Olivia Twist(30)
“Some rot about his offspring with this whore.” Leeford lifted the locket and flipped it open to reveal the portrait within, his words cutting out again. “. . . that little whelp never should’ve been born, I tell you.”
“Why not just take ’em out of the picture all together, Monks?”
Leeford was quiet for several moments before he snarled, “Death is too easy for my precious sibling.”
Leeford’s words pressed down on Jack like an invisible weight slowing his steps. Was that balming git talking about his Olivia? Could Leeford be her brother in truth? It sounded as if he was looking for his sibling, and not for a pleasant reunion. God only knew what horrible thing his deranged mind had planned.
An impenetrable wave of fog drifted across the path, and Jack inched closer, desperate to hear more.
“Hmm . . . that sounds like somethin’ you’d want to be keepin’ quiet,” the big goon commented with a bit too much nonchalance.
Jack stiffened as Leeford growled, “What do you mean by that, exactly?”
“Nothin’ at all, Monks. Just that certain mates can be trusted with information and certain mates can’t. Those trusted gents would be worth somethin’ to you, I imagine. Somethin’ extra.”
The smog thickened to the point that Jack could no longer see the men. A warning churning in his gut, he picked up his pace and pulled his largest blade from its holster. Leeford, the snake, was about to strike. He could feel it in his bones.
Jack needed to get to him and deflect his attention from Olivia. Every ounce of his energy focused, he stalked forward, tendrils of mist churning and coalescing around him, narrowing visibility to a handsbreadth.
A thump sounded up ahead, like bone hitting flesh, followed by a groan. Blindly, Jack rushed forward as a muffled cry rang out, followed by a series of quick stick and hiss sounds. Jack slowed his gait. Knifing through cloth and flesh made a very distinct noise.
He stopped to listen and turned in a slow circle, the roar in his veins filling his ears. Quick footfalls pattered against the path and Jack tensed, gripping his knife, before he realized the sound moved away from him. Cautiously, he stepped forward. His boot collided with something warm and solid.
He bent down, blade at the ready. The big man from the poker table stared straight at him, prone at his feet. Jack lurched back. Dropping his weapon, he caught himself before he fell, his hands landing in warm fluid. He smelled the acrid tang before he lifted his palm.
Blood.
The big man was dead. Multiple stab wounds in his stomach and chest still pumped blood onto the stone path.
Jack’s heart slammed in his chest. He shot to his feet and spun around, searching for the killer. If Leeford would murder his own man to protect his secret, he wouldn’t hesitate to take Jack out too. A deep bellow thundered through the night, and he stumbled back before spying the swing of gas lanterns on the water. A barge cut through the waves near the shore.
It could be the Watch out for nightly rounds. And here Jack stood beside a dead body with blood on his hands. There was no saving this bloke now. Swiping his hands on his pants, he snatched up his knife and ran.
CHAPTER 9
Olivia’s ribs strained against her corset as she took several deep breaths and followed Max down the cobbled garden path. A kaleidoscope of russet and tangerine leaves swirled through the air in seamless accord with Olivia’s restless spirit. She’d paid Max a morning visit, forgoing the idiotic ritual of leaving her card and then waiting for him to call on her at his leisure.
Her escort had posed a bit of a dilemma. Olivia did not have a lady’s maid, and most of the time she preferred it that way, but today she’d had to resort to bribing one of the kitchen staff away from her duties. Olivia glanced over her shoulder and found the girl hunched in her wrap, following at a discreet distance, a worried look pinching her face. The housekeeper, Mrs. Foster, would have both their hides if she discovered the girl missing.
Facing forward, Olivia tucked a stray strand of hair back into her chignon. She had dressed with extra care that morning, wearing her sky-blue day dress and velvet sapphire overcoat that cinched in at the waist and flowed over her hips. With the matching royal blue hat pinned at a saucy angle, even Francesca would have been proud.
Max plodded along the winding path ahead of her, not speaking. She could only hope he would give her a second chance. But a tiny part of her still wished that he wouldn’t. She’d lain awake half the night fighting her demons and praying for guidance, until she’d worked herself into a knot of anticipation and foreboding.
She followed Max under a vine-covered trellis, heavy with bell-shaped yellow flowers, and almost immediately the cloying scent of late-blooming jasmine tickled her nose. The Grimwig garden was immense. She, Max, and Violet had spent many hours here in their youth, so she could guess Max’s ultimate destination.
As she’d anticipated, they rounded a bend and the carousel-like gazebo came into view. Its white-and-pink-striped columns and powder-blue gabled roof were exactly as she remembered. Olivia almost laughed at the memory of a long-ago spring afternoon when a toad had hopped out of her pocket and into Violet’s tea. It was a wonder Vi still consented to be her friend.
They reached the steps of the candy-striped gazebo and Max bowed with a sweep of his arm toward the interior. “After you, my lady.” His lips were pressed tight and lines radiated from his eyes. She had done this to him. He more closely resembled his stuffed-up father than her happy-go-lucky friend. Suddenly, it didn’t seem such a chore to make him smile again.