Olivia Twist(33)
Olivia paused as she unbuttoned her coat, and met the butler’s narrow gaze. She shrugged out of her wrapper and folded the soft velvet over her arm. When he offered no further information, she prompted, “Thompson, please don’t make me drag it out of you. Did this caller leave a card?”
“No, Miss.” Thompson turned to the salver on the hall table and plucked up a cream-colored envelope with the tips of his gloved fingers. “He left this.”
The butler dropped the missive into her hand as if it were a stinking bit of rubbish. Olivia arched her eyebrows, her mouth tilting in amusement at his dramatics. “Was he really so terrible, then?”
The man’s thin lips pressed together, his eyes shifting away. He was entirely too proper for his own good, Olivia thought as she turned toward the staircase. But his next words made her pause.
“The man is dangerous, Miss Olivia.” Olivia rotated to face the old butler. She’d known him since coming to live with Uncle Brownlow, but this was the first time he’d shared anything resembling a personal opinion.
Thompson cleared his throat, and his face appeared pained, as if a struggle between his brain and his mouth preceded his next statement. “I do not trust the fellow. He looks the part, but . . . he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, is what he is.” He cleared his throat again and turned away, pink staining his weathered cheeks.
Touched by the man’s concern, Olivia gave his arm a brief squeeze. “Thank you, Thompson. I shall take that under advisement.”
He nodded, but kept his face averted as she turned and mounted the stairs. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, indeed. Olivia didn’t need to look at the seal on the letter to know Thompson was referring to Jack MacCarron.
Unable to help herself, she paused on the staircase, turned the envelope over, and stared at her name written in decisive strokes. Her stomach did a funny little flip. The bold handwriting was exactly what she would’ve expected. Running the rest of the way, she made it to her bedroom, shut the door, and slumped against it, before she ripped open the envelope with shaking hands and began to read:
Olivia,
I have come by some information concerning you, which is of an urgent nature. Meet me at Golden Square at midnight tonight. Come in disguise.
Yours,
Jack
Olivia wandered over to the window, reading the short note again. Yours? Did this mean he’d forgiven her for her deception? Or was this his standard roguish salutation? She could picture him leaving notes at bedsides all over London. Jolly good romp, luv. Until next time. Yours, Jack
Why all the secrecy? Was it a ploy to get his money back? An excuse to see her?
Before she could stop herself, plans spun out in her head. She’d need at least twenty minutes to make it to Golden Square. Eleven thirty was earlier than she typically ventured out, but if she ensured Mrs. Foster’s tea was spiked after dinner, perhaps she could—A light flashed in her eyes, stilling her thoughts. Max’s ring, the heavy diamond capturing the sun, circled her finger like a tether.
Her stays seemed to tighten around her ribs as she read Jack’s letter for a third time. As the future Mrs. Maxwell Grimwig, she could not keep secret assignations with unsavory gentlemen in the middle of the night. The sad fact was she couldn’t trust herself around Jack any longer. Despite the questionable nature of his present vocation and his abandonment of her, she couldn’t seem to stop seeing him as noble. The boy who’d rescued her off the streets had left too indelible a mark. Which meant the danger he posed to her heart and soul outweighed any information he could offer.
Before she changed her mind, Olivia rushed to the fire-place, crumpled the letter into a ball, and tossed it into the glowing embers. She watched the edges blacken and curl as her heart thrashed against her ribs. Her eyes closed as she tensed against the pain of loss. There would be no more sensual dances or kisses that left her breathless.
She would make the right choice this time.
CHAPTER 10
The moment Jack walked into the party, his eyes found Olivia. In her cream silk gown edged in black lace, and the sides of her hair braided and twisted up into a graceful fall of curls down her back, he couldn’t fathom how this enticing young woman could be the same urchin he’d found sneaking out in the rain six nights past—or the orphan boy Oliver Twist, for that matter.
“So you finally deigned to grace us with your presence,” a droll voice pronounced.
“Hullo, Topher.” Jack didn’t spare his counterfeit relative a glance, his gaze fastened to the sway of Olivia’s skirts as she exited through the far door on the arm of an unknown gentleman.
“The ladies have been positively flummoxed by your absence, cousin. But I must admit, it has been amusing inventing excuses for you. One of my favorites was the creeping rash of unknown origin. That one should get a few marriage-minded maidens off your tail.”
Jack turned to Topher with a sardonic smile. “Excellent. I can’t thank ye enough.”
“Don’t mention it.” Topher arched one brow. “Would you like to take my elbow, or shall I take yours? It seems our late arrival leaves us to escort each other into dinner.”
Jack chuckled and shook his head as he followed Christopher out of the room. The self-centered tosser was actually growing on him. When he wasn’t digging into Jack’s fabricated history, that is.