Feigning left, Monks punched with his right. Jack blocked with his forearm and threw an uppercut to the chin. His challenger staggered back. Unbidden, images flashed in Jack’s head: Olivia smiling up at Max, his diamond on her finger. Olivia warm and waiting in his bed. Olivia and Max at the altar. With a rush of pain, he rammed a fist into Monks’s gut. When he bent over, Jack followed with a slam to his left kidney. But the hurt came flooding back as quickly as he’d released it.
Monks straightened and smashed his fist into Jack’s cheekbone. Stars exploded behind Jack’s eye. Monks jabbed again, catching Jack on the chin in the precise spot where Topher had hit him the day before. Jack stumbled back a step, his vision darkening. He had to force Olivia from his mind and focus or risk losing everything.
Monks landed a jab to Jack’s ribs. Clarifying pain bloomed. And as Monks crouched to deliver another hit, Jack grabbed the man’s head and brought it up to meet his knee, crushing Monks’s hawkish nose.
He cried out and clutched his face, blood pouring through his fingers.
The goons began closing in, but Monks waved them off. That’s when Jack saw him slip a hand into his pocket, a blade catching a glint of the moon.
Jack stepped back, his eyes darting around for his umbrella as he said, “No weapons, Monks. Street challenge rules.”
Then he found it. One of Leeford’s goons clutched it in his fist and waved it back and forth with an admonishing grin. “When have I ever played by the rules?” Monks roared as he charged.
Without a weapon, Jack was dead. He knew from experience, Leeford wouldn’t hesitate to gut him if he got the chance. A phantom pain bloomed between his ribs, near paralyzing in its intensity.
His eyes darting from the razor-sharp blade to Monk’s face, Jack calculated and ducked at the last second. He pushed Leeford’s knife hand away as he drove his shoulder into his opponent’s sternum, flipping him over his back. Fists at the ready, Jack spun and found Monks dazed on the ground. Jack kicked the knife out of his hand and watched it spin across the bridge. “Concede, Monks. It’s over.”
“Not quite,” a voice growled from behind him.
Then a meaty arm looped around Jack’s neck, crushing his windpipe as the rest of Monks’s gang moved in, murder in their eyes.
Olivia’s heart galloped in time with the horses’ hooves as the carriage sped toward Blackfriars Bridge. Working hard to stay in her seat, she gripped the velvet cushion with one hand and the leather strap with the other as they bumped over the uneven streets. Topher March had stipulated that in order for her to use his carriage, he had to accompany her, muttering something about “insuring his future legacy.” But Olivia insisted that Violet stay behind, not only for her own safety but to cover for her with Aunt Becky.
“What time is it?” Olivia asked, glancing out the window at the arches of Waterloo Bridge as they flew past. They were getting close, but not fast enough. Images of Jack, covered in blood and near death, flooded her with mind-numbing panic.
“Twelve thirty-two. Exactly two minutes after the last time you asked,” Topher grumbled. “What on earth has Jack done that we have to speed to his bloomin’ rescue?”
Olivia tried to shoot him a glare, but couldn’t make it stick as they both jostled back and forth like eggs in a chicken cart. “Do you have a pistol hidden somewhere in this death trap?”
“What could you possibly do with it if I did?”
It was a good question. In theory, Olivia knew how to use a gun, but didn’t know if she could actually shoot anyone. “As I explained—” The carriage hit a bump and knocked Olivia’s head against the paneled wall. With a blink to refocus her vision, she continued, “The man Jack is meeting is corrupt and dangerous, and he won’t be alone. Unless you have boxing skills of which I am unaware, we’ll need more than your good looks to help him.”
“What, fisticuffs?” Topher asked, incredulous, his voice raising a full octave.
Olivia couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or serious. In any case, they were doomed.
They rounded a corner at breakneck speed, and the shadowy spires of Blackfriars Bridge came into view, its scarlet and gold paint a garish dark red in the muted moonlight. Olivia’s mouth went dry. If anything were to happen to Jack, she would not survive it. Even if she couldn’t be with him, she had to know he was out there somewhere plotting his next scheme, so charming that his victims thanked him for taking their most valuable treasures.
As the carriage slowed on Great Surrey Street, Olivia scooted to the edge of her seat and clutched the door handle, wishing heartily she’d had the time to rally an army of constables.
“Hold up,” Topher said. “We can’t just go charging out there without a plan.”
Olivia glanced over her shoulder at Topher March. He pulled the cuffs down on his immaculate suit jacket and pushed a lock of blond hair back into place as if he were arriving at the opera. Fear tingled through Olivia’s limbs, almost freezing her where she sat. What could she and Mr. Pompous Toff do against a band of street thugs?
“Just follow my lead and try not to get yourself killed,” Olivia instructed as the wheels rolled to a stop and she jumped from the carriage. Not waiting, she lifted her skirt and ran toward the bridge. A dense haze obscured visibility, forcing her to slow. Topher jogged up beside her, and they crept forward into the cloud.
Sounds of a scuffle reached them just before the mist parted to reveal three men laid out in various stages of unconsciousness. Jack was in the center of it all, fighting three assailants at once. Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth, and she screamed into her palm as two men charged Jack, one holding a wicked-looking knife.
In a blur of motion, Jack spun behind the knife-wielding thug, threw him off balance with a kick to the back of his knees, and grabbed his arm, thrusting the blade into the approaching attacker’s arm. A third man rushed him. Olivia watched in amazement as Jack pivoted, punched him in the throat, and slammed his palm into the man’s nose, sending him to his knees while bleeding and gasping for breath. The knife wielder returned, blood dripping from his blade as he stalked cautiously toward Jack. Jack’s head swiveled between him and a bald giant who barreled out of the haze brandishing a club.
“I don’t know which one to hit first,” Topher said out of the side of his mouth. Olivia turned to see him swinging a pistol between Jack’s accosters, trying to get a clear shot. The giant swung his club; Jack ducked and turned, taking the brunt of the hit to his shoulder.
“Give me that.” Olivia grabbed the gun, cocked it, and fired up into the air. All three men froze. “The beaks are on their way. Take your wounded and go!” Her voice echoed back to her over the river, chanting the word, “Go … go … go.”
Jack’s gaze met hers as the goons began to scramble, but instead of gratitude, his eyes burned with fury. He stalked toward her, a slight hitch in his stride. “What have you done?” he ground out through clenched teeth. A shadow purpled his right cheekbone and blood oozed from his mouth and seeped from a cut on his bicep, soaking through the light material of his shirt.
A gasp escaped Olivia’s throat, but his accusation and the rage on his face squashed her sympathy. “Last time I checked, I was saving your sorry hide!”
“Shut your mouth!” He grabbed her arm in a painful grip, took the pistol and thrust it, butt first, at Topher, who promptly began to reload it. “Get her out of here. Now.” Jack whirled her around and gave her a push in the opposite direction. Olivia stumbled forward several steps, but something in her rebelled and she dug in her heels. After all they’d been through together, how dare he treat her like some damsel in distress!
“What a lovely gift you’ve brought me, Dodger.” The voice was deep and intrinsically familiar.
The skin on Olivia’s arms prickled into gooseflesh. She turned to find a man being held up by another, blood leaking from his nose and drying in rivulets around both sides of his mouth. He grinned in her direction. “You look just like your sweet, dead mama.”
In her panic, one word scraped out of her throat. “Jack …”
Jack’s fierce blue gaze met hers before he positioned himself in front of her, blocking her from view. “I beat you fair, Monks. If you don’t keep our bargain, you can be beyond sure every street thief and costermonger from here to Newgate will know it. Without your reputation, you’ll lose everything. Now scurry away to whatever hole you came from.”
“All I want is a family reunion. What do you say, little sister?” Monks called out.
Jack grabbed the gun from Topher’s hand, cocked it, and leveled it at Monks’s head. “Speak to her again and I’ll end you right now.”
Olivia looked around Jack’s shoulder to see her brother’s disdainful smirk. Not the reaction one would expect from someone being held at gunpoint. “What’s stopping you, little street rat?” Monks taunted. “Mercy is for the weak. Surely when I drove the blade between your ribs and listened to your pathetic cries, you learned that lesson.”
Jack’s finger hovered over the trigger of the pistol and he took a step forward. Olivia could see the vein pulsing in the side of his throat. She prayed he wouldn’t shoot. Although she doubted many would mourn her mad half brother, with so many witnesses, Jack would surely hang.
He took another step in Monks’s direction, but her brother’s next words froze him in place.
“You think you’re the only one with a gun, Mr. Dawkins?” Two men appeared from behind the curtain of fog with pistols trained in their direction. “Or do you prefer your new name, Mr. MacCarron?”
Jack’s shoulders jerked, likely in reaction to Monks knowing his dual identities. Olivia’s thoughts tripped ahead. If Monks knew who Jack was, how much did he know about her? About her uncle? But none of that would matter if they didn’t get out of this alive.
The sounds of clomping hooves and clattering wheels sounded on the bridge.
Monks and the man supporting him began backing away. “My men had orders to keep you alive, Jack, so you can enjoy every moment of what I have planned next.” Monks shifted his gaze in Olivia’s direction. “I’m so very pleased we were able to meet at last, dear sister. Too bad it will be the last time.” And with that, he turned and hobbled away, his thugs following him into the fog.
A single seat buggy emerged from the mist, the driver’s eyes fixed straight ahead, as if not seeing the scene on the bridge might keep him alive. He was possibly correct.
After all signs of Monks and his gang disappeared, Jack lowered his arms and turned around, his face ashen. “I hope you came in a bloody carriage, because I’m—” He blinked and crumpled.
Topher caught him under the shoulders, lowered him the rest of the way to the street, and positioned Jack’s head on his knees.
“Jack!” Olivia knelt at his side, palming his pale cheek. “Jack?”
His dark lashes fluttered before he opened his eyes and focused on Olivia with a wry smile. “Must have lost more blood than I thought.”
Olivia scanned his body, noting the blood stains that spattered his shirt and trousers. But she was fairly certain that was not his blood. Then she saw the gash in his side, his shirt soaked all the way to his waist. “Saints, Jack. Were you trying to get yourself killed?” she demanded as she lifted her skirt and ripped the entire bottom flounce from her petticoat.
Topher took off his jacket and tucked it under Jack’s head. “I’ll go fetch the carriage,” he said as he stood and jogged away.
“I’m not a bloomin’ invalid. It isn’t deep. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
Jack tried to sit up and Olivia put a hand on his chest, pushing him back down. “Whoa. Let me take a look before you run off to slay more villains.”
One side of his mouth kicked up as his incredible eyes caught hers. She gave him a gentle smile, trying to ignore the love bubbling in her chest and threatening to escape her lips. She brushed a lock of sweaty hair off his forehead, and drank in his pale, bruised, and beautiful face. “Jack, I’m so very sorry,” she whispered.
“For what? Showing up here and almost getting us all killed? Or not leaving when I—”
“No, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself … about the … the engagement.”
His lips pressed together, and with a single nod, he averted his eyes, staring somewhere past her shoulder.
Olivia couldn’t speak over the vise squeezing her throat. What could she say? There were no words that could make it better, that could soothe the hurt or repair his loss of trust in her, so she focused on tending his wound.
Gingerly, she pulled his shirttail from his trousers and lifted the blood-crusted material. His breath hissed through his teeth as the fabric separated from the wound with a soft tear. There was a long gash in the smooth flesh between his ribs, just below the puffy flesh of an old scar.
“I need to tie this around you to stop the bleeding. Can you sit up?” She put a hand on each of his shoulders. He sat up himself, and she snatched her hands away. Without looking at her, he held his shirt up to reveal a flat abdomen, all ribbed muscle and smooth skin. She leaned toward him, looped the cloth around his waist, and tied it in a knot at the indentation of his spine. The silence was like an insurmountable wall, every second adding another brick between them.
Jack lowered his shirt and moved to stand. Olivia placed a hand under his arm to assist him, but he shook her off. “I’m fine.”
Horses’ hooves reverberated on the bridge, shaking the boards beneath their feet. The pounding echoed in Olivia’s head like nails being hammered into a coffin. She glanced at Jack, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Wringing her hands, she shut her eyes, willing back the tears. She refused to let him see her cry. She’d made her bed, now she had to lie in it—somewhat literally as it pertained to her pending nuptials. She cringed, the disturbing mental images causing her eyes to pop back open.
The carriage pulled to a stop beside them. Topher jumped down from the cabin and extended his arm to Jack. “Let me help you up, mate.”
“Actually, I’ve decided to walk.” Jack picked up his discarded umbrella, and with a slight wince, leaned on it as he turned and headed toward the street, hunched and stumbling. “Jack, don’t.” Olivia picked up her skirts and chased after him. When she reached his side, she grabbed his sleeve, careful not to touch the knife wound on his arm. “I cannot allow you to walk home in this condition.”
He stopped, but stared straight ahead, his jaw set in a hard line.
Olivia dropped her hand from his sleeve and said, “Unless, of course, you wish to endure the humiliation of the carriage keeping pace with you all the way back to Saint James Square.”
He turned toward her, an odd combination of sadness and amusement on his pale face. “You’d do it too, wouldn’t you? Follow me all the way home?”
“You bet your trousers, I would.” Olivia lifted her chin. Jack’s gaze drilled down into hers, searching. Could he read her thoughts? Did he know that if she could, she would follow him to the ends of the earth?
He reached out and brushed aside a curl that had fallen across her face. His feather-soft touch pulled a shudder from deep within her. Still holding her gaze, he dropped his arm and whispered, “All right, Livie, I concede.”
As he limped back toward the carriage and Olivia watched the defeated slope of his shoulders, she couldn’t help but wonder if he referred to more than just the carriage ride home.
With a blink of stinging tears, Olivia followed Jack, wondering how in the world she was going to live her life without him.
CHAPTER 20
Jack tossed and turned, the freshly stitched wound in his side burning with every movement. Sweat coated his skin. The coverlet wrapp
ed around his legs and dragged him into a restless sleep. He could sense her there. As she always was. But this dream was not the typical evocative yet elusive fantasy. This was vivid, like being dropped into a memory …
Jack looked around at the park, lush and vibrant with the brilliant greens of spring. A bed of pink and purple tulips surrounded by a ring of sunny daffodils waved on the soft breeze, the occasional petal breaking loose and skittering across the grass. He drew the air deep into his lungs. He couldn’t be sure where he was or why, but he might as well enjoy the fine weather.
Sinking his hands into his pockets, he strolled along the dirt path, still damp from a recent rain, and rounded a corner where he came upon a lovely picnic scene. The woman’s back was to him, but he knew the set of her slim shoulders and the waves of her light caramel hair—Olivia.
Jack smiled, his pulse accelerating as it always did in her presence. He took a step off the path, intent on saying hello, and froze as she turned to the side, displaying a belly rounded like a ripe watermelon beneath her dress. A dimpled grin spread across her face as a dark-haired boy toddled toward her, Brom keeping pace beside him.
Her voice drifted across the clearing as she scooped the child up in her arms. “Who’s my strong boy? You are, that’s who!” She nuzzled his tiny neck, and his sweet baby giggles rang through Jack’s heart, bringing tears to his eyes. This was Olivia’s family.
She had moved on without him.
Jack watched in fascination while she settled the boy beside her on the blanket, and the breeze ruffled through her curls as she opened a wicker basket. She sang a happy tune to the boy and set out three plates, loading two of them with fried chicken, ripe strawberries, and fresh carrots. Jack had never seen her more joyful or more beautiful. Some unknown feeling began to pulse inside him, expanding with every breath, as if a wild beast grew within his body. The animal shifted inward, grasping and clawing. He wanted to be the one to put that sparkle in her eyes, that incandescent glow on her skin. Jack clenched his hands into fists at his sides. Why couldn’t it be him?
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