she did. Her husband died and left her with more gambling debt than she had the means to pay. When I moved in, she only had one servant left in her house. Clyde, the old butler, hadn’t been paid in half a year, but stayed out of loyalty. They’d sold everything of value in the house, and were preparing to sell the place when I arrived.” Jack laughed as he remembered those first few years. “My pickpocketing skills kept her out of debtor’s prison, but I know she despaired of ever turning me into a gentleman. We got into some nasty rows, to be sure. Being proper is far too much work.”
Olivia chuckled and nodded in agreement. “My uncle and I had some similar moments. It took him months just to teach me to walk and sit like a girl.”
“I’ll bet.” He shook his head as he recalled the scrappy kid he had once known. She’d fooled him good, and that wasn’t easy to do given observation was his profession. “It’s still hard for me to think of you as that little urchin I saved from Madam Riceworth.”
Her gaze swept over him, her lips curling up. “We may both look different, but deep down we’re the same, aren’t we? Still searching for acceptance and security.”
Their gazes locked and Jack felt something unleash in his chest. She’d asked him earlier what he wanted. And he’d spouted the drivel he’d been telling himself for as long as he could remember. But she was right, he longed for so much more than just a place to rest his head.
“Finish your story, please,” Olivia prompted, tugging his thoughts back to Lois.
“Er … yes.” He forced himself to look away from her and back into his recent past. “Finally, one day, it all clicked. I realized if I ever wanted to put my old life behind me, I would have to become someone different. So I allowed Lois to shape me into the perfect Irish gentleman.”
Desperate to lighten the mood, he jogged ahead and, umbrella in hand, swept into a deep bow. “Jack MacCarron the Third, at yer service, lassie.”
“Oh, you’re Scottish now?” Olivia laughed, and he felt a bit of the darkness that lived inside him fall away.
“Just a wee bit, on me mother’s side.”
She grinned up at him and looped her arm through his. They walked side by side and a pleasant silence fell over them. Every moment he spent with her felt like a transformation. As if he were changing again, only this time he was becoming the person he was underneath the façade. With Olivia, he didn’t have to be the Dodger, or the gentleman; he was just Jack. With her, he didn’t have to hide.
He glanced at her profile, and his pulse throbbed a little faster, every place where she touched him buzzed with life. And he found himself wishing for the impossible. That he wasn’t just a jewel thief with a manufactured lineage, but someone who could offer her the future she deserved.
Acceptance and security.
After he pulled off the Grimwig heist, he would have enough saved to purchase a small cottage, and he wasn’t above doing hard work. Good Lord, he’d labor in the bloomin’ fields if he could spend all his spare moments with Olivia. He could imagine their life together … long walks in the countryside, cozy evenings by the fire … no more stealing, or fear of the noose, just an honest life filled with laughter and love.
Love? The word smashed into his chest like a cannon ball. Who was he kidding? Every street kid knew love was nothing but a myth. But to have her by his side—to know she was his—would be enough.
Brom tugged on the leash as they neared the boys’ hideout, and reality intruded into Jack’s fantasies. Olivia would never leave the orphans behind, or her uncle for that matter. He let Brom go and watched the dog run the rest of the way, his dreams sinking as irretrievably as a coffer full of treasure in the ocean. He couldn’t support them all.
A low growl followed by a rapid succession of barks reverberated from the orphans’ building. Jack and Olivia ran for the boarded-up window as Jack handed her the brolly and pulled a knife from the holster at the small of his back. His heart pounding against his chest, he jumped through the opening.
And stopped cold. He double checked his surroundings to verify he was in the right place. Situated around the holes in the floor, groups of children huddled together for warmth around broken lanterns and candelabras. Twenty or more sets of eyes stared transfixed in Jack’s direction.
Olivia whistled, and the new hatch door opened above them with a long creak. “Brit! What in the world is going on?” she hissed.
The boy hesitated for a moment, likely debating whether to ask for the password. Jack took a few steps back and shot the kid a warning glare, effectively loosening the boy’s tongue. “It’s all right, Ollie. These kids are here to pledge themselves to the Dodger.”
A heaviness like a lead weight settled on his lungs. This was not a result he’d anticipated when he asked the Hill Orphans to spread the word that the Dodger was their new kidsman. But he should have. If he hadn’t been so blasted eager to impress the girl standing beside him, he could have predicted this and headed it off.
“They’re tired of bein’ bullied by Monks and his gang, and they want yer protection.”
When Jack looked back, all the kids in the room were staring at him like he was a knight come to slay the dragon. He sheathed his knife and swiped his sweaty face with an open palm. What the devil was he supposed to do with twenty orphans at his beck and call?
A small, familiar hand grasped his shoulder. He looked into Olivia’s trusting eyes and came back to himself. If she believed in him, he could do anything—even if it meant donning a suit of armor and wielding a sword.
Suddenly, a crash of broken glass sounded overhead, followed by a heavy thunk, and then screams.
CHAPTER 16
Lower the plank!” Jack’s voice carried over the yells and clamoring
feet above them. Seconds later, the board hissed over the edge and hit the ground with a bang. Olivia sprinted up to the second floor, closely followed by Jack and Brom. Her heart slammed in her ears as she met Brit’s wide eyes.
“Help me with this,” the boy pleaded as he struggled to raise the makeshift ramp.
After dragging the board up and locking the hatch, Olivia scanned the room. All the kids were gathered in a tight circle, staring at the floor. Glass shards glinted against the dark wood, a fist sized hole punched through a nearby window.
Jack elbowed a path through the cluster of boys and bent to pick up the object of their fascination. Chip made his way to Olivia’s side, his blue eyes brimming with tears, and she hugged his thin shoulders. When Jack stood, he held out a large rock, a piece of folded parchment tied to it with a string. He strode over to the lantern, eighteen boys in his wake, all talking at once.
“What does it say?”
“Read it!”
“Who’s it from?”
“Someone’s gonna bloomin’ pay,” Archie grumbled as a cold wind blew through the shattered panes, ruffling his bright hair. But his freckles stood out around his ashen mouth and Olivia saw the fear dance across his face. She clasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. This was their home, their only safe haven in an insane world, and no one had ever breeched its boundaries. Until now.
Jack strode over to the piecemeal table and everyone, including Olivia, followed him. Each movement, from lighting the candles on the table to flicking out his coat as he sat, conveyed confidence. In the richest households of London, he displayed a relaxed poise, but this was something more; a swagger, scraped from paths of iniquity and cemented in his rise above those detrimental years to become a prince of his domain.
Jack lifted a hand, and the boys hushed their chatter.
Olivia watched as he flattened the note, his eyes scanning the words before he read them aloud, his tone deep and emotionless.
“To the one who claims to be the Artful Dodger.” A corner of his mouth kicked up at the implied slur to his street name.
“Meet me at midnight three nights hence, on Blackfriars Bridge, or one orphan will disappear for every night you stand me up. Come alone. Let’s settle ownership of the Hill once and for all.”
Jack folded the letter in half and then half again, making it a tight square before he glanced up and said, “It’s signed, Monks.”
The room fell dead silent. Not a whisper of fabric or a shuffle of feet broke the quiet. Wide-eyed boys blinked like little owls, first at Jack, then at each other. Chip squirmed at Olivia’s side, and she relaxed her hand where she’d been digging her fingers into his shoulder. The vilest thug to run the streets of London since Bill Sikes, and her blasted half brother, was challenging the man she loved …
Olivia gulped, a lump passing through her throat and lodging in her chest. Love? Did she love Jack? Her eyes landed on his dark head bent over the note, hair in his eyes, square jaw set in determination, and warmth spread through every inch of her body. Yes, she loved him. Perhaps she always had.
Then Brit, bless his sweet soul, whispered into the silence, “Don’t go, Jack.”
Jack’s fierce blue eyes lifted to Brit and then softened. “I can handle myself, Brit, I assure you.”
“I don’t doubt ye. But Monks is the worst kind of bludger. He’ll cheat. Lie. Do anythin’ to win.” Brit’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “He’ll kill you.”
Several of the boys nodded and shouted their agreement. As was typical, they spoke over one another, trying to be the one to tell Jack of all the blokes Monks had offed and the gory details of how he’d done it.
Jack let them ramble, but their commentary didn’t change his expression. Lost in thought, he stared into space and rubbed a spot along his ribs.
“Besides,” Brit’s voice rose over the hubbub, “I’ve found a new hideout!” The others grew quiet to let the older boy speak. “It’s large. Big enough for us and our new mates downstairs. We’ll move. Monks will never find us.”
Jack leveled a steady gaze at the boy, his words slow and deliberate. “What makes you think he won’t find you? He found you here—”
“Yes, but … we know how to hide better now. Don’t we, boys?”
All the children concurred as Archie jumped into the conversation. “Aye, we’re smarter now.” He leaned toward Jack, cupping a hand around the side of his mouth as if in conspiracy. “I’d never be one to run from a fight, mind ye. But this Monks, he’s … he’s a dastardly git, if ye take my meanin’.”
Olivia was so touched by the boys’ unexpected valor, she longed to kiss each one of them on their sweet faces. She would’ve expected them to welcome the opportunity for Jack to sweep all their problems away with his fists. But instead, they were protecting him as one of their own. Altruism was not a trait even she would’ve expected from her boys.
“Jack, I agree,” Olivia said, remembering to roughen her voice at the last moment. “Meeting Monks on his terms is a mistake. It’s a trap. We need to find another way.”
Jack’s expression was unreadable when she met his gaze across the candlelit table. The rhythmic tick of Brit’s beat-up pocket watch counted off the time. She could well imagine Jack’s internal struggle, knowing she was right but longing to shut Monks down once and for all—not only for the boys, but because of the history they shared.
After several long seconds, Jack shook his head, a dry smile curling his lips. “All right, then. Where’s this new hideout?”
The kids cheered, and an invisible weight lifted from Olivia’s shoulders. They all drifted apart, the boys already plotting the best way to move without being detected. Archie worked with some of the older boys to board up the window, while Olivia sat at the table next to Brit. He explained where the new hideout was located and gave reasons why it would be more secure. But Olivia’s mind kept drifting back to the note.
Jack’s gaze locked with hers and she searched those unfathomable blue eyes, desperate to read his thoughts. Something about the tension in his neck and the grave set of his mouth told her this wasn’t over. He’d conceded far too easily.
Olivia crouched under her uncle’s desk as footsteps pounded overhead. Mrs. Foster. Olivia’s pulse hammered in her ears. The woman had distrusted her from the day she’d come to live with them, going so far as calling her in front of Uncle Brownlow when anything, from cutlery to a tartlet, went missing in the house. As a child, trying desperately to become the young lady her uncle wished her to be, every accusation had been a blow to her fledgling confidence. Most times, the accusations had been empty. Except when tartlets were involved.
Olivia jerked her hat and wig off in one motion, then worked on the pins and net as the footfalls reached the first floor. She’d snuck into her uncle’s study after returning from the Hill with the intention of finding information on her parents and, in turn, her half brother. If she could determine what Monks wanted from her, then perhaps she could negotiate freedom for her boys, and in doing so protect Jack. But she hadn’t realized the late—or early, as the case may be—hour. Mrs. Foster rose before the sun to wake the rest of the staff, and if she found Olivia, dressed like a boy no less, snooping in Uncle Brownlow’s things, well …
The bang of footfalls drew close and then paused. A door opened on squeaky hinges and Olivia jumped, sweat popping out on her brow. There was a clatter, followed by a squeal and a click. Olivia let out a slow breath. The broom closet. Of course; Mrs. Foster was gathering her cleaning implements.
Olivia scuttled backward from under the desk and rose to her feet. If the old housekeeper or anyone else found her going through her uncle’s papers, Olivia would stand her ground. She was no longer that approval-seeking orphan girl who bawled when a spoon went missing.
And yet, she would still hurry. If she were caught, they would surely rat her out to her uncle. Even after all these years, his disapproval cut deep.
The flame of the single candle she’d lit
flickered and smoked, managing to hide more than it revealed. But she didn’t dare ignite one of the lamps or stoke the dim embers in the hearth for fear of discovery. Before ducking beneath the desk, she’d managed to search the files in the long cabinet beneath the window. She’d found nothing beyond financial papers, medical bills, and, the most interesting discovery, payments from an investment her uncle had made in a rock excavating company. The recompenses appeared to have dwindled over time and had grown farther apart. From her quick assessment, it appeared their bills would soon overtake their income.
Strictly speaking, they were broke.
Olivia pulled her collar away from her heated neck. The air felt warm and thick, as if a storm were brewing. She stuffed her wig and hairnet in her coat pockets and unbuttoned the top of her shirt. If she’d thought this through, she would’ve changed into her night rail and robe before conducting her search. As it was, the binding around her chest strangled her breath.
Ignoring her discomfort, she sat in the desk chair and began to search the row of drawers to her right. She’d half expected to find some of them locked, but they all opened easily. The drawers to her left were the same and contained nothing whatsoever to do with her or her parents. There had to be some clue that would help her understand why Monks would wish to do her harm. His search for her made no sense, especially when she’d never even met the man.
She was beginning to believe that her uncle had told the truth when he claimed he no longer possessed the fateful letter from her mother, until she opened the lap drawer and found a long, metal key shoved to the back. Holding the key to the candle flame, she made out an intricate looping design at one end. It appeared tarnished and ancient, like something out of a Shakespeare story. A glob of dried adhesive stuck to one side of the shaft, leading her to believe it had been glued to the underside of the desk at one time. She took the candle and leaned down. None of the desk drawers had such a large keyhole.
Voices droned low outside the door, and Olivia froze. Heavy footsteps clomped down the hall and then up the stairs. It must be Thompson, going to wake her uncle for his morning tonic. With renewed urgency, she jumped up and began to search the room for anything with a lock. She tilted every book and looked behind it. She opened each cabinet and searched through keepsakes and old pictures, a broken vase, a box containing her old toys. Her uncle had always been an intellectual, preferring his books to intimate relationships. Therefore, his accumulation of random baubles surprised her. He had never married—a decision she believed he regretted in later years.
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