Olivia Twist(20)

Their gazes locked and held as they spun around the room, moving in perfect time. Tension coiled tighter in Jack’s gut until he thought he might snap. Provoking the girl was not advantageous to his cause. Besides, there were far more enjoyable ways to sway a lady to his intentions.

“Miss Brownlow, your lovely face is only surpassed by your brilliant wit.” Unintentionally, his voice had dropped low and soft, and with a start he realized he meant every word. Recovering, he wiped the besotted look off his face and quipped, “What a sparkling treasure you are.”

“Nice try, Mr. MacCarron. Just tell me what it is you want and I’ll consider whether to grant your request.”

“You have something that is mine, and I intend to have it back.”

“Considering the source, it seems it was never yours to begin with.”

Jack pulled back and watched her under lowered lids, calculating how far he could push. “The money you took may seem a trifle to you, but ’tis of the upmost importance to me. Ask anything of me and it’s yours.” Tightening his hold on her waist, he pulled her closer and breathed in her ear, “Think carefully. What is it you want, Miss Brownlow?”

A proper lady would have slapped his face and left him on the dance floor long ago. But this vivacious girl had not. That’s how Jack knew he had her hooked.





CHAPTER 6


Olivia searched Jack MacCarron’s heavy-lidded gaze, a slim crescent of crystal blue visible under the fringe of his raven lashes, and felt as if she were under a magician’s hypnosis. What did she want? Her eyes wandered down the strong line of his nose, to his finely sculpted mouth.

Just being in his arms—the solid heat of his grip on her waist, his large fingers enveloping her gloved hand—made her more aware. More alive.

More.

But she wanted more answers. How had he gone from brilliant street thief to sought-after gentleman?

She wanted more of this thrill coursing through her veins. How was it that every point where he touched her felt amplified by a thousand?

What she wanted popped, unbidden, into her mind.

She wanted more of him.

Olivia sunk her teeth into her lip to keep the words from spilling out and lifted her gaze to his. Jack’s stare flickered from her mouth to her eyes and back. She released her lip and realized they stood still in each other’s arms, no longer dancing. “I want—”

“Excuse me, Mr. MacCarron. Might I borrow my . . . er . . . Miss Brownlow for this next quadrille?”

At the sound of Maxwell’s voice, Olivia jerked and pulled out of Jack’s arms. Max hovered behind Jack’s shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back, his face an emotionless slate.

Jack took a smooth step back and dipped into a shallow bow, his stare boring into hers as if to say, This isn’t over. Olivia dropped a quick curtsy, daring to give him a brief nod of acquiescence. Then Jack turned and addressed Max. “Ah yes, Grimwig, isn’t it?”

Max nodded, digging his finger between his stiff collar and his blotchy neck before offering his hand to Olivia. “Miss Brownlow, would you care to dance?” Max’s posture was so erect as he bowed, Olivia worried he might snap in half. Guilt dropped like a stone into her gut.

Olivia curtsied deeply to Max, and as she straightened, gave him a wide smile she knew displayed the dimples in each of her cheeks. “I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Grimwig, but I find it uncomfortably warm. Shall we take a turn about the garden instead?”

“Certainly,” Max said with a spark of pleasure in his eyes. “Shall I fetch you some punch first?

“If ye’ll excuse me, I’ll be off to other amusements.” With the crooked smirk of a pirate, Jack turned and made a beeline through the crowd to a waiting Francesca.

The spell broken, Olivia had no idea what she’d been thinking to want more of anything from that devil. He was still the same self-centered swindler he’d always been.

“Errrherm.” Max cleared his throat beside her, and she realized she was watching Jack as he bowed over Frannie’s hand.

Olivia turned to her companion. “Shall we have that fresh air, then?”

“Yes, of course.” Max grinned and offered her his arm.

Outside, a crisp breeze tugged strands of Olivia’s hair across her eyes and cheeks, loosening the elaborate coiffure it had taken Fran’s maid over an hour to concoct. Olivia didn’t care. She longed to tug the pins from her hair and let it fly in the wind. To spin and dance. To live.

Autumn always stirred a restless urgency within her that she couldn’t’ve explained to anyone. Except Jack, she admitted with reluctance. Only someone who’d lived on the streets could understand that the advent of winter was like the coming of death. The months leading up to it the last hurrah before every second was spent evading the lethal blow of the reaper’s staff.

She’d have to get out to the Hill, and the sooner the better. Not only did she need the outing herself—free of the encumbrance of heavy skirts and propriety—the boys would be feeling the same impatient energy, and she didn’t want them doing anything reckless.

Under the harvest moon, she strolled arm in arm with Max through the decaying garden. Leaves skittered across the path, crunching beneath their shoes. Olivia breathed deeply of the musky scent of dried foliage on the cool night air, and leaned into Max’s slight warmth. Always attentive, he inquired about her day, her uncle’s health, and even Brom. Remembering that she’d found Brom four years ago on this date, she reminded Max of the rather intense debate they’d had over Brom’s name the day after she’d found him.