Between the Devil and Desire
Page 93
“You’re wrong there, Livy. Briarwood was right.”
“No—”
He put his finger to her lips. “Shh. He was right. I have corrupted you. Did you not hear what you just said? You used profanity.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “And the roof didn’t fall in on me.”
He cradled her cheek. “I told you that first night there isn’t anything a person won’t do if he wants something badly enough.” He released a deep, painful moan. “I want you—and Henry—to be mine for all eternity. Marry me, Livy.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting that. She was prepared to live the remainder of her life as his mistress, but as his wife? “Oh.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
She laughed from the joy of it. “I think you’re supposed to be on your knees and I’m supposed to be sitting.”
“You and your damned etiquette,” he said, shaking his head as a teasing smile formed on his lips.
She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Yes, I’ll gladly marry you.”
“We’ll mark the calendar. One day after your mourning period ends—”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll marry you tomorrow.”
“You think the London ladies will forgive you for that breach of etiquette?”
“Of course. I shall have firsthand accounts to share over tea, so they’ll promptly forgive me because they’ll want to know everything I know about the deliciously wicked Jack Dodger.”
“Deliciously wicked?”
“It was how we referred to you.”
“I don’t know that I’m in the mood to be deliciously wicked tonight, but I would like very much to sleep with you in my arms.”
As she lay with Jack that night, she didn’t know if it had been Lovingdon’s intent, but in his passing, he’d given her in death what he’d been unable to grant her in life: joy, passion, and love.
Chapter 22
“Briarwood.”
“Good God, I said I was not at home. Do you not know what that means?”
Jack walked farther into the man’s study, having ignored the butler’s attempt to stop him from coming in. The room reeked of cheap liquor and stale sweat. Sprawled on a couch, Briarwood was slovenly, his shirt stained, his jacket, waistcoat, and neck cloth discarded.
“I wanted to know if you’d ever heard of Emily Dawkins,” Jack said.
Briarwood rolled his eyes. “No.”
Jack persisted. Since Stanford had known her…
“She worked in the Lovingdon household, thirty-six years ago.”
He stared at Jack. “I was ten years old, man. What did I care of servants?”
“Stanford knew her.”
“He was twelve years my senior. Maybe he had an interest in her.” He groaned. “Although that seems unlikely. Apparently, he preferred boys. Scotland Yard was here this morning. They’ve found bones in his garden, for Christ’s sake. Small bones. Children’s bones. Hundreds of bones. The family is ruined.”
And what of the families of the children?
Jack could see the despair clearly outlined in Briarwood’s face, a man who always put his own interests first.
“Beckwith was here as well. I’ve inherited a house that someone tried to burn down. Stanford had no money to speak of and as I have none, what good does a burned-out house do me, I ask you?”
“I’ll purchase it,” Jack said, before he even thought through all the ramifications. He could totally destroy the residence and build a hospital for Graves there. A memorial hospital for those boys he’d not been able to save.
Briarwood sat up. “How much?”
“Get yourself sobered up and we’ll discuss the particulars—including gaining control of your gambling habit.”
“I don’t like you, Dodger.”
“I don’t like you either.”
Briarwood nodded. “As long as we’re clear on that.”
“I could also do without the rumors—”
“Consider them squashed. Not that I have any choice. Rupert Stanford is sure to be the name on everyone’s tongue in the coming days. I can hardly blame my cousin for naming you guardian. As disreputable as you are, I’m beginning to see you are far better than either Stanford or I.”
Jack accepted the praise graciously and said only, “We’ll talk” before taking his leave.
The ceremony was to be small, private, with invitations issued to only a select few.
Jack, Olivia—wearing a modest ivory gown—and Henry arrived at the chapel to discover their guests waiting for them near the front steps.
“We’re so glad you came,” Livy said, greeting each in turn: Luke and Catherine, Graves, Swindler, and darling Frannie.
“This is an event I had to witness for myself,” Luke said. “The notorious Jack Dodger taking a wife. It’s bound to be the talk of London once word gets out.”
“We hope to keep it quiet for a bit,” Jack said. “After all, Livy is in mourning.”
“As though you’ve ever cared about proper etiquette,” Graves said.
“You’re right. I’ve never been one for rules.” He winked at Henry, who was going to stand with Jack at the altar. The ring was nestled in the boy’s pocket.
“I’m so happy for you, Jack,” Frannie said as she kissed Jack on the cheek. He could see the truth of her words sparkling in her green eyes.
“No—”
He put his finger to her lips. “Shh. He was right. I have corrupted you. Did you not hear what you just said? You used profanity.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “And the roof didn’t fall in on me.”
He cradled her cheek. “I told you that first night there isn’t anything a person won’t do if he wants something badly enough.” He released a deep, painful moan. “I want you—and Henry—to be mine for all eternity. Marry me, Livy.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting that. She was prepared to live the remainder of her life as his mistress, but as his wife? “Oh.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
She laughed from the joy of it. “I think you’re supposed to be on your knees and I’m supposed to be sitting.”
“You and your damned etiquette,” he said, shaking his head as a teasing smile formed on his lips.
She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Yes, I’ll gladly marry you.”
“We’ll mark the calendar. One day after your mourning period ends—”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll marry you tomorrow.”
“You think the London ladies will forgive you for that breach of etiquette?”
“Of course. I shall have firsthand accounts to share over tea, so they’ll promptly forgive me because they’ll want to know everything I know about the deliciously wicked Jack Dodger.”
“Deliciously wicked?”
“It was how we referred to you.”
“I don’t know that I’m in the mood to be deliciously wicked tonight, but I would like very much to sleep with you in my arms.”
As she lay with Jack that night, she didn’t know if it had been Lovingdon’s intent, but in his passing, he’d given her in death what he’d been unable to grant her in life: joy, passion, and love.
Chapter 22
“Briarwood.”
“Good God, I said I was not at home. Do you not know what that means?”
Jack walked farther into the man’s study, having ignored the butler’s attempt to stop him from coming in. The room reeked of cheap liquor and stale sweat. Sprawled on a couch, Briarwood was slovenly, his shirt stained, his jacket, waistcoat, and neck cloth discarded.
“I wanted to know if you’d ever heard of Emily Dawkins,” Jack said.
Briarwood rolled his eyes. “No.”
Jack persisted. Since Stanford had known her…
“She worked in the Lovingdon household, thirty-six years ago.”
He stared at Jack. “I was ten years old, man. What did I care of servants?”
“Stanford knew her.”
“He was twelve years my senior. Maybe he had an interest in her.” He groaned. “Although that seems unlikely. Apparently, he preferred boys. Scotland Yard was here this morning. They’ve found bones in his garden, for Christ’s sake. Small bones. Children’s bones. Hundreds of bones. The family is ruined.”
And what of the families of the children?
Jack could see the despair clearly outlined in Briarwood’s face, a man who always put his own interests first.
“Beckwith was here as well. I’ve inherited a house that someone tried to burn down. Stanford had no money to speak of and as I have none, what good does a burned-out house do me, I ask you?”
“I’ll purchase it,” Jack said, before he even thought through all the ramifications. He could totally destroy the residence and build a hospital for Graves there. A memorial hospital for those boys he’d not been able to save.
Briarwood sat up. “How much?”
“Get yourself sobered up and we’ll discuss the particulars—including gaining control of your gambling habit.”
“I don’t like you, Dodger.”
“I don’t like you either.”
Briarwood nodded. “As long as we’re clear on that.”
“I could also do without the rumors—”
“Consider them squashed. Not that I have any choice. Rupert Stanford is sure to be the name on everyone’s tongue in the coming days. I can hardly blame my cousin for naming you guardian. As disreputable as you are, I’m beginning to see you are far better than either Stanford or I.”
Jack accepted the praise graciously and said only, “We’ll talk” before taking his leave.
The ceremony was to be small, private, with invitations issued to only a select few.
Jack, Olivia—wearing a modest ivory gown—and Henry arrived at the chapel to discover their guests waiting for them near the front steps.
“We’re so glad you came,” Livy said, greeting each in turn: Luke and Catherine, Graves, Swindler, and darling Frannie.
“This is an event I had to witness for myself,” Luke said. “The notorious Jack Dodger taking a wife. It’s bound to be the talk of London once word gets out.”
“We hope to keep it quiet for a bit,” Jack said. “After all, Livy is in mourning.”
“As though you’ve ever cared about proper etiquette,” Graves said.
“You’re right. I’ve never been one for rules.” He winked at Henry, who was going to stand with Jack at the altar. The ring was nestled in the boy’s pocket.
“I’m so happy for you, Jack,” Frannie said as she kissed Jack on the cheek. He could see the truth of her words sparkling in her green eyes.
