Olivia Twist(48)
“Mr. MacCarron, do slow down. These shoes pinch my feet,” Francesca whined as she struggled to stay at his side. Jack ignored the inane comment. The woman should purchase shoes that actually fit her bloomin’ feet.
Just before reaching the split, Jack positioned himself directly behind Olivia. Utilizing one of his old pickpocketing moves, he feigned a trip, and his shoulder plowed into Olivia’s arm, knocking the reticule from her hand. She turned and knelt to pick it up, but Jack was already there. Their eyes met and everything seemed to slow around them. “Meet me at the gate. Tonight. Two a.m.”
Olivia blinked twice, frowned, and then gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. Did she mean not at that time, or not tonight, or not ever? Jack handed the bag back to her, breathing in her sunshine and vanilla scent as they both stood.
The entire exchange lasted mere seconds and soon they rejoined their companions. Jack caught String-bean’s glare, and returned it with a glacial smirk before leading Francesca down the opposite hall.
Olivia had been ready to go anywhere with him. He’d read the inclination in her eyes. What had changed in those short minutes after they’d parted? Jack rolled his shoulders and suppressed a sigh of frustration. He would have to put on a good show if he hoped to hold Francesca’s interest. But after he fulfilled his duty and Lois was tucked away in her room, the night was his. He wasn’t giving up on Miss Brownlow so easily.
CHAPTER 14
Olivia slipped out of the rose silk gown and gasped in relief as she unlaced her corset. Sitting on the bed, she rolled off her stockings, releasing a sigh as the air hit her bare skin. After hanging her gown in the wardrobe and placing her underthings in the dresser drawer, she fetched the key to the locked chest at the end of her bed and removed her costume.
She desperately needed to see the boys, but she would have to leave within the next quarter hour to avoid running into Jack. She had no doubt he would arrive at the designated time and place, despite her refusal. He was not one to take denial in stride. She yanked on a pair of trousers, the coarse material scratching against her bare legs.
Olivia finished winding the binding cloth around her chest, fastened the tiny metal clips down the side, and then shrugged into a cambric shirt, her fingers pausing on the second button. She could still meet him and they could go to the Hill together. Dressed as Ollie, who would know?
Absolutely not!
She hastily finished buttoning the shirt over her bound breasts. Her impetuous behavior at the theater had proved she could no longer trust herself around Jack. And as much as she hated to admit it, Max’s warning earlier that evening had struck a chord: If you believe a cad like Jack MacCarron has your best interest at heart, then you’re sadly mistaken. I’ve heard stories about his past that would horrify you. The man is not only a user of women, but possibly a criminal. If you value your reputation—moreover, if you respect my family in the least—you’ll stay well clear of that blackguard.
Not that Olivia took it all to heart; she knew well of Jack’s “horrifying” past. However, she had to admit he had behaved quite the rogue that evening. Escorting one woman to the theater—her dimwit cousin, no less—and then enticing Olivia to leave with him before the performance concluded. But even beyond Jack’s deceitful actions, the underlying meaning behind Max’s words chilled her to the bone. If he caught her with Jack in another compromising situation, he would break the betrothal.
Olivia stuffed a stray curl into her hairnet with extra vigor, the painful tug of the tiny hairs on her neck making her eyes sting. Once again she would do what was right and ignore her own wishes and desires. The woman in the washroom at the theater may have meant well, but she did not know of the inescapable prison Olivia had backed herself into.
She could hardly believe she’d been seconds away from taking the woman’s advice, following Jack from the theater and throwing her whole future, not to mention her uncle’s security, down the gutter. And for what? An alluring smile? A touch that shivered across her skin?
Olivia sighed and stared at the mousy wig clutched in her hands. It was true that when their lips met she felt it over every inch of her skin, but as much as she wished it so, her feelings for Jack were not merely physical.
When she’d asked for his help, before she could even explain what she needed, he had responded, Anything. No lectures on propriety. No questions asked. Because he knew the dark fear that drove her. It lived inside of him too.
Jack could match wits with her all while twirling her in a flawless waltz. He put on airs with the gentry of London, warming his hands by their hearths, consuming their sumptuous feasts, playing their games, all while hiding his true intentions, his true identity. Just as she did. They each had a foot in both worlds, but didn’t fit into either.
But together, miraculously, they fit.
Perhaps she’d never stopped caring for the boy who’d once been her champion. But when he’d agreed to unbury his past to save the orphans, regardless of the risks to himself, her feelings had deepened to a dangerous level.
She collapsed into the hearth chair, something inside her disintegrating at the thought of never seeing him again. Their paths would cross at social events, but they would have to pretend they didn’t share a history, pretend they meant nothing to one another. She stared into the dancing flames behind the grate. A life without Jack would be like a doused fire; ashy shades of gray washed of the light and heat that had created them.