Between the Devil and Desire (17 page)

“Yer not offerin' nothin' I want. Besides, yer wrong. I wasn't plannin' to leave. My mates are 'ere. I'm stayin'.”

“Good for you, lad. Good for you.”

By the time Jack finished relating his story, Henry had fallen asleep. Jack carefully extricated the locket from his tiny grasp, opened it, and gazed on the min
iature of his mother. She had dark hair and eyes—like his. He'd always thought her beautiful.

His thoughts kept coming back to the man who had bought him. Was it possible he had been Lovingdon? It might explain why the locket had looked familiar to him. The man who bought him had been standing nearby when Jack's mother had given it to Jack as she said good-bye.

No, Jack refused to believe Lovingdon was that man. He'd go insane with the thought of him touching Livy, of being Henry's father.

Another reason existed behind the will. But how in the hell was Jack going to determine what it was? And why did he have the feeling it was important to find out? He should just let it go, but he couldn't shake the suspicion all was not right and he was overlooking something terribly important.

Lovingdon had told Olivia he had something to set to right. Jack wondered if he'd inherited that task as well. He just didn't know what it was yet.

 

Time crawled by. Sometimes Olivia was cold, shivering, and other times she was so hot she thought she'd burn up.

Jack never returned to see after her welfare. She assumed he'd lost interest, once he realized she'd survive and be around to manage his household. She missed Henry dreadfully, but she knew it would frighten him to see her so weak.

Every morning and every evening the angelic physician came to see how she was doing. His arrivals allowed her to keep track of the passing of the days. It
was on the third night that her fever finally broke and he seemed most pleased when he arrived in the morning and saw her sitting up in bed.

“You're not my normal physician,” she said. She was exhausted but feeling much better. She was freshly bathed, wearing a clean nightdress. The bed linens had been changed. The windows were open, the sunlight streaming in, and the odor of illness was dissipating.

“No, I'm not. I'm a friend of Jack Dodger's,” Dr. Graves said.

“You seem too respectable to be a friend of his.”

Dr. Graves smiled. “I knew him when I was a lad.”

“Did you grow up on the streets as well?”

“I did.”

“How is it that you learned compassion?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you really asking, How is it that Mr. Dodger
didn't
?”

“You just seem an unlikely pair.”

“Children are seldom given the luxury of choosing their childhoods, but I cannot fault the friendships formed in mine. They have stood me in good stead.”

She plucked at a thread on the comforter. “It's just that he hasn't even bothered to see how I'm faring.”

“Oh, he's bothered.” He was grinning as though he was privy to some grand joke. “Each time I come to see you, afterward I'm put through a grueling interrogation regarding your health.”

As though to discount the veracity of his words, she said, “He hasn't come to see me.” She sounded mulish, not at all like herself.

“It wouldn't be proper, would it?”

As though what was proper had stopped him before. Hadn't stopped either of them, truth be told.

“I want you to stay in bed for two more days, regain some strength,” Dr. Graves said.

“What about Henry?”

“He's fine. You can see him in two days.”

“I'd rather see him now.”

“Two days.” His voice was succinct, allowed no room for argument.

“Are all of you street lads so bossy?”

“Indeed, we are.” He picked up his black bag. “Now, I must go face the great inquisitor.”

Olivia watched him leave the room. Then she looked over to where the nurse was sitting. “Do you suppose I could sit by the window for a while?”

“He said to stay in bed.”

“But surely sitting calmly by the window will accomplish the same thing.”

Colleen set her knitting aside. “I suppose it can't hurt too much.”

It hurt more than Olivia had anticipated. Her muscles ached, her bones creaked. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought she had aged a hundred years. Leaning on Colleen, she was out of breath by the time she finally settled into the chair. “Oh, my word. I'm not sure I'll be able to get back to the bed.”

“If not, we'll call for Mr. Dodger and have him carry you.”

She felt the heat of embarrassment warm her cheeks, and although she'd complained about his not being there since the first night, she couldn't overlook the fact that he shouldn't have been in her room even then. She
didn't need scandalous gossip running rampant. “He shouldn't have been in here. It was improper.”

“He was every bit the gentleman.”

Olivia thought she heard something in her voice, as though the nurse were offended on Jack's behalf. “How well do you know him?”

“Hardly at all. I've heard of him, of course, but never met him until I came to work for him. I have to admit to being surprised that I rather like him.”

Olivia leaned back and looked out the window. She was too weary to spar, too weary to ask more questions. She wondered if Jack liked Colleen, if perhaps his being in Olivia's room had more to do with the nurse than with Olivia. Having kissed her, had he now grown tired of her? It was an odd thing to worry about, especially since she really didn't want Jack's attention.

She saw Dr. Graves walk to his carriage. It was a rather nice carriage. She hadn't expected that. She wondered how it had come about that he had such fancy things.

It was easier to eat sitting in a chair, so she had a bowl of stew. Not until she began eating did she realize how famished she was.

She didn't stay in the chair very long. Perhaps an hour. Then she gingerly made her way back to bed and promptly fell asleep. When next she woke, it was nighttime. The lamp beside her bed was burning low. At Colleen's urging she ate more stew. Then she collapsed into another deep sleep.

When she awoke again, the lamp was still burning but Colleen was curled on a cot, snoring softly. Olivia glanced over at her clock. It was almost nine. Henry
would be asleep by now. She feared he'd had to go to bed without anyone reading to him all these many nights. He still didn't have a proper nanny.

She furrowed her brow. Had someone told her he
did
have a nanny? She had a faint recollection…surely not. She could only imagine the sort of woman Jack would approve. Dr. Graves wanted her to stay in bed for one more day, but she'd stayed as long as she could. She was desperate to see Henry. Now was the perfect time because he'd be asleep, and she didn't have to worry about him taxing her overmuch. Tomorrow she would spend some time with him and read to him. He so enjoyed being read to.

It exhausted her to move aside the covers. She wondered how long it would be before she was fully recovered and had her strength back. Her wrapper was resting at the foot of the bed. She drew it on. In bare feet, she crept toward the door, as though she were a child doing something she shouldn't. She was fairly certain that if Colleen awoke, she'd chastise Olivia and insist she return to bed. And she would, as soon as she saw that Henry was all right, that someone was watching over him.

Opening the door, she slipped into the hallway. It was as quiet as she expected. The door to the night nursery was open and as she neared, she heard a rumbling voice. She stopped at the doorway and peered inside. Surely she was still fevered and delirious, because sitting in a chair, his elbows on his thighs, a book in his hands, reading to her son was Jack Dodger.

She'd never seen Henry so entranced. He was sitting up in bed, an odd lump at his side beneath the covers.
She didn't want to contemplate that he was sleeping with his dog.

Jack got to a portion in the reading and Henry interrupted him to announce, “Dodger. That's your name.”

Jack looked up from the book. “So it is.”

Henry studied him for a moment, his small brow deeply pleated. “Are you the Artful Dodger?”

“What a silly assumption. There are lots of dodgers on the street, boy. Do you know what a dodger is?”

Henry shook his head. Olivia had never seen him so animated, so unafraid.

“A dodger is someone who is very skilled at dodging.” Jack moved his body side to side, back, then forward. “When you take something and they reach for you, you dodge away. It's an honor to be called ‘dodger.' I suspect Mr. Dickens knew that when he wrote the story.”

“Were you good at dodging?”

“The very best.”

Oh, the audacity, but Olivia held her tongue because she didn't want to make them aware of her presence. She was fascinated, watching them. Henry hadn't stammered once.

“Will you teach me?” Henry asked.

Jack seemed to consider that. “I don't think it's a skill that a lord would ever need, but I see no harm in it.”

“Now?”

“No.” Jack chuckled. “When your mother's strong enough to sit in the garden. You'd best go to sleep now. If your mum finds out that I've been letting you stay up this late, I'll never hear the end of it.”

Henry laughed. Olivia couldn't remember the last time she'd heard so sweet a sound. He wiggled until
he was lying down. The lump beside him wriggled and the puppy's nose because visible. It snuggled against Henry's side.

“Close your eyes and I'll read a bit more until you go to sleep,” Jack said.

Henry obeyed, but then, he usually did. Still, there was something about the way he looked at Jack, the way he responded so quickly, the camaraderie that seemed to have developed…her son's reaction could almost be considered hero worship.

What had transpired while she'd been ill?

She heard Jack's voice carrying on with the story. She crept down the hallway to her room, grateful to have been undetected. She hardly knew what to make of all this.

In some ways, it seemed terribly wrong that Jack would usurp her position and give so much attention to Henry…and in other ways, it seemed so terribly right.

T
he next morning, Olivia awoke to sounds coming from the dressing room. No doubt they were preparing a bath for Jack. An image jumped into her mind, an image that she'd been struggling not to remember. Jack Dodger stark naked. She couldn't have chosen a more opportune moment to swoon. Oddly, it left her with a bit of dignity. If she'd spun on her heel and left the room, Jack would have laughed at her retreat. And if she'd stayed, staring him down and trying to shame him into leaving, they'd probably still be standing there. Or worse, she might have invited herself into his bed.

The dressing room grew quiet, and she imagined Jack sitting in the copper tub, warm water lapping at his body. She had an unusual desire to go into the room, lather her hands with soap, and stroke them slowly over his chest and shoulders. Along his back and down his arms. He appealed to her in ways he shouldn't, made her desire uncivilized behavior. She'd always been good, and suddenly she found herself wondering what harm would come of her being bad.

“You're awake.”

Olivia was startled from her misbegotten musings. She'd forgotten about the nurse.

Colleen smiled warmly and pressed her hand to Olivia's forehead. “The fever hasn't returned. As soon as Mr. Dodger is finished with his bath, I'll have one prepared for you.”

Olivia could do little more than nod at the thought of crawling into the tub after Jack had used it.

“I don't think my services will be required any longer,” Colleen said, reaching for the bellpull.

“I appreciate your seeing after me. It must take a great deal of courage to put your own health at risk, caring for others.”

“I like to help. And I had the opportunity to meet Dr. Graves. Rumors are Mr. Dodger is building him a hospital. I'm hoping to work there.”

Jack was building a hospital? The man was a source of constant discoveries. “I don't know if it'll have any influence, but I'll put in a good word.”

Colleen curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace. You're most kind.”

Olivia didn't feel kind. She felt put upon waiting for Jack to finish with his bathing. But then he had so very much to bathe, she supposed it was understandable that it would take him a while. While he may have been equal in height to Lovingdon, he was considerably broader; yet, not an inch of him had gone to fat. He was taut and lean. She'd only ever seen the naked male form as a statue and even then modesty prevented her from allowing her gaze to linger overlong. She'd had a devil of a time tearing her gaze from Jack.

Her maid soon joined her. Colleen left. Olivia didn't
know how Maggie knew the dressing room was finally available. But at long last, his bath was dumped and hers was prepared. It was heaven to sit in warm water, to allow it to ease away the lingering aches in her muscles. She felt so weak, but she didn't think her strength would return by lounging about.

She felt a bit more like herself once she was dressed. She looked at the black dress in the mirror, and for the first time since she'd become a widow, she wished desperately that she could wear something with a little color. Black didn't warm her features. Jack was correct about that, but it hurt that he'd felt the necessity to bring it up.

“Shall I bring you a tray?” Maggie asked.

Olivia shook her head. “No. I shall go downstairs for breakfast. I'm quite famished. I fear you'd be bringing me trays all morning.”

Besides, it was time to face the devil, and she hoped she could do it without imagining him without his clothes.

While her usual ritual included visiting with Henry first thing in the morning, she decided she needed to have nourishment first. His anticipated enthusiasm was likely to knock her over if she didn't have her strength back. Going down the stairs, she held firmly to the banister, each step seeming to steal her breath. By the time she reached the foyer, all she wanted was to return to bed. She took a moment to gather her strength, then straightened her shoulders and strolled to the breakfast dining room.

The sight that greeted her took the last of her strength. Jack sat at the head of the table, fully clothed, his vest a deep blue. He was, of course, studying his ledger, which
seemed to be his preferred reading material. But that wasn't what caused her to freeze in mid-step.

It was the sight of her son sitting beside him. Henry also had a black ledger beside his plate, which seemed odd as he had yet to learn to read. Whenever Jack turned the page in his ledger, Henry would turn one in his. It was both charming and disconcerting. If her son was so willing and eager to mimic such an innocent act, would he do the same of one not quite so innocent? She wasn't even certain she could hold herself up as an example of proper behavior.

Every now and then, a thump sounded. Henry's legs were too short for his feet to touch the floor and he would swing his legs and kick the underside of the chair. Olivia was amazed that Jack seemed not to be bothered by the constant knocking—especially as he had found fault with her ticking clocks. She'd have thought him to be a man with little patience when it came to dealing with children, yet he seemed to have an abundance of it—at least where Henry was concerned.

She wasn't aware of making a sound, but suddenly Jack lifted his head and gave her the wicked smile she'd come to recognize as always preceding something certain to gain her ire.

He came to his feet. “Why, Olivia, what a pleasant surprise.”

After sharing the intimacy of his kiss, not to mention seeing him in the altogether, she was surprised his greeting was so cavalier. Was he going to pretend nothing untoward had passed between them?

Before she could decide what to make of this unexpected turn, Henry hopped out of his chair. “Mummy!”

He raced across the dining room and flung his body against her legs. If he hadn't also wound his arms around her, she might have toppled. As it was, he managed to give her some support. She lowered herself to her knees and hugged him close. He smelled of a recent bath, and he felt so sturdy—or perhaps it was just that she was so unsteady. She drew him back and studied him. “My word, I think you've grown.”

Not in inches so much as in confidence.

He held his thumb up. “I don't s-suck it anymore.”

“You are a big boy, then, aren't you?”

He nodded.

“Come on, now. Your mum needs to eat, lots and lots.”

She hadn't heard Jack approach, but his hand was suddenly beneath her elbow, guiding her back to her feet.

His dark eyes were scrutinizing her, and she wasn't certain he was pleased with what he saw. “Why don't you take your chair? I'll prepare you a plate.”

“Sit by me,” Henry said enthusiastically.

Before she could comment that her proper place was at the foot of the table, Jack said, “No one in this room cares.”

Oh, but she cared. She cared what he thought. Did he still feel he was owed? Or in light of her illness had he decided to grant her a reprieve?

Henry took her hand and led her to the chair as though Jack's comment had settled the matter. Once they were seated, Henry said, “We were w-worried about you.”

Henry perhaps, but she doubted Jack was. Still, she saw little point in crushing him with the truth. “Were you?”

He nodded. “We sat by your room for hours and hours. Even at night.”

“We? You mean you and Mr. Dodger?”

He nodded again, smiled, and whispered, “It's our secret.”

A plate appeared before Olivia, causing her to jump slightly.

“I obviously forgot to explain what a secret was,” Jack said, low, near her ear, and she shivered in response. He walked away from her and resumed his place at the head of the table. “You should have told me you weren't feeling well before you collapsed.”

It seemed he was going to behave as though the brandy, the kiss, and their encounter in the dressing room had not happened. She would do the same, because suddenly she was a jumble of emotions. Did she want his regard or did she not? She honestly didn't know. “I thought it was grief. I appreciate all the trouble you went to in order to ensure my survival.”

“Purely selfish, I assure you.”

“Because you need me to oversee your household?”

“Because I need you to marry. Men tend to frown at the notion of marrying someone who isn't breathing.”

He sounded so overburdened, but at least since he still had plans to marry her off, she was reassured that he'd lost interest in luring her into his bed. She was torn between relief and disappointment. “As we've discussed previously, what you
need
, Mr. Dodger, is not necessarily what I want.”

“Have I ever told you that I enjoy a challenge?”

She glanced over at him. His dark eyes held a warning gleam as he smoothly said, “Perhaps I shall work
to convince you that what I
need
is precisely what you
want
.”

Olivia felt a fissure of anticipation. He might not have lost interest after all.

 

Olivia sat on a chaise longue near the garden watching as Henry tried to teach his puppy to fetch a stick, although it was his nanny who was doing the fetching while the dog continually ignored Henry's pleas and simply rooted around in the grass. It was an unusually warm afternoon, and the sunlight felt lovely on Olivia's face.

Jack had left the residence earlier, and while she'd normally use the time to pretend the residence was hers, it wasn't quite as appealing as it had once been to imagine him out of their lives. Did he truly intend to still marry her off? Or was a good deal of what he said that seemed so uncaring designed to protect himself because he did care so much?

He was an enigma and she was beginning to think solving the puzzle of Jack Dodger could be quite an enjoyable challenge.

Henry ran over and plopped down beside her, his forehead pleated, his eyes serious. “He won't do it.”

Brushing the blond curls back from his brow, she said, “He could be too young, Henry. He's really only a baby. Perhaps when he gets older he'll be more inclined to learn.”

“Mr. Dodger could teach him. He can do everything.”

“He's a very busy man. I don't expect he'll have time for your Pippin.”

He nodded slowly, as though accepting the truth of her words. Then his eyes widened with joy and he jumped up. “You're back!”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder to see Jack striding toward them. He was carrying what looked to be three small wooden boxes.

“What have you got?” Henry asked.

“Henry, it's improper to make such an inquiry,” Olivia scolded.

He took a few seconds to look contrite before his bright smile again lit up his face.

“I thought since your mother has recovered, we should celebrate,” Jack said, crouching beside her.

She fought to tamp down her joy at his words and the pleasure she took at his nearness. She was acutely aware of his familiar, enticing fragrance, and balled her hands in her lap to stop herself from reaching out to comb her fingers through his curling locks, as disheveled as Henry's but not at all boyish. No, there was nothing remotely boyish about Jack Dodger.

He set the boxes on her lap and gave her a grin. “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.” She was pathetic to take such delight in the smallest of attentions he bestowed on her.

He called to the nanny and when she neared, he said, “You'll want to see this.”

Ida settled on the ground as though she didn't care at all about any grass stains she might receive.

Olivia didn't want to contemplate that Jack might have taken an interest in Ida while Olivia was ill. He was probably accustomed to juggling women. Why did
she want to mean more to him than she possibly could? Was it because he was beginning to mean something to her other than her son's guardian?

“Do you know what a kaleidoscope is?” Jack asked as he took the first wooden box.

“No, sir,” Henry said, while Ida shook her head.

Jack arched a brow at Olivia. She nodded. “Although I've never actually seen one.”

“Then you're in for a treat.” He urged Henry to settle in front of him, with his back to him. But Henry was too curious and as soon as he was in place, he twisted around to see what was going on. With an amused chuckle, Jack opened the case and removed the cylinder. “Now this one is clear. You look through here”—he pointed to the eyepiece—“and as you turn the other end, whatever you're looking at becomes very different.”

He guided Henry's hand, teaching him to hold it, turn it. Henry laughed with delight. He jumped up. “I want to go look at Pippin.”

Chuckling with obvious satisfaction at Henry's enthusiasm, Jack handed a box to Ida. “For you.”

She smiled with delight. “Well, thank you, sir. I'd best see to the young master.” She got up and hurried after Henry, who, unable to get Pippin to sit still, had moved on to look at flowers.

“I approve of her,” Olivia said quietly.

Jack turned his attention back to her, a sparkle in his eyes. “Damn. Means hell will be cold when I get there. I'm not fond of the cold.”

“I assume you're hinting you thought that abominable place would freeze over before I ever agreed with you.”

“I did.”

“Do you worry about ending up there?”

“Worrying about things I can't change is a waste of my time.”

“It's not too late, you know. If you were to be very, very good—”

He laughed, and she realized she was beginning to welcome the raspy sound of it, that it stirred something deep within her. “Being very, very good would bore me into an early grave.” He winked at her, tapped the box. “Open yours.”

Her excitement at the thought of a gift caused her hands to tremble slightly. She now knew how Henry had felt, unable to sit still. His joyous laughter echoed over the garden and she wondered what delights he'd found.