“Yes, well, we’re here to prevail upon your sense of romance, as it were,” Topher replied.
Maxwell’s brows met in the middle and he scratched one of his abnormally small ears. “You don’t say.”
“There is a certain young lady whom Jack, here”—Topher waved a hand in Jack’s direction in case it wasn’t clear which Jack he was referring to—“wishes to woo, and he fears if he cannot continue his suit at your ball—it being the social event of the year, of course—he will lose out to a more well-connected gentleman.”
Jack stifled a groan as he watched Maxwell’s posture straighten and sweat beads pop out on his forehead. Either Topher was being deliberately obtuse by omitting the name of the woman Jack intended to court, or he was a complete fool. Jack settled on the former as Topher leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. Nothing like prodding a crocodile with a sharp stick before pushing your enemy into his swamp to extract a bit of revenge.
“And why should I lend my assistance with his personal affairs?” Max shot Jack a glare as he uncrossed his legs and then crossed them in the opposite direction.
“Mayhap because you believe in true love?” Topher’s voice was as sappy as maple syrup. “Jack is simply heartsick over this girl. She’s all he thinks about, all he talks about. Isn’t that right, poor old chap?”
Jack nodded, unable to speak over the laughter stuck in his throat. Max squeezed the upholstered arms of his chair until finger bones threatened to poke through his skin. Clearly, as Topher had intended, their host believed the lady in question to be Olivia.
As delightful as torturing Grimwig was, Jack had to stop this runaway train before they all died in it. Tucking away his amusement, he wrinkled his brow and frowned in anguish. “’Tis true, Mr. Grimwig. I despair o’ ever earning Miss Lancaster’s affections. But if I cannot escort her to your ball …” Jack shook his head, then stared down at his clasped hands, clinching the role of the contrite Irish lad. “I fear she’ll succumb to the pursuit o’ another.”
When Jack raised his eyes, Max looked like a different person. Relaxed, his entire body melted back into the chair.
“How could you deny a man the pursuit of love, Max?” Topher shook his head, nearly tsking in disappointment.
“Well, I—”
“Mr. MacCarron!” A female voice rang from the doorway. Jack turned to find the very wide, and extremely bejeweled, Mrs. Grimwig waddling into the room. “I couldn’t help but overhear your sincere plea. You and Miss Lancaster make such a lovely couple.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Jack grinned at the woman, sensing victory within his grasp.
“For shame, Max! How could you wish to prevent such a perfect match?”
“Of course … of course, I wouldn’t,” Maxwell stammered, and turned to Jack with a contrite expression. “Mr. MacCarron, I will procure an invitation posthaste.”
“Thank you, sir. I will be ever in your debt.” Jack stood and extended his hand to Max, only squeezing a bit harder than necessary before releasing his bony fingers. His muted brown eyes narrowed before Jack turned away to address Mrs. Grimwig with a deep bow and a kiss on her plump hand. She giggled like a girl. “I must excuse myself momentarily, Miss Grimwig, but I shall return.”
He turned and strode out of the room, intent on doing a bit of reconnaissance. He’d stopped just outside the door to ask a maid the location of the nearest loo when he overheard words that chilled the blood in his veins.
“Won’t it be nice that Miss Brownlow’s cousin will be well settled when you announce your engagement at the ball? They are dreadfully competitive, you know …”
Engagement. Jack didn’t hear the rest as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Olivia and Max were engaged? To be married? She certainly had not bothered to tell him.
How long? Was she engaged when she’d almost left the theater with him? When he had poured his guts out to her about his past? When he’d kissed her until she couldn’t breathe?
The grandiose hallway distorted around him like a drunken carousel. He strode toward the door, every painting and priceless statue mocking him as he passed. This haven of wealth and privilege would soon be Olivia’s life.
How could he compete with that?
Jack pushed through the front doors and raced down the stairs, running from the image of Maxwell and Olivia in each other’s arms, standing before a vicar, swearing to love one another for eternity.
His steps slowed and he saw clearly for the first time in weeks. Had Olivia ever cared for him? Or had she manipulated him into sacrificing himself to help her precious orphans? Righteous flames roared, cauterizing his pain. He embraced the fire and stoked it with memories of her pushing him away, telling him she had to think of her future—her future with a loaded prat who could give her the life of her dreams.
The blade carving into his heart twisted. He’d laid his soul bare to her. Told her things he’d never shared with anyone. With the hopes of what? Making her love him? What a farce! He could well imagine the laugh she must have had as the street thief made a bloody idiot of himself in an attempt to impress her. His vision narrowed, and he clenched his hands into fists as they began to shake. He wanted to find her and make her hurt as much as he did. But blowing up at Olivia wouldn’t do any good. She’d still belong to someone else.
However, there was another situation he could do something about. He quickened his pace, his steps becoming more deliberate as he made his way to the carriage, threw open the door, and barked an order to the driver. Topher could find his own bloody way home.
Jack had an appointment to keep.
Olivia stepped into the foyer of the Coxs’ townhome behind Violet and her aunt Rebecca Cramstead. She loved Aunt Becky, but the woman watched her like a baker guarding a stall full of fresh buns. Getting away to find Jack, let alone a treasure or two for her boys, would be a challenge tonight.
As the footman took her wrap, she scanned the crowd for a dark head and broad shoulders. She knew Jack’d planned to be here, but as she entered the drawing room, his undefinable energy was absent. Olivia exhaled a slow breath and turned to find Violet pushing through the crush, her best friend’s brilliant hair making her hard to miss. Best friend? Guilt twisted in Olivia’s stomach. She hadn’t been much of a friend lately, wrapped up in her own drama.
She moved toward Vi, longing to feel the closeness they’d once had. But how? There was so little of her life she couldn’t share. Or was she just not willing to share? Violet had never once judged her, never made her feel less than because of her background. Even after she’d read the scandalous letter from her mother, Vi had only shown empathy and support. Her cousin didn’t know all the details of Olivia’s life before Uncle Brownlow took her in, but she wasn’t a fool—she’d seen the scars crossing Olivia’s back and legs.
“Why did you rush off like that?” Violet asked as Olivia looped her arm through her friend’s elbow.
“I thought I saw someone I knew—” The lie lodged in Olivia’s throat. Why couldn’t she just tell the truth for once? She met Vi’s steady grass-green eyes and began to steer them to a quiet corner.
Her heart palpitated at the thought of opening up to her friend, letting someone else in and trusting them with her secrets. But another part, a larger part, felt exhilarated by the possibility. When they reached the isolated settee, Olivia drew Vi down beside her, smoothed her buttery yellow skirt and whispered, “I was looking for Jack.”
Violet blinked in question, completely unaware of whom Olivia referred to.
“Jack MacCarron,” she qualified, and watched a bright glow flood Vi’s ivory cheeks. Oh no, not her too! Had he captivated every woman in London? Olivia sighed and glanced around to make sure they were still alone.
“I need to speak with J—Mr. MacCarron urgently. Can you help me distract Aunt Becky when he gets here?”
“Whyever for?”
Because I’m in love with him, but need to tell him I’ve chosen to marry Max and we’re anno
uncing our engagement at the ball tomorrow night … But that’s not what she said. In fact, she didn’t have to say a word; her face must have given her away, because Violet’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
“You … you’re … having an affair with him!” Vi accused, and squeezed Olivia’s gloved arm in a death grip.
“No … not exactly.”
“But you love him. I can see it all over your face. Oh, how wonderful!”
Olivia shook her head and bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay. “Vi, it’s not like that. This isn’t one of your gothic novels. I accepted Maxwell’s proposal. The engagement will be announced tomorrow evening.” Olivia’s shoulders slumped at the devastated look on her friend’s face.
“Livie, no.” She shook her head, moisture shining in her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t agree to this for the money … for your uncle. Because you could—”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Olivia cut in before Violet offered some impulsive solution, like letting them move in with her family. “I promise to explain later, but right now I must speak with Jack. Max and I have kept it a secret, but I don’t want Jack to find out from someone else.”
“Does he love you? Jack, I mean.” Vi rubbed her arm, making Olivia want to curl into a ball, lay her head on her friend’s lap, and sob.
“I don’t know.” Was Jack even capable of love? The forever kind of love that every girl dreamed of? “I don’t think so.”
Remembering Jack’s promises to do anything to help her, how he’d protected her since they were children, and how his eyes lit like blue fire when he looked at her, Olivia was forced to concede, “But he does care for me, in his way.”
“Then you have to fight for him!” Violet straightened her spine, her eyes raging with conviction. She’d always been a true believer in happily ever after. “You cannot marry Max.”
“Vi, I must. You don’t understand. There is no fairy tale ending for me.” Olivia bit harder on her cheek, as that reality sunk deep into her soul.
“Well, I’m not settling. I don’t care what my mother says. I will marry for love,” Violet hissed, swiping at a tear that slipped down her cheek. “And if you aren’t strong enough to defy society, then you can live with the consequences.”
Olivia’s lips lifted in a sad half smile. “Then I suppose I’ll have to live vicariously through you.”
“Good evening, Miss Brownlow.”
Olivia and Vi both started and turned to find Topher March hovering over them. Olivia prayed he hadn’t overheard their conversation.
After the girls stood and Olivia made the introductions, she glanced at Violet and was amazed at the transformation. Her friend showed no signs of her earlier emotional outburst, but from her pink cheeks to her crimson hair, appeared as serene as a sunset.
“It would seem I’ve the privilege of escorting you both into dinner since my cousin has not deigned to show his ugly face and we are at odd numbers,” Topher said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Violet looped her arm through the blond gentleman’s offered elbow, and Olivia followed behind them, noting how close Topher had pulled Violet, the dark wool of his suit blending with her lavender silk. Perhaps something good could come of this night.
As they moved into the dining room, Olivia searched the crowd, apprehension tightening her neck and shoulders. What could be keeping Jack?
After seven endless courses, and no Jack, Olivia could do nothing but sit and wring her hands in her lap. She was itching to ask Topher if he had any clue to Jack’s whereabouts, but hadn’t been able to get a word in the entire dinner. She’d never seen her cousin so animated. Topher appeared equally engaged, but as Olivia stared at the nearly gutted candles, her trepidation could no longer be contained.
“I find it extraordinarily diverting—”
“Excuse me, Mr. March, but would you have the time?” Olivia interrupted midsentence.
Topher turned his gray gaze on Olivia with a slow blink, as if he realized for the first time that she sat next to him. “Certainly.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a gold pocket watch, and flipped open the cover. “’Tis nearly midnight. Are you planning to turn into a pumpkin soon, Miss Brownlow?”
His playful comment was lost on Olivia as her heartbeat slowed in her chest. Midnight? She clutched Topher’s sleeve. “Did Jack tell you his plans for the evening?”
He stilled, the smile freezing on his face. “Jack does not confide his schedule to me.”
Violet leaned forward and met Olivia’s gaze with round eyes.
“Did he say anything at all that might give us a clue to his whereabouts? ’Tis vastly important,” Olivia beseeched.
“Well, we weren’t exactly speaking after he took the carriage and left me stranded at your fiancé’s home this afternoon, but I overheard him arguing with Gran about keeping some appointment tonight.”
“Wait.” Blood rushed into Olivia’s head, making the room spin. “You and Jack visited the Grimwigs?” At his nod, she rushed on. “Did Max tell you about the engagement?”
“His mother mentioned it in passing, but I don’t think …” A light seemed to come on in Topher’s eyes. “He must have overheard! That’s why he left so suddenly.”
“Oh no, no, no.” Olivia pushed back her chair, her hands shaking in dread.
“What is it, Miss Brownlow?” Topher stood beside her, holding her elbow in a firm grip.
“I need to use your carriage, Mr. March. I must get to Blackfriars Bridge, without delay!”
CHAPTER 19
Ice ran through Jack’s veins as he walked across the darkened bridge. Monks had chosen well. The railway tracks that ran along Blackfriars’ east side and the trains that crossed with rumbling, smoke-belching regularity discouraged foot traffic and laggards. It was all the same to Jack. Witnesses or no, this ended tonight.
The beat of the umbrella’s tip against the bridge echoed out around him as he walked. Tap. Tap. Tap. Street challenge rules dictated no weapons, but Jack didn’t trust Leeford to comply. Besides, something as mundane as a brolly could hardly be considered a weapon.
Through the dense, churning fog, Monks and his gang appeared, and then disappeared. Jack kept walking.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The haze shifted, coalescing around the legs of the six approaching men, making them seem more wraith than human, their shadowy figures propelled by the stiff breeze. Jack drew in the smells of the Thames, its familiar mixture of mud, salt, and rot bringing him courage. Perhaps he was daft to face this lot on his own, but at present he didn’t much care what happened to him.
He had stewed in his anger all evening and begrudgingly admitted to himself that when it came to the orphans, Olivia’s intentions had been true, if not her actions. But that didn’t make her deception any less wounding. Jack was willing to bet his significant savings that Olivia had strong feelings for him, just not strong enough to turn down one of the wealthiest men in London. His hands clenched into fists as he stepped through a bank of smog, Monks and his gang materializing directly in front of him.
“Ah, if it isn’t the street rat, the Artful Dodger back from the dead,” Monks sneered, tipping his head in scrutiny. “You’re not as tall as I imagined you’d be by now.”
Ignoring the jab, Jack got to the point. “Give me the locket, Leeford. The gold one you bought at Langdale’s off the old pawny.”
Monks glowered suspiciously, and Jack noted his reptilian gaze bore no resemblance to the warm gold of his sister’s.
“I’m well aware the locket belonged to your long-lost sibling and why you want it. I’m here to make you a deal.”
Monks’s laughter echoed through the night, soon mimicked by his band of misfit goons. “Yer offering me a deal? What makes you think you have anything to bargain with? I’ve stated my terms—”
“And now I’ll state mine,” Jack growled, stepping so close he could smell Monks’s fishy breath. “You really didn’t think I’d show u
p here just because you threatened me, did you? In case you haven’t noticed, my boys have already moved on.”
The hardening of Monks’s face showed he knew he’d lost his leverage. “It’s no matter. The Hill is my territory now, and if your boys work anywhere near it, they’ll be paying me … or else.” Monks lifted his chin and stared down his long nose in challenge.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Leeford’s gang position themselves in a circle around him. Stepping away from the dinger’s noxious breath, Jack folded his arms over his chest. “You implied this to be a true street duel, a boon for a boon, but …” He glanced around at the ring of thugs and shrugged one shoulder. “I can see you’re afraid you would lose to me one on one.”
“Me afraid of you? I already killed you once.” Monks snorted. “State your prize, pretty boy.”
“I’ll make this simple for you. If you fight me and win, you can have the entire city. I’ll renounce my title as Street Lord and you’ll be unchallenged. But if I win”—Jack let a slow, confident smile spread across his face—“you leave the Hill orphans alone for good, and you forget about your half sibling’s inheritance.”
Monks stalked forward, his face contorting as he grabbed a handful of Jack’s shirt and yanked him forward. “What do you bloody know about my inheritance, street rat?”
It was what Leeford had always called him, but Jack refused to let the name take him back to those helpless days when he’d been forced to work for this bludger. He glanced down at Monks’s hand on his shirt and pressed the umbrella handle into his sternum. When the half-wit realized he wouldn’t get an answer by force, he let go and took a step back.
“I’ve learned enough to know your father squandered it into nonexistence,” Jack bluffed as he jerked his shirt back into place. His patience at an end, he stepped forward. “If you agree to my terms, let’s do this.”
With a deadly glare and a nod to one of his mates, Monks lifted his fists in front of him.
Jack set the brolly near his feet, and moved into a fighting stance, bouncing on his toes and rolling his shoulders. The rage he’d held in check since learning of Olivia’s engagement zipped through him like white lightning. He threw a right jab, connecting with his opponent’s eye. Monks’s head snapped back, but he quickly righted himself with a growl and circled, looking for an opening.
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