Between the Devil and Desire (25 page)

“Quite honestly, I don't see how there can be, but that doesn't mean that
this
can't be very, very good while we have it.”

With his hand buried in her hair, he turned her head and latched his mouth onto hers, kissing her deeply, wondering how in the hell he was ever going to let her go when the time came.

“T
his is probably an exercise in futility,” Livy said.

They were in the study, a small room where Lovingdon had stored all manner of ledgers, record books, journals. Livy had told Jack that Lovingdon had often sequestered himself inside for hours. “They go back for years and years.”

Jack looked up from a book whose dates corresponded with the year Beckwith had first come to see him. Livy was sitting on a sofa by the window, the sunlight casting a halo around her. He'd never been one to believe in angels, but he couldn't deny that she appeared very angelic sitting there. Not at all like a woman who'd been ravished that morning before calling for her maid.

“Even if we find nothing, I'm fascinated by all this information. To see the fluctuation in the number of servants hired, the salaries paid, the income brought in from various estates. Even the investments that have been made. I have the present-day information, of course, but it's advisable to examine past practices.”

She made a funny face and shuddered. “You're not going to look through everything are you?”

“I may.”

She gazed around at all the books housed on shelves, stacked on the floor. “There's almost a haphazardness to the way things are arranged. I wonder what he was looking for in here.”

“Maybe it was those who came before him who left the mess and he was simply trying to tidy it up.”

“Perhaps. I suppose all this really belongs to Henry.”

He leaned back in his chair. “How do you figure that, Duchess?”

She gave him a pointed stare. “Because most of these records involve ducal properties.”

“But they're in my residence. Consider their worth. We'll negotiate.”

“You can't be serious.”

He got up, walked over to her, and placed his hands on the back of the couch, effectively hemming her in. “Deadly. That book you're holding, I'd say, is worth a kiss.”

He cut off her laughter, his mouth plundering hers, no doubt giving the book she was holding far more value than it was worth. She returned the kiss with equal fervor, turning into him, the heavy book sliding off her lap and onto his foot.

“Damn,” he muttered, breaking free of the kiss, wiggling his throbbing toe, grateful it didn't seem to be broken. He bent to pick up the book that had fallen open and froze—his gaze arrested by words precisely written in an elegant script.

Very slowly he lifted the book as he sat beside her.

“Jack? What's wrong? You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

He placed his finger beneath the words, and Livy leaned in for a closer look. “Emily Dawkins? June 15, 1815. Hired as a scullery maid at the age of twelve. Five guineas. What of her?”

“That was my mother's name.”

 

Olivia helped Jack scour through the books. He was almost obsessive. Not that she could blame him, but it also worried her to see him so consumed.

“Jack, it might not be her. Neither ‘Emily' nor ‘Dawkins' is an unusual name.”

He snapped the book shut. “I can't find any notations to indicate when she left. Someone must know something.”

“It's been thirty-six years. Most of the servants are no longer here, and the few who are…they're not likely to remember a scullery maid.” She placed her hand over his. “Why did you change your name?”

“Because I didn't want the man to whom she'd sold me to ever find me.” He gave a caustic laugh. “I changed my name several times before I settled on ‘Dodger.'”

“I still have a difficult time believing she sold you. You told me in the garden that you did something to lose her love. What did you do?”

“I don't know. When she gave me the locket, she said, ‘Never forget I loved you, Jack.' Loved.” He shook his head. “She loved me once, but no longer.”

“I'm not convinced that's it.”

“I know what I heard, Livy.”

“You were a child, Jack.” He opened his mouth and she pressed her fingers against his lips. A mistake, because he began kissing them. “Hear me out.”

He nodded, still nibbling on her fingers.

“If you'd sent me away, I'd have said to Henry, ‘Don't forget I
love
you.' Because I would have been sending him my love from wherever you sent me. And I'd expect to see him again. But if I thought I'd never see him again, I might say ‘loved.' Was it possible your mother was ill? Perhaps even, heaven forbid, dying?”

He stilled, her fingers pressed against his lips. “I remember she had a cough.” Still holding her hand, he dropped his to his lap. “Good God, Livy, all these years I thought she was trying to get rid of me, that I'd disappointed her somehow.”

Releasing her hand, he got up and walked to the desk. “She seemed to know that man—”

“Could it have been a servant in the Lovingdon household?”

“No, he was no servant. And it was a grand house.”

“You may never know, Jack.”

“Swindler likes a good puzzle. I think I'll take some of these books to him tonight.”

 

Olivia was helping Henry put together a wooden puzzle while Ida was downstairs having a spot of tea. When the door to the nursery opened, Jack didn't come into the room. He simply stood in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against it, with arms folded across a chest that she'd kissed every inch of the night before. She wondered if his heart beat as rapidly as hers.

He'd gone to his club in the early hours of the morning and had not returned in time for breakfast.

“Did you have any luck with the books?”

He shook his head. “Frannie and Swindler are taking a closer look.”

“Do you want me to help you search some more?”

“Maybe later.”

“Then what is your purpose in coming here? Did you come to check on your ward's progress?” Olivia asked.

“Not exactly,” Jack said lazily.

“Did you wish to see me?”

His smile was a flash of white that promised forbidden things. “Not exactly,” he repeated.

“Am I to guess your reason in being here?”

He unfolded his arms, sauntered into the room, reached down, and moved the last puzzle piece into place. “Now that's done, how would you like to go on an outing?”

She gave him a look and before she could speak, he'd rasped his finger beneath her chin as though he might tickle her.

“I know you're in mourning,” he said, “but there is very little chance you'll be spotted where I intend to take us.”

“And where would that be?”

“On the railway.”

Henry's eyes widened. “With a locomotive?”

“Naturally.”

Olivia scowled at Jack. Honestly, how could she convince the man he could not speak in front of Henry until he'd confirmed with her that she agreed to the matter? Now Henry would be disappointed. Or Olivia would be forced once again to don her boy's clothes.

“Hundreds of people travel on the railway,” she pointed out.

“Ah, yes, but I now have a private car, and the only ones who will be in there are you, Henry, Ida, and me. So you'll be separated from the masses.”

“You purchased a private railway car?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He sighed as though his patience with her was dwindling. “One of my customers owed me a great deal of money. I took the car as payment—which was a very good arrangement for him as the car is worth less than what he owed me.”

“I'd have thought you a better bargainer than that.”

“I thought the enjoyment we might have would make it worth it.”

“But we must get to the railway car,” she pointed out.

“We'll move quickly. Besides, those who know you seldom take the railway.”

“Where are we going?”

“Brighton. We'll go there, dip our toes in the sea, and head back.”

“You're going to leave London?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Can't imagine I'll like anything I'll see, but I'm a bit curious.”

“Please, Mummy,” Henry said. He looked so hopeful.

She'd never traveled on the railway, was almost as excited by the prospect as Henry was, but more, she wanted to be with Jack when he first left London, when he first saw the world beyond this city. She took a deep breath. “Very well.”

Seeing the satisfaction in his eyes, she had a feeling she was agreeing to more than he'd revealed.

 

He was as good as his word, getting them to the private car quickly. His footman brought in a large basket of food so they could either eat on the journey or picnic at the seaside. Olivia removed her veiled hat and glanced around at what appeared to be finer than some people's homes.

“Who was the gentleman who originally owned the car?” she asked.

“I don't remember.”

She gave him a hard look, while he gave her one to remind her that he had secrets to keep. She graciously let the matter rest.

The private car was well appointed with a red couch in the center, but it was unlike any couch Olivia had ever seen. It had a curving back with a seating area on either side of it. She supposed it made sense. It saved turning the couch around if a more pleasant view was visible in another direction.

Two plush chairs were set on either side of the window, on both sides of the car. While they waited at the station, the curtains were drawn. Olivia took one chair, while Jack—wearing a red waistcoat that matched the décor of the car—sat in the other with Henry in his lap. Ida sat at the other window.

Jack looked so handsome, but then he always did. She was struck by how natural it seemed for Henry to be in his lap. Her son had no reservations whatsoever concerning his guardian. Jack had effectively earned his trust—but then he'd also earned hers. With him, at that
moment, she felt more like a family than she'd ever felt with Lovingdon.

Jack lifted the edge of the curtain and peered out. “Pockets ripe for pilfering. People are in a hurry, not paying attention, more interested in the railway and securing a seat. Ah, the pockets I could have picked if the railway expansion had taken place when I was a lad.”

“Of course you no longer pick pockets because you realized it was the wrong thing to do,” Olivia pointed out.

“No, I don't—”

She cleared her throat. His brows drawn together, he looked at her, then down at Henry, who was watching him with rapt attention. Jack cleared his throat. “You're quite right. I realized it was wrong.”

“Will you teach me?” Henry asked.

Olivia was amazed by how greatly reduced Henry's stammering problem was of late. She didn't know whether to attribute it to the dog or Jack. Maybe a little of both.

“No, lad. As your mum said, it's wrong. However, I can teach you to have nimble fingers. Never know when they might come in handy.”

Before Olivia could respond, the train whistle blew and the car was being pulled over the tracks. Jack returned his attention to the world beyond the window. It wasn't long before he pulled the curtain back, and Olivia could see that the platform was no longer in sight. The train was chugging along.

Henry scrambled up, sitting on his knees on Jack's thighs, his nose pressed to the window. He'd made several journeys in the coach to the family estate. He
hadn't taken much interest in the scenery then. Something about the train fascinated him.

“It's a different view of London,” Jack said.

“I can't believe you've never left the city,” Olivia told him.

“I know London. I'm comfortable there. Never saw any reason to leave.”

“Why now?”

“Thought Henry might like to drive a train.”

Henry gasped and shifted around to face Jack. “I can drive it?”

“During one of the stops I'll take you down to the locomotive. The engineer, I think he's called, is expecting you.”

“Isn't he a bit young for this?” Olivia asked.

“He'll be fine. Ida will be with him, and the engineer will keep his hands steady.”

“I can't believe he'd allow a child—”

He winked at her. “Livy, there's nothing a few well placed coins can't buy.”

“And where will you be?”

“I'm going to come back and watch the scenery with you.”

 

Jack couldn't help but think it was strange to look out the window and see nothing except green countryside. No houses, no buildings, no black, no grime. He hadn't expected to find it pleasing. A part of him had even been anxious about leaving behind what he knew. Not that he was willing to admit that to anyone except himself. He'd not known what awaited them on this journey. He'd only known he wanted to take it.

The whistle blew and the train began to slow.

“I can see the next platform coming up,” Livy said.

“All right, then,” Jack said. He stood up with Henry holding on like some sort of clinging ivy. “I'll be back. Come on, Ida.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Livy asked.

“Perfectly.”

Rising, she pressed a kiss to Henry's cheek, bringing her sweet scent closer to Jack. “Be a good boy, Henry.”

“I will.”

Jack stepped onto the platform, holding the door for Ida. They walked past the open car where the poorest traveled for a penny a mile, exposed to the elements. Farther up, servants were scurrying out of the second-class cars to see to the needs of those they served, who were sitting in the first-class cars.

“It's generous of you to allow me to travel in your car, sir,” Ida said.

“Nonsense, I don't believe in treating those who work for me as less than me.”

“I have to say, sir, the servants are often saying they've never worked for anyone finer.”

“Well, we'll see what you have to say after you've ridden in the locomotive.”

“I'm actually lookin' forward to it, sir. Can't wait to tell me brothers.”