Olivia Twist(19)
The woman froze mid-swat, her eyes widening and cheeks flushing. With effort, Jack relaxed the muscles of his face and offered a smile. “Is everything all right, lass? Could there be a fly in your meringue, perhaps? I’ll notify a footman posthaste.” Jack lifted his arm, pretending to search for a servant, until Miss Lancaster tugged his arm down by the sleeve.
“Stop, sir! My meringue is perfect.” Her delicate hand lingered on his arm as she lowered her lashes and then gazed up at him with inviting dark eyes, the violet jewels at her ears catching flames of candlelight.
Jack calculated the size and value of the gems as he met her gaze. One missing earbob could be easily explained, and the theft would be quite a pleasant one to execute. Now, how to get her alone? Once he found a quiet corner, the act itself would take a matter of moments.
A servant reached between them to set a glass on the table, breaking their connection. Jack brought the flute to his lips, the sweet nectar gliding down his throat as he glanced around the table noting the glazed eyes, overly loud laughter, and flushed cheeks around him. Perhaps getting Miss Lancaster alone would not be so difficult.
A boisterous laugh drew his gaze down the table, past Olivia. Lois met his stare through the shimmering candelabras and sparkling crystal, the levity of her regard resetting Jack’s priorities in an instant. A pleasant encounter with Miss Lancaster, no matter how lovely her jewels, could not replace the advance money he’d lost to Miss Olivia Brownlow, or the trust it had cost him with his benefactor.
Getting to Olivia, however, might prove a challenge. Topher appeared quite enchanted by the girl. In that exact moment, he was leaning over her, whispering something in her ear, and Olivia’s full lips slanted in an expression Jack had once mistaken for enticement. Right before she’d ripped the money from his pocket. Topher appeared similarly seduced. As far as Jack was concerned, the conniving duo could have one another. But his unfinished business with the girl simply could not wait.
After dessert, the party made their way into the hall, and the hostess explained they would be forgoing the customary separation of the sexes for some after-dinner dancing. The woman was considered progressive in her views, which served Jack’s purposes precisely. Seeing no need to prolong the inevitable, he maneuvered Miss Lancaster through the crowd until they were directly behind Topher and Miss Brownlow.
“Excuse me, old man,” Jack placed a hand on Topher’s shoulder just as he was about to lead Olivia to the dance floor. “But Miss Brownlow promised this first dance to me.”
Topher spun on his heel, his jaw set in a mulish line. “And when exactly did this promise take place, cousin?”
Olivia’s burnished-bronze eyes clashed with his, one of her brows rising in a graceful arch. Without missing a beat, she said, “I lost a bet to Mr. MacCarron, you see. And the prize was of his choosing.” Olivia dropped into a quick curtsy, her eyes never leaving his. “If this is your reward, consider our bargain fulfilled.”
“Well, I suppose I am relegated to wallflower status,” Miss Lancaster harrumphed.
“Not at all. I’m positive my good cousin would be glad to oblige ye.” Jack smacked Topher on the back, returning the blow the git had dealt him earlier in the evening. But before Toph could take offense, Jack introduced him to the petite beauty at his side. With several rather pathetic glances at Miss Brownlow, Topher bowed to Miss Lancaster and asked her to dance.
Side by side, Jack and Olivia watched the other couple make their way into the melee. Jack offered his arm and, dropping his accent, commented, “Very smooth, my dear. Wherever did you learn to lie like that?”
A cross between a choke and a laugh sputtered out of Olivia as she placed her hand on his sleeve. “Only from the best, Mr. MacCarron, I assure you.” She held his gaze with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Is that so?” He took her hand, spun her into the dance, and yanked her toward him with a bit more force than he intended. Her body smashed into his, the smug grin melting from her face.
“Quite,” she squeaked, taking a step back and positioning her hands for the waltz.
They began to move to the music, and the residual pain in his leg—left by her blasted mutt—fueled something dark in Jack’s chest. How was it that this spitfire always seemed to get the best of him?
As they turned, Jack caught Olivia’s eye and raised a brow in question. “Clearly, lying is not your only nefarious skill, Miss Brownlow. Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me on any others I should know about?”
Her cheeks flushed bright even in the dim candlelight. “I assumed you would appreciate my skills of deception, Mr. MacCarron, since you seem to be a master yourself.” Her words were a whispered hiss, her eyes shooting fire.
“Honestly, my dear, I have to concede the title of master to one who deceives those around her into believing her a lady, when she follows men she just met into the bowels of London and robs them blind.” Her fingers dug into the muscles of his arm, but he ignored the warning and leaned closer. Her scent of sunshine and vanilla flooded his senses as he murmured, “Not to mention, she slips from her bed in the dead of night, for what intention I cannot possibly imagine.”
Olivia sucked in a breath, and Jack met her startled gaze, letting his lips slide into a slow leer. “Actually, I can imagine all sorts of thought-provoking possibilities.”
With a jerk of her head, Olivia lifted her chin. “Mr. MacCarron, it does not surprise me that you would accuse me of impropriety. However, I would not be so quick to cast the first stone. The only way you could possibly have the intimate knowledge of my sleeping habits is if you are a deranged prowler.”