Olivia Twist(59)

An hour and thirty minutes later, they were back out on the street with no more answers than when they’d arrived. Mr. Appleton had not been in the office and his secretary, Mr. Kit, had informed them that the office was not taking on any new clients, despite Olivia’s insistence that Mr. Appleton knew her by association to Uncle Brownlow. Sure that if he met her again in person, he would take on her case, Olivia had determined to wait.

When Mr. Appleton did not return from court, his secretary politely but firmly kicked them out and closed the office.

Feeling useless and defeated, Olivia mounted Violet’s family carriage and dropped down onto the bench. The busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly had quieted with the setting of the sun. Young lamplighters scampered up poles, igniting gas flames in neat rows up and down the street.

Violet gave Olivia’s address to the driver, and sat beside her and tugged off her bonnet, playing with the ribbons as the vehicle set off with a jerk. “I’m sorry, Livie.”

Olivia slumped down and pulled her wrap tighter. She didn’t know what to do next. The orphans were moving that night, and she couldn’t even help without endangering them further. She couldn’t help her boys. She couldn’t even help herself.

“We can go back to Mr. Appleton’s office tomorrow,” Violet suggested.

“You heard Mr. Kit. Appleton’s not taking new clients. Ergo, no female clients.”

Vi straightened, her green eyes flashing. “Then I’ll ask Father to inquire on your behalf.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll have to ask my uncle.”

Staring out at the passing street, Olivia clutched her purse to her chest, letting the implications sink in. “I’ll need to confess to my uncle. Which will mean divulging breaking into his desk to find the letter.” Perhaps it was time to come clean about all of it. How else would she explain that she knew Monks was after her without digging herself deeper in deceit? “It will break his heart that I’ve been . . .” sneaking out and lying to him. But she didn’t say the rest, couldn’t divulge her darkest secrets to the girl who’d always believed the best of her despite her past.

“Livie.” Violet clutched her hand. “Let me help you. My family can keep you safe.”

Keep me safe? Olivia met her dear friend’s earnest gaze. She was so sweet and loyal and kind . . . and so very mistaken.





CHAPTER 17


Jack leaned his head back on the cushioned arm of the divan, the room spinning around him. He squeezed his eyes closed, but the nauseating rotation continued. Either he was suffering from sleep deprivation or he had finally taken the fast train to crazy town—which, considering his irrational actions of late, was highly probable.

Out of control. That’s what his life had become.

He’d received a letter the previous evening from Olivia that explained why she believed her half brother was indeed after their father’s supposed inheritance, and that she had things well in hand. She had forbid him to intervene. Forbid him.

So naturally, he’d spent the last twenty-four hours searching the streets of London for the blasted coward.

A part of him realized he was running from his feelings, the thoughts he couldn’t escape . . . dreams that could never be. But instead of dulling his conscience, the lack of sleep had only served to sharpen his emotions until all the needs he’d worked so hard to ignore jabbed at him like tiny swords, leaving him raw and exposed.

The night before last, they’d walked under the same buttery moonlight. The same hazy stars that you couldn’t see clearly unless you climbed above the smog of London, and yet everything had changed. With Olivia by his side, a weed sprouting between cracks of pavement signified hope. The mist that swept through the streets, stealing the light, became a romantic backdrop. His lens on the world had shifted, seemingly overnight.

And apparently, sleep deprivation caused him to wax poetic.

How had he gone from a happily unencumbered bachelor with nothing to lose to this sniveling mess, pining over a young miss whose baggage included an ailing uncle and a gaggle of orphans? If anyone had told him a few weeks ago that he’d be racking his brain for a way to become everything one girl desired—even a girl as captivating as Olivia Brownlow—he would’ve laughed in their face.

Jack chuckled out loud, the lonely sound echoing around the empty room, mocking him. Perhaps he’d stayed busy to keep himself from chasing Olivia like a lovesick pup. To stop himself from begging her to choose him, even when he knew it was against her best interest.

He had to talk to her. Make sure she wouldn’t go visit the boys on Turnbull Road. He began to rise, but stopped when the room tilted and spun. He would have to trust her.

The real question was . . . could he trust himself? Would he keep the vow he’d made to Olivia not to accept Monks’s challenge? After all, he’d be killing two vultures with one stone, if he could strike a bargain to keep Olivia and the orphans safe before beating bloomin’ Leeford to within an inch of his worthless life. Now that he was away from Olivia’s hypnotizing gold eyes, he realized it was a promise he never should’ve made. If he broke it and saved the day, would she forgive him?

Blast it. He still had over twenty-four hours to decide. Blindly, he reached for the bottle on the table, and lifted the glass to his lips, the water cooling a welcome path down his parched throat and into his brain.