Olivia Twist(72)

Olivia’s temper broke every last fetter. Heat rushed into her face, her heart pounding so violently it pulsed in her temples. She was not some petulant child to placate with the promise of a treat. Digging in her heels, she extricated her arm from his and met his startled gaze. “You’re not at all who I thought you were, Maxwell Grimwig. You can go back to your fancy party, but I am going to find Brit, whether you approve or not!”

Olivia whirled on her heel and stalked toward the front doors.

“If you leave,” Max called after her, his voice loud and trembling, “consider our engagement annulled.”

Olivia stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Olivia!” Max barked her name like a command. “Where do you think you are going?”

She felt Max come up behind her. “I’m going to Turnbull Road.”

“Turnbull Road? In the slums of Holborn? I forbid it!”

She turned back. “You forbid it?” Was this a hint of what her life would be like as the wife of an entitled gentleman? Him ordering her about, expecting her to obey without question? To sit tucked within the drawing room, looking pretty like one of his possessions?

“Olivia, you cannot possibly choose a street rat over our relationship.”

Street rat? She clenched her fist against the urge to slap his entitled face. “And you can’t possibly expect me to marry you when all you care about is yourself and your blasted reputation!”

His brows lowered, his cheeks flaming red as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it, Max? What people will think if I leave before we can make our big announcement?”

“Do you not have a care for propriety? Or your own safety?” he demanded, his face growing darker with every word. “A true lady would never—”

“Then I’m not a true lady! Nor do I wish to be, if it means sitting in this glorious mansion and ignoring the unimaginable suffering happening all around me!”

He swallowed hard, tipped his nose up, and glared at her.

She searched his face for some remorse, for some sign of her words breaking through his callous shell, but all she saw was a spoilt boy used to getting his way. Her voice barely a whisper, she said, “Goodbye, Max.”

Without a second glance, she marched to the doors and out of Maxwell Grimwig’s life.





CHAPTER 21


Jack slunk down the darkened hallway, his heart stampeding in his ears. But it wasn’t fear that raced through his blood, it was anger. Lois had overheard a rumor that due to the recent rash of robberies, armed guards circulated throughout the mansion. In true Lois fashion, she’d panicked, forcing him to attempt the heist earlier than planned. Jack had no idea what difference it made, considering the guards would likely be there all night. He’d been on the verge of a breakthrough with Olivia. Any moment, Grimwig would pronounce his claim on the girl he loved, slamming shut Jack’s window of opportunity. But instead of stopping Olivia from making the biggest mistake of her life, Jack was creeping through corridors like a blasted dog searching for a scrap of meat.

A rustle, followed by a muffled giggle, alerted Jack just before two shadows stretched around the corner. He ducked into a dim alcove and struggled to control the rapid rise and fall of his chest by sealing his lips. He didn’t want to do this—not now and perhaps ever again. It was not . . . honorable. For the first time in his life, Jack longed to be moral and decent—to become the man he’d seen in his dream.

When the couple strolled by arm in arm and disappeared down the stairs, Jack closed his eyes and visualized his plan like a blueprint. He had to complete this one last heist if he ever wanted to earn his freedom. Steadily, he released the breath he’d been holding and opened his eyes.

Cold as a stone, Jack stepped into the corridor and continued on his way. He would make quick work of this job, hand the jewels off, and get back to Olivia before it was too late.



Olivia hopped from the carriage, prayed the driver would stay put as she’d paid him to, and then ran into the abandoned building on Turnbull Road. Thankful she’d taken the time to go back to Cavendish Square and change into her street clothes, she took the stairs two at a time. She reached the second-floor landing and nearly ran into empty space. She screeched to a halt, arms windmilling in the air at the edge of a two-story drop. In her haste, she’d forgotten Brit’s plan to protect their third-floor hideout.

She took an unsteady step back from the ledge. Knowing that she must be in the right place, she began to search the walls for the hidden lever that would swing a board into place by rope and pulley, completing the broken staircase. She ran her fingers along the wood panels, but her hands trembled terribly and she didn’t have a light. “You can do this, Olivia. Just calm down,” she whispered aloud.

After what felt like hours of fruitless searching, she stopped and stood in the center of the landing. What would Jack do right now? He wouldn’t waste time, she knew that much. Placing two fingers in her mouth, she let out her signature whistle. In moments, she heard muted footfalls and the grinding slide of a bolt.

“Whot’s the password?” Archie’s voice called from above.

Olivia cursed and stomped her boot in frustration. “Ichabod Crane. Brom Bones. Katrina Van Tassel,” Olivia shouted in frustration. “I don’t bloody know! Just let me up!”