Olivia Twist(22)

A noise up ahead caused Jack to stop and press back into a doorframe. He sucked in a breath and stood very still. There it was again; a clattering followed by a voice, singing, or laughing, he couldn’t tell. He let out a breath. Likely a servant or a maid, but he’d investigate before continuing.

Creeping forward, he ran the pads of his fingers along the wall to feel for vibrations—footsteps, doors opening and closing. He grew closer to the noise, and words began to reach his ears.

“. . . unfortunate . . . I’ll show . . .” Slam! “Blast it!” in a furious whisper.

Jack reached a door rimmed with faint light and stopped. He glanced over his shoulder, and finding it clear, eased the door open enough to peek inside. A woman hunched over a dressing table, presumably searching for something, while muttering. “I suppose I should be thanking my lucky stars for such a generous offer.”

He knew that voice, and recognized the elegant drape of peach silk from narrow waist to delicate lace hem that, as she reached to grab a gilded brush set, lifted to reveal trim, stocking-covered ankles and delicate heeled slippers. She turned in profile and shoved the grooming implements into her reticule. Olivia.

Jack slipped into the room and shut the door soundlessly behind him. This was not her room. She could not possibly be staying here, since she lived not four blocks away. But here she was, pocketing some unknown lady’s personal items. He watched as she weighed a costume-jeweled hairclip in her bare hand and tucked it into her bag.

“. . . that waxed string bean will be lucky if I ever speak to him again!”

At that, a spark of light ignited in Jack’s chest. There could only be one “waxed string bean” in their mutual acquaintance and, if her rant were any indication, he was not her newly betrothed.

Silently, Jack moved farther into the room and leaned a shoulder against the bed frame. “I wouldn’t bother with that clip if I were you.”

Olivia started and spun around.

“Paste jewels won’t bring more than a tuppence.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Of course, if you want to wear it yourself, that’s a different matter. But I wouldn’t recommend it. Especially if you run in the same circles with its original owner.”

“Mr. MacCarron . . . ah . . . this isn’t what it looks like.” She hadn’t moved a muscle, just stared at him as if he were a ghost.

He couldn’t guess why she felt the need to steal, but apparently the money she’d taken from him was not an isolated case. Jack pushed off the bed and moved toward her. “Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like.” He didn’t stop until he was so close that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

“Truly. My friend asked me to fetch her . . . her things.” He watched the delicate muscles in her throat contract as she swallowed.

Slowly, he reached out, took the second hairclip from her trembling fingers, and set it on the table. “What are you doing, Olivia?”

She was silent as her gaze drifted over his face and settled on his mouth. Heat rushed through his veins.

Jack reached out and fingered one of the curls that had escaped her coiffure. She watched the motion of his hand, but didn’t swat him away or tell him to stop. “Have you decided what you want from me?”

Her eyes blazed into his. “No,” she whispered.

“Oh, I think you have.” He stepped closer.

“Jack—”

His name on her lips broke his self-control. Before she could continue speaking, he cupped her head, wrapped his arm around her waist, and took her lips. She melted into him, her fingers threading through his hair.

Her body burned against his, and her mouth tasted like the flesh of oranges, luscious and sweet. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, every solid thing seemed to gravitate into the heat of their kiss until they were the only living things in the universe.

Jack ran his hands up her back and cupped the soft skin of her neck. The room spinning, he gripped the dressing table with his other hand. But even as he lost his head, his sharply honed instincts began to sound. If they were caught, the consequences would be marriage. And he had no intention of shackling himself to this girl, or any other.

When she pulled in a soft, mewling breath, he let go and pushed her away.

Olivia slumped back against the dressing table, her chest expanding with her breaths. Jack turned away from the alluring sight and shoved a hand through his hair.

“Olivia, you need to go,” Jack ground out between clenched teeth.

“But I—”

“Now.” He turned to her with a warning glare.

Hurt flashed in her eyes. She touched her lips. Then she pushed off the table and ran out the door without a backward glance.

Away from the temptation of her presence, Jack could breathe again. He blew out the candle on the bureau. He’d lost his taste for thievery this night. The treasure he’d found in this room proved infinitely more amusing. Too bad he could never allow it to happen again.

He kicked a pair of ladies’ boots under the ruffled bed skirt as he stalked toward the door. The chit still had his money, and he wasn’t one step closer to getting it back.





CHAPTER 7


We’re in danger, Ollie. We ’ave to move.” Brit paced in front of the crackling fire, his shadow throwing monstrous shapes around the room.

“There’s nowhere to move!” Archie insisted from his perch on the windowsill. He hopped down and joined the gathering by the hearth. The bruise on his right cheek molted his freckles into a map of purple and green. “Where can we go? Other gangs own every piece of this city.”