Olivia Twist(65)

“I find it extraordinarily diverting—”

“Excuse me, Mr. March, but would you have the time?” Olivia interrupted midsentence.

Topher turned his gray gaze on Olivia with a slow blink, as if he realized for the first time that she sat next to him. “Certainly.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a gold pocket watch, and flipped open the cover. “’Tis nearly midnight. Are you planning to turn into a pumpkin soon, Miss Brownlow?”

His playful comment was lost on Olivia as her heartbeat slowed in her chest. Midnight? She clutched Topher’s sleeve. “Did Jack tell you his plans for the evening?”

He stilled, the smile freezing on his face. “Jack does not confide his schedule to me.”

Violet leaned forward and met Olivia’s gaze with round eyes.

“Did he say anything at all that might give us a clue to his whereabouts? ’Tis vastly important,” Olivia beseeched.

“Well, we weren’t exactly speaking after he took the carriage and left me stranded at your fiancé’s home this afternoon, but I overheard him arguing with Gran about keeping some appointment tonight.”

“Wait.” Blood rushed into Olivia’s head, making the room spin. “You and Jack visited the Grimwigs?” At his nod, she rushed on. “Did Max tell you about the engagement?”

“His mother mentioned it in passing, but I don’t think . . .” A light seemed to come on in Topher’s eyes. “He must have overheard! That’s why he left so suddenly.”

“Oh no, no, no.” Olivia pushed back her chair, her hands shaking in dread.

“What is it, Miss Brownlow?” Topher stood beside her, holding her elbow in a firm grip.

“I need to use your carriage, Mr. March. I must get to Blackfriars Bridge, without delay!”





CHAPTER 19


Ice ran through Jack’s veins as he walked across the darkened bridge. Monks had chosen well. The railway tracks that ran along Blackfriars’ east side and the trains that crossed with rumbling, smoke-belching regularity discouraged foot traffic and laggards. It was all the same to Jack. Witnesses or no, this ended tonight.

The beat of the umbrella’s tip against the bridge echoed out around him as he walked. Tap. Tap. Tap. Street challenge rules dictated no weapons, but Jack didn’t trust Leeford to comply. Besides, something as mundane as a brolly could hardly be considered a weapon.

Through the dense, churning fog, Monks and his gang appeared, and then disappeared. Jack kept walking.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The haze shifted, coalescing around the legs of the six approaching men, making them seem more wraith than human, their shadowy figures propelled by the stiff breeze. Jack drew in the smells of the Thames, its familiar mixture of mud, salt, and rot bringing him courage. Perhaps he was daft to face this lot on his own, but at present he didn’t much care what happened to him.

He had stewed in his anger all evening and begrudgingly admitted to himself that when it came to the orphans, Olivia’s intentions had been true, if not her actions. But that didn’t make her deception any less wounding. Jack was willing to bet his significant savings that Olivia had strong feelings for him, just not strong enough to turn down one of the wealthiest men in London. His hands clenched into fists as he stepped through a bank of smog, Monks and his gang materializing directly in front of him.

“Ah, if it isn’t the street rat, the Artful Dodger back from the dead,” Monks sneered, tipping his head in scrutiny. “You’re not as tall as I imagined you’d be by now.”

Ignoring the jab, Jack got to the point. “Give me the locket, Leeford. The gold one you bought at Langdale’s off the old pawny.”

Monks glowered suspiciously, and Jack noted his reptilian gaze bore no resemblance to the warm gold of his sister’s.

“I’m well aware the locket belonged to your long-lost sibling and why you want it. I’m here to make you a deal.”

Monks’s laughter echoed through the night, soon mimicked by his band of misfit goons. “Yer offering me a deal? What makes you think you have anything to bargain with? I’ve stated my terms—”

“And now I’ll state mine,” Jack growled, stepping so close he could smell Monks’s fishy breath. “You really didn’t think I’d show up here just because you threatened me, did you? In case you haven’t noticed, my boys have already moved on.”

The hardening of Monks’s face showed he knew he’d lost his leverage. “It’s no matter. The Hill is my territory now, and if your boys work anywhere near it, they’ll be paying me . . . or else.” Monks lifted his chin and stared down his long nose in challenge.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Leeford’s gang position themselves in a circle around him. Stepping away from the dinger’s noxious breath, Jack folded his arms over his chest. “You implied this to be a true street duel, a boon for a boon, but . . .” He glanced around at the ring of thugs and shrugged one shoulder. “I can see you’re afraid you would lose to me one on one.”

“Me afraid of you? I already killed you once.” Monks snorted. “State your prize, pretty boy.”

“I’ll make this simple for you. If you fight me and win, you can have the entire city. I’ll renounce my title as Street Lord and you’ll be unchallenged. But if I win”—Jack let a slow, confident smile spread across his face—“you leave the Hill orphans alone for good, and you forget about your half sibling’s inheritance.”