Olivia Twist(68)

Jack’s shoulders jerked, likely in reaction to Monks knowing his dual identities. Olivia’s thoughts tripped ahead. If Monks knew who Jack was, how much did he know about her? About her uncle? But none of that would matter if they didn’t get out of this alive.

The sounds of clomping hooves and clattering wheels sounded on the bridge.

Monks and the man supporting him began backing away. “My men had orders to keep you alive, Jack, so you can enjoy every moment of what I have planned next.” Monks shifted his gaze in Olivia’s direction. “I’m so very pleased we were able to meet at last, dear sister. Too bad it will be the last time.” And with that, he turned and hobbled away, his thugs following him into the fog.

A single seat buggy emerged from the mist, the driver’s eyes fixed straight ahead, as if not seeing the scene on the bridge might keep him alive. He was possibly correct.

After all signs of Monks and his gang disappeared, Jack lowered his arms and turned around, his face ashen. “I hope you came in a bloody carriage, because I’m—” He blinked and crumpled.

Topher caught him under the shoulders, lowered him the rest of the way to the street, and positioned Jack’s head on his knees.

“Jack!” Olivia knelt at his side, palming his pale cheek. “Jack?”

His dark lashes fluttered before he opened his eyes and focused on Olivia with a wry smile. “Must have lost more blood than I thought.”

Olivia scanned his body, noting the blood stains that spattered his shirt and trousers. But she was fairly certain that was not his blood. Then she saw the gash in his side, his shirt soaked all the way to his waist. “Saints, Jack. Were you trying to get yourself killed?” she demanded as she lifted her skirt and ripped the entire bottom flounce from her petticoat.

Topher took off his jacket and tucked it under Jack’s head. “I’ll go fetch the carriage,” he said as he stood and jogged away.

“I’m not a bloomin’ invalid. It isn’t deep. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

Jack tried to sit up and Olivia put a hand on his chest, pushing him back down. “Whoa. Let me take a look before you run off to slay more villains.”

One side of his mouth kicked up as his incredible eyes caught hers. She gave him a gentle smile, trying to ignore the love bubbling in her chest and threatening to escape her lips. She brushed a lock of sweaty hair off his forehead, and drank in his pale, bruised, and beautiful face. “Jack, I’m so very sorry,” she whispered.

“For what? Showing up here and almost getting us all killed? Or not leaving when I—”

“No, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself . . . about the . . . the engagement.”

His lips pressed together, and with a single nod, he averted his eyes, staring somewhere past her shoulder.

Olivia couldn’t speak over the vise squeezing her throat. What could she say? There were no words that could make it better, that could soothe the hurt or repair his loss of trust in her, so she focused on tending his wound.

Gingerly, she pulled his shirttail from his trousers and lifted the blood-crusted material. His breath hissed through his teeth as the fabric separated from the wound with a soft tear. There was a long gash in the smooth flesh between his ribs, just below the puffy flesh of an old scar.

“I need to tie this around you to stop the bleeding. Can you sit up?” She put a hand on each of his shoulders. He sat up himself, and she snatched her hands away. Without looking at her, he held his shirt up to reveal a flat abdomen, all ribbed muscle and smooth skin. She leaned toward him, looped the cloth around his waist, and tied it in a knot at the indentation of his spine. The silence was like an insurmountable wall, every second adding another brick between them.

Jack lowered his shirt and moved to stand. Olivia placed a hand under his arm to assist him, but he shook her off. “I’m fine.”

Horses’ hooves reverberated on the bridge, shaking the boards beneath their feet. The pounding echoed in Olivia’s head like nails being hammered into a coffin. She glanced at Jack, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Wringing her hands, she shut her eyes, willing back the tears. She refused to let him see her cry. She’d made her bed, now she had to lie in it—somewhat literally as it pertained to her pending nuptials. She cringed, the disturbing mental images causing her eyes to pop back open.

The carriage pulled to a stop beside them. Topher jumped down from the cabin and extended his arm to Jack. “Let me help you up, mate.”

“Actually, I’ve decided to walk.” Jack picked up his discarded umbrella, and with a slight wince, leaned on it as he turned and headed toward the street, hunched and stumbling. “Jack, don’t.” Olivia picked up her skirts and chased after him. When she reached his side, she grabbed his sleeve, careful not to touch the knife wound on his arm. “I cannot allow you to walk home in this condition.”

He stopped, but stared straight ahead, his jaw set in a hard line.

Olivia dropped her hand from his sleeve and said, “Unless, of course, you wish to endure the humiliation of the carriage keeping pace with you all the way back to Saint James Square.”

He turned toward her, an odd combination of sadness and amusement on his pale face. “You’d do it too, wouldn’t you? Follow me all the way home?”

“You bet your trousers, I would.” Olivia lifted her chin. Jack’s gaze drilled down into hers, searching. Could he read her thoughts? Did he know that if she could, she would follow him to the ends of the earth?