Olivia Twist(42)

Before leaving, Jack had pulled the two older boys aside, handed them a wad of cash, and given them a list of supplies they would need to create the protective measures they’d discussed. That kind of cash flow would certainly gain attention, which seemed part of Jack’s master plan.

The only problem being that, as far as Olivia knew, Jack “The Artful Dodger” MacCarron had left that life behind, going so far as to fake his own death. He was hiding something. She just couldn’t figure out his angle—yet. Not that she wasn’t grateful for his help. But had he thought through the possible repercussions? Resurrecting his past could jeopardize his new life, and if his current or past crimes came to light, it would land him behind bars . . . or worse.

Leaning into the wind, Olivia turned off the walk to cut through the park. Jack moved ahead of her and lifted branches out of her path as they wove through the trees. She knew he had a noble side—she’d witnessed it over and over again when they were children—but that still didn’t explain the terrible risk he was taking by diving headfirst into his past. It only illustrated how very little Olivia knew about the person he had become. His whole life was a mystery, from his parents to his arrangement with Lois March.

At the gates of her garden, Jack touched his hat with a nod, propped the umbrella on his shoulder, and turned to go.

“Jack!” she yelled, but he either ignored her or couldn’t hear over the wind. “Jack!” When he didn’t respond, she caught up to him, looped her arm through his, and guided him toward the townhouse, doing her best to ignore the powerful curve of his bicep under her fingers. There was a place where three brick walls of the house formed an alcove. It was where she hid her stolen trinkets until she could take them to the boys.

When they reached the spot, she reluctantly removed her hand from the warmth of his arm and pushed aside the hedge that disguised the entrance. The moonlit niche got them out of the wind, but as they both squeezed in together, she realized it was much smaller than she remembered.

“If you want to get me alone, I could arrange a more comfortable meeting place,” Jack quipped, a wicked glint in his eye.

Olivia’s stomach did a tight flip as she shifted into the corner to create some much-needed space between them. “I simply want to talk.”

Jack rolled his eyes and slumped back against the wall. “Must we?”

“Yes, we must.” Olivia scratched her wig, longing to pull the itchy thing off her head, but instead she assumed her “boy stance” and crossed her arms. “What are you hiding?”

He remained silent.

“Why do you want to go after Monks?”

His eyes turned glacial.

She fired another question. “How did you end up with Lois March?”

The way Jack’s brow lifted, she could tell her question surprised him. Good. He’d had her off balance since the day he walked back into her life.

He recovered quickly, a tiny smirk sliding across his lips. “She’s my aunt. Or hadna ye heard I’m a wee orphan from Ireland?”

His accent was spot on, but his words were complete twaddle. Her chest burned like it was filled with hot coals. How dare he treat her with such cavalier disregard? “I shared every sordid detail about my parents with you. And you can’t be honest with me about this one thing?”

“I’m helping your precious orphans, so what does it matter?” he sneered.

“It matters, you insolent dolt, because by trotting out the Dodger like some diverting party trick, you’re risking everything Lois has done for you! It could endanger your life!” She didn’t realize she’d moved until she felt his hands circling her upper arms, holding her back.

“A party trick! You think I’m playing some blasted game?” He let go of her so suddenly that she fell back against the bricks, knocking the air out of her lungs. She’d meant to provoke a reaction out of him, but by the thunderous look on his face, she’d gone too far.

“Jack—”

“Do me a favor and leave off. Stay home tucked into your cozy feather bed,” he spat. “And bury that foolish costume. I’ll take care of the orphans. You’re only making it harder for all of us.”

Speechless, Olivia watched Jack crash through the hedge, the branches shuddering in his wake. She leaned against the cold bricks, her harsh breaths clouding the air in front of her eyes. Why the devil couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?

Snow began to fall; a trickle at first, and then a deluge. Fat flakes stuck to her lashes and melted on her already wet cheeks. She’d lashed out, desperate to see behind the mask he showed the rest of the world, but instead she may have pushed him away for good.



The next morning Olivia arrived at the tearoom early, a bell tinkling against the door as she entered. With a shiver, she wiped snow from her boots. The comforting scents of hot tea, wood smoke, and fresh baked goods welcomed her as a server indicated a variety of seats. She scanned the room, and noting that Vi and Francesca had yet to arrive, selected a cozy arrangement of overstuffed chairs draped in sunlight.

After ordering a pot of strong black tea, she settled in and stared blindly out the window. She’d awoken that morning with a melancholy she couldn’t shake. It was as if she were drifting without a tether anchoring her to anything solid.

She removed her fur-lined gloves and placed them in her lap. Jack was right; her connection to Monks was putting the boys in more danger. Perhaps her days of gallivanting through the city as Ollie were at an end. If Jack promised to take care of the orphans, could she leave them in his hands? Her heart physically ached at the thought of never again seeing Chip’s little face, or Archie’s mischievous grin, or Brit—Olivia took a sip of tea and swallowed the lump in her throat—brilliant Brit, who took the weight of the world on his shoulders.