Olivia Twist(60)



The library door opened behind him, but he couldn’t seem to muster the energy, or the interest, to turn his head to see who had entered.

“Inebriated already, Jack?”

“Not yet.” Jack pinched the top of his nose, Topher’s grating voice triggering an instant headache. “What’s it to you?”

Leather creaked and Jack caught a whiff of obnoxious cologne as Topher settled into the chair across from him.

“Gran Lois said you needed my help with something. Pray tell me you haven’t summoned me to hold your hair back while you heave, because that goes beyond cousinly duties as far as I’m concerned.”

Jack smiled despite himself, wishing a nursemaid was all he needed. They’d received the much-coveted invitation to the Grimwig Ball, but the card had very specifically excluded Jack’s name. Apparently, none of the invitations—including the Lancasters’—allowed for uninvited guests. Which left Jack in quite the quandary.

He cracked open his eyes and sat up. Time to face the music. Gripping the arm of the sofa, he forced his swirling gaze to settle on Topher’s blasé countenance. “It seems I require your superior social skills, old man.”

Jack pegged his cousin with as level a stare as he could manage. “I need to pay a call on the Grimwigs tomorrow and would like for you to accompany me.”

Topher’s look of repugnance turned to shrewd interest, and the fingers he impatiently drummed against his knee stilled. “Why?”

Why, indeed. Lois had taken care of everything, down to a blueprint of the Grimwig estate marked with the exact location of the safe. She was peeved, to say the least, that Jack had flubbed up his part of the plan. But in Jack’s muddled state, he seemed to be having trouble coming up with a plausible lie. He gripped his forehead and massaged his aching temples. “Because I need to get an invitation to their blasted ball.”

Silence.

Jack glanced around his hand. Topher watched him with narrowed eyes, his long fingers steepled in front of him. “God only knows why, but you seem to have all the women of London society wrapped around your little finger. Why would you need my help?”

Jack sighed and sank back into the cushions. The buffoon was going to make him beg. “Because Grimwig bloody hates me, that’s why.”

That earned him a dry laugh as Topher sat straight in his chair. “Ah . . . his precious Miss Brownlow. Am I right?”

Jack met Topher’s gray eyes. “String-bean thinks I’m after his girl, yes. But Olivia isn’t his to own.”

“So you do have a soft spot for the mysterious Miss Brownlow . . . Interesting. There’s something . . . captivating about her, to be sure. Those melted-gold eyes, her gaze just a bit too direct. Her titillating wit, a smidge too candid.” Topher leaned forward and lifted a pale brow. “The sway of her hips verging on improper.”

Jack’s muscles coiled, his hands closing into fists. Just as he was about to spring forward and smash Topher’s pencil-thin nose, Toph chuckled.

The tosser was baiting him. Dragging a hand through his hair, Jack forced himself to breathe. “The point is, dear cousin, it’s imperative that I attend that ball, and I need your help to get back in String—I mean, Maxwell’s good graces.”

Topher pursed his lips and sat back. “No.”

Jack arched a brow and waited for the explanation sure to follow.

Sure enough, Topher launched into a lecture. “You’re not a good match for Miss Brownlow, and I refuse to pretend otherwise. I’m also not an idiot. I don’t know what you’re playing at, cousin, but until you truly tell me why it’s so imperative you attend this particular ball, I have no intention of lending my assistance.”

Jack had to unclench his teeth before he could reply, “You’re a right git, you know that?”

Topher shrugged and smiled in reply, as if being a bloomin’ prat was a point of pride. Some part of Jack could respect that. So perhaps it wasn’t just the fishes swimming in his brain that convinced him that his counterfeit relative deserved to hear the truth—the full truth about Jack’s role in the March fortune. Jack swallowed and then forced out the words before he changed his mind. “All right. I’ll tell you who I really am and what I’m about.”

Jack leaned forward and sloshed some water into a clean glass. “But I guarantee,” he said, handing the drink to a slightly bemused Topher, “you’re going to wish you had something stronger than this.”



The morning was unseasonably warm, and since the dining room walls seemed to be closing in on her, Olivia took her breakfast to the garden. The trees were barren sticks, a few brittle leaves clinging to their branches, and the grass was dead and brown, but the air smelled of spring. November was a terrible tease. Olivia set down her tea, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath through her nose. Hints of living green, balmy air, and sunny skies tempted her away to adventure.

Vehemently, she blinked away visions of donning her disguise and running into the city, Jack by her side. Those days of freedom were speeding to an abrupt end, to be replaced by endless hours stuffed into a corset with a proper simper pasted on her face and only suitable words passing through her lips.

With a gulp of tea, she fought the panic that constricted like a corset pulled too tight. She’d decided at some point during the night that she would wait until her engagement to Max was official and then enlist his help with unearthing her father’s will. It was the only sensible course of action.

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