Olivia Twist

by Lorie Langdon

  Then, from the other side of the glade, came a rustle of leaves. Brom gave a quick bark as the shrubbery parted and a man strode into the clearing.

  “I found the other basket, Livie. Right where I left it on the porch.” The man tossed dark hair out of his eyes, his crooked grin innately familiar. The park seemed to tilt on its axis. Jack had seen that face. Every day, looking back at him through the mirror.

  “That’s all right, darling. We’ve been having a fine time without you,” Olivia taunted, tilting her chin in that adorably obstinate way of hers.

  “Is that so?” Dream-Jack dropped to his knees and set down the basket before stretching over to cup a hand behind her neck. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” He lowered his mouth to hers, and Jack felt his own lips pucker in anticipation …

  He sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding so hard he could see the skin on his chest pulsing in time. What the devil was that?

  And more importantly, how could he make it come true?

  Stepping through the doors of the Grimwig mansion, Olivia felt a bit like Cinderella dressed in her magical finery, waiting for the stroke of midnight, when she’d turn back into plain old Olivia Brownlow. She watched the elite of society mill about the massive, two-story vestibule. Women in extravagant gowns of velvet and satin preened like exotic birds, the men perfect foils in their somber dark suits. Livered waiters circulated, offering flutes of bubbling champagne to the hundred or so guests. As Olivia took in the scene, she realized that her entire townhome could fit neatly into this front foyer. Would she ever feel comfortable in this palace?

  If only her uncle were here to hold her hand and lend her courage. He had taken a turn for the worse, the doctor forbidding him to leave the house. At first, Olivia refused to go without him, but her uncle would have none of it. So, after she’d finished dressing for the ball, she’d swept into his bedroom to show off her elegant gown. His head had poked over the pile of quilts, tears gathering in his eyes, and he’d declared her his beautiful angel. Tugging on her hand, he’d asked her to sit beside him and whispered, “It isn’t too late to change your mind, you know.” Olivia had known he spoke of her engagement without having to ask. “Follow your heart, dearest.” It was all he could say, before a coughing fit overtook him.

  But she’d read the rest in his eyes: I’m not long for this world. Don’t plan your life around me. Olivia suspected it was true, but the very thought of living without her uncle left her floating like a boat cut free of its anchor, tossed from wave to wave on a vast and turbulent ocean.

  “Olivia, I simply cannot stop looking at you in that gown,” Violet exclaimed, interrupting her morose thoughts. “The color is radiant on you!” Her cousin passed her wrap to the cloakroom attendant, revealing her own lovely emerald dress.

  Begrudgingly, Olivia admitted Francesca’s modiste had exceeded her expectations. As she handed over her cloak, she glanced down at her royal blue gown in wonder. The skirt fell from the tiny cinched waist in graceful folds, the hem and neckline embellished with embroidered leaves and a tasteful smattering of crystals that caught the light and glittered every time she moved. Capped sleeves fell over her arms, baring her shoulders. The exposure felt uncomfortable and liberating all at once.

  “’Tis attractive, but I think the neckline is a tad bit revealing,” Aunt Becky observed while deliberately staring at the woman’s feathered hat in front of them.

  “Mother, the gown was a last-minute cancelation. We were fortunate to find one so perfectly suited to Olivia.”

  Aunt Becky’s face turned beet red as she glanced at Olivia’s overflowing cleavage and then jerked her eyes past the receiving line to the ballroom entrance. “Quite right,” came her strangled reply. As they drew closer to Mr. and Mrs. Grimwig, greeting each of their guests in turn, Olivia overheard her aunt whisper, “Stay close to her, Vi.”

  After being welcomed by their host and hostess with much hugging and winking, she and Vi followed the crowd to a part of the house that had been forbidden to them as children. Standing in the open doorway, the girls exchanged looks of amazement. The ballroom was a swirl of lights and sound. Enormous chandeliers dripped with mirrored glass, reflecting sparkles on the walls and twirling guests. One entire wall was composed of open French doors draped with strings of snow lilies and dinner plate dahlias, their white petals fluttering in the night air. A full orchestra, screened by a variety of tall, potted plants, took up the whole back of the room.

  With Violet by her side, Olivia put one foot in front of the other and wiped the astonishment from her face. She searched for Maxwell’s tall form, hoping to persuade him to get the announcement out of the way sooner rather than later. And in so doing, extinguish the tiny spark of hope her uncle’s words had ignited within her. What better way to put impossible dreams to rest than to make her betrothal irreversibly official?

  “Miss Brownlow, Miss Cramstead.” Topher March bent in a deep bow over Violet’s gloved hand and kissed it soundly. “Would you care to waltz with me, dear lady?”

  Her friend curtsied and lit up like a Christmas tree covered in candles. “Yes, of course.” She searched the area around them. “Olivia, I’m not sure where Mother’s gotten off to …”

  Pleased to her toes that her cousin might find her love match after all, she dismissed them with a sweep of her gloved hands. “Please go, Vi. I shall find the refreshment table and meet you there after your dance. I heard they have ice cream in seven different flavors, and I plan to sample them all.” Topher gave her a nod, his gray eyes sparkling in thanks as he offered Violet his elbow. He was still a pompous toff, but he’d proven the night before that he wasn’t nearly so useless as she had assumed. And besides, Vi brought out the best in him.

  Olivia watched as they made their way to the dance floor, Topher’s blond head tipped toward Violet’s flaming curls. Something akin to a dark cloud passed across her soul—jealousy. Surely not. She could not be happier to see the obvious feelings growing between Mr. March and her cousin, yet a voice, quiet and small, tainted her joy. What about me?

  Olivia pushed the question aside, knowing it was selfish in the extreme. She had a perfectly suitable arrangement with one of the wealthiest men in the city. Perhaps it wasn’t a love match, but it was high time she accepted the future she’d chosen. Lifting her chin, she scanned the area again for her future husband.

  Then she saw him—not Max, but him, the one who haunted her day and night—broad, athletic, his restless energy unmistakable as he turned and flicked his raven hair out of his face. Jack.

  All the blood drained from Olivia’s head as he turned, his gaze drilling into her from across the crowded room. He wasn’t supposed to be here! Panic skittered over the exposed skin of her shoulders, leaving her fingers numb. It was too much to resist. He was too much.

  She didn’t realize she was moving until after she’d already taken several steps in his direction. He pushed through the throng to get to her. When they finally met, he took both her hands in his, the heat of his skin permeating the thin silk of her gloves. Jack leaned back, and the very air around him radiated intensity as he regarded her from her piled curls to her bejeweled slippers. His eyes returned to hers and she read something new there, a possessive confidence that melted her insides to pudding.

  The laughter and music, the flowery scents of perfume and spicy cologne all faded as Olivia soaked in his face, noting that the dark bruise on his left cheekbone only added to his dangerous appeal. Something had changed in him. She couldn’t define it; all she knew was that Jack stood before her, completely unguarded for the first time.

  A tiny smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Why is it that when you walk into a room, my world stops spinning?”

  Olivia sucked in a breath, her pulse pounding in her ears until the dancers, the laughter, and the music all fell away. He’d asked her once what she wanted, and in that singular moment she knew. She wanted all of him; the gentleman, the street lord, the criminal—s
he didn’t care anymore. Jack was her anchor. The brazen boy with the scruffy top hat had stolen her heart from the instant he’d plucked her off the streets and taken her under his wing. And Olivia couldn’t imagine a single reason not to tell him. “Jack, I—”

  “Jack,” snipped a birdlike voice. Olivia started, having forgotten they were in a room packed with people. She turned and met the glassy eyes of a pheasant perched on top of Lois March’s head. The old woman tapped her cane against the marble floor with a sharp crack. “I need your assistance, posthaste!”

  Jack glanced down at the woman and then returned his glowing blue gaze to Olivia. Stepping close, he leaned in to whisper, “Please don’t move, love. It’s urgent that I speak with you.” He gave her hands a firm squeeze before releasing them and turning to follow his impatient benefactor. But before he went, he glanced back at Olivia, white teeth flashing in the candlelight. The force of that smile nearly knocked her back on her heels.

  “Excuse me. Are you Miss Olivia Brownlow?”

  Olivia turned to find a young footman, his sandy brows scrunched in a troubled expression. “Yes,” she answered.

  “This urgent message arrived for you.” The servant bowed, thrust a sealed envelope into her hand, and headed back the way he came. As he rushed through the crowd, Olivia noted that his uniform was mismatched and slightly rumpled, but worries for her uncle quickly turned her attention back to the letter.

  She ripped into the missive with trembling fingers.

  Ollie,

  Brit missing. Come quick.

  Archie

  Talons gripped her heart. As if moving underwater, her senses muffled and sluggish, Olivia began to struggle through the crowd. She pushed past an older man, almost knocking him off his feet. Issuing a quick apology, she kept moving, all the while praying for God to keep Brit safe. Had he been mugged? Was he lying hurt and alone in the street? Or … A much more ominous thought sprang into her mind. Monks.

  She stopped and turned in a circle, searching for Jack’s dark head. But he was nowhere to be found. There was no time. Picking up her skirts, she rushed out of the ballroom and into the corridor.

  As she sped past the life-sized statuary and giant potted ferns, she formulated a plan—she would rent a hackney, stop at home to change out of her gown, and take the hack to Turnbull Road. She just hoped she could find the boys’ new hideout.

  Guilt and fear churned in Olivia’s stomach. Why hadn’t she visited the boys this week, despite Jack’s warnings? What if she was too late? She glanced over her shoulder in indecision, wishing she had time to find Jack, and smacked into something solid. Stumbling back from the impact, Olivia blinked at the petite, purple-clad wall halting her progress.

  Francesca, eyes narrowed, tapped her foot in annoyance. “I’d hoped such a lovely gown would lend you some civility. I can see that I was wrong.”

  No time for a retort, Olivia folded Archie’s letter and stuffed it back into the envelope. “Fran, find Jack and give him this note. ’Tis most urgent.” Olivia thrust the missive at her cousin, but Fran’s arms stayed at her sides. “Please!”

  “Jack?” Fran arched a dark brow in question.

  “Bloody Jack MacCarron! You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Olivia exclaimed as she grabbed Francesca’s gloved hand and closed her fingers around the note.

  Her cousin’s eyes went wide, finally realizing Olivia meant business. “Yes, of course.”

  Olivia spun away and called a quick thank you over her shoulder.

  The click of her heeled slippers echoed down the seemingly never-ending hallway as she ran, her mind whirling with questions. If Monks had taken Brit, would he hurt him? What could he possibly hope to gain by taking an innocent child? Was it a blackmail attempt to gain the missing inheritance? Her lungs contracted. Her brother was more unbalanced than she—

  “Olivia?”

  She turned her head and saw Maxwell rushing toward her from a side hallway. Thank God!

  She spun toward him, talking as she ran. “Max, I need your help! I just received a note that one of the orphans—the ones I told you about—has gone missing. We must—” She sucked in air, as he took her shoulders in a firm grip. “We must help him.”

  “Now? In the middle of our engagement ball?” Max held her gaze, his brows scrunched together over his nose.

  Olivia went very still. Surely he was not angry. She must not have explained the situation properly. “Max, a child’s life is at stake.”

  He let out a long breath. “Olivia, street children are … capricious by nature. How old is this boy?”

  “He is twelve,” Olivia answered, working hard not to cry as she pictured Brit’s serious dark eyes and freckled cheeks.

  Max paused, a tight smile on his face. He looked past her and then back again as if searching for the right words. “I’m quite certain the boy was distracted by some form of iniquitous amusement. He likely doesn’t even want to be found. Now, let’s go back to the ball.” He tipped her chin up, the look on his face more condescending than beguiling. “We haven’t yet had our first dance.”

  Olivia jerked her chin out of his grasp and took a step back. “You are quite serious, aren’t you? You expect me to return to the party as if I haven’t a care in the world, when I’ve just received an urgent message that a child—a child I know and care for—is in danger!”

  “Calm down, Olivia. You can check on the boy tomorrow.” He took her arm and looped it through his, patting her hand as he steered her back down the corridor. “Let’s find you one of those marmalade tarts you love so much.”

  Olivia’s temper broke every last fetter. Heat rushed into her face, her heart pounding so violently it pulsed in her temples. She was not some petulant child to placate with the promise of a treat. Digging in her heels, she extricated her arm from his and met his startled gaze. “You’re not at all who I thought you were, Maxwell Grimwig. You can go back to your fancy party, but I am going to find Brit, whether you approve or not!”

  Olivia whirled on her heel and stalked toward the front doors.

  “If you leave,” Max called after her, his voice loud and trembling, “consider our engagement annulled.”

  Olivia stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “Olivia!” Max barked her name like a command. “Where do you think you are going?”

  She felt Max come up behind her. “I’m going to Turnbull Road.”

  “Turnbull Road? In the slums of Holborn? I forbid it!”

  She turned back. “You forbid it?” Was this a hint of what her life would be like as the wife of an entitled gentleman? Him ordering her about, expecting her to obey without question? To sit tucked within the drawing room, looking pretty like one of his possessions?

  “Olivia, you cannot possibly choose a street rat over our relationship.”

  Street rat? She clenched her fist against the urge to slap his entitled face. “And you can’t possibly expect me to marry you when all you care about is yourself and your blasted reputation!”

  His brows lowered, his cheeks flaming red as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it, Max? What people will think if I leave before we can make our big announcement?”

  “Do you not have a care for propriety? Or your own safety?” he demanded, his face growing darker with every word. “A true lady would never—”

  “Then I’m not a true lady! Nor do I wish to be, if it means sitting in this glorious mansion and ignoring the unimaginable suffering happening all around me!”

  He swallowed hard, tipped his nose up, and glared at her.

  She searched his face for some remorse, for some sign of her words breaking through his callous shell, but all she saw was a spoilt boy used to getting his way. Her voice barely a whisper, she said, “Goodbye, Max.”

  Without a second glance, she marched to the doors and out of Maxwell Grimwig’s life.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jack slunk down the darkene
d hallway, his heart stampeding in his ears. But it wasn’t fear that raced through his blood, it was anger. Lois had overheard a rumor that due to the recent rash of robberies, armed guards circulated throughout the mansion. In true Lois fashion, she’d panicked, forcing him to attempt the heist earlier than planned. Jack had no idea what difference it made, considering the guards would likely be there all night. He’d been on the verge of a breakthrough with Olivia. Any moment, Grimwig would pronounce his claim on the girl he loved, slamming shut Jack’s window of opportunity. But instead of stopping Olivia from making the biggest mistake of her life, Jack was creeping through corridors like a blasted dog searching for a scrap of meat.

  A rustle, followed by a muffled giggle, alerted Jack just before two shadows stretched around the corner. He ducked into a dim alcove and struggled to control the rapid rise and fall of his chest by sealing his lips. He didn’t want to do this—not now and perhaps ever again. It was not … honorable. For the first time in his life, Jack longed to be moral and decent—to become the man he’d seen in his dream.

  When the couple strolled by arm in arm and disappeared down the stairs, Jack closed his eyes and visualized his plan like a blueprint. He had to complete this one last heist if he ever wanted to earn his freedom. Steadily, he released the breath he’d been holding and opened his eyes.

  Cold as a stone, Jack stepped into the corridor and continued on his way. He would make quick work of this job, hand the jewels off, and get back to Olivia before it was too late.

  Olivia hopped from the carriage, prayed the driver would stay put as she’d paid him to, and then ran into the abandoned building on Turnbull Road. Thankful she’d taken the time to go back to Cavendish Square and change into her street clothes, she took the stairs two at a time. She reached the second-floor landing and nearly ran into empty space. She screeched to a halt, arms windmilling in the air at the edge of a two-story drop. In her haste, she’d forgotten Brit’s plan to protect their third-floor hideout.