His Wicked Heart (10 page)

“I suppose if I don’t like it, I can
leave.”

“And it’s not permanent. Once you work off
the debt, you’ll be truly free. Of his lordship and Mr. Reddy.
Maybe you’ll be even be able to help your sister.”

“Oh, do you think his lordship might give her
a job, too? She’s far more respectable than me. She’s never even
had gin. She’s a good mum to that sweet boy.” Mrs. Reddy sniffed
and swiftly pinched her nose, perhaps to stop a flow of tears. An
uncharacteristic show of emotion, to be sure.

Olivia had no notion whether Saxton’s
benevolence would extend to Mrs. Reddy’s sister, but if it would
encourage the woman to go, why not agree? Especially when Mrs.
Reddy clearly cared for her sister and nephew. “I’m sure he would.
As I said, he seems kind. He came to your rescue, didn’t he?”
Ruthless, but kind. She’d never met anyone who could be both. Would
it surprise her if he did something for Mrs. Reddy’s sister? Olivia
didn’t want to answer that question. She wanted to get away from
the boarding house as soon as possible. But she also didn’t want to
alert Mrs. Reddy to her departure, which is why she’d left her
belongings in the corner.

“So you’re decided then?” Olivia asked.

“I suppose I must be. You’re a good girl,
Livvie.” She reached out and patted Olivia’s sleeve.

Olivia smiled at the woman, glad this
necessary interview was done—and that she’d achieved the desired
result. Now she could escape. “I’d offer to help you pack, but I
have a few errands I must run. I may be back before you go.”

Mrs. Reddy winked at Olivia. “I’m sure his
lordship would like that.”

Olivia was sure he would, too.

She turned and waited for the door to latch
behind her before she went to the corner and picked up her
belongings.

Outside, Olivia hurried along the street, the
morning sun finding its way into their little court and heating the
pavement beneath her feet. Tilly stepped into her path. Her gaze
dropped to the valise. “You’re leaving?”

Olivia clutched her things tighter, perhaps a
reaction to her newfound distrust of Tilly. She’d been a fool to
trust her in the first place. She’d hoped to get away from Coventry
Court without anyone realizing she’d left. “I’m afraid I must. His
lordship was furious. You should’ve told me he’d discovered the
ruse.”

Tilly crossed her arms. “He said he’d turn me
in to the magistrate. I’m not a good girl like you. I’ve got debts.
I would’ve gone to Newgate for sure.”

So she’d looked out for herself and ignored
the consequences to Olivia. “You didn’t think about what he might
do to me?”

Tilly’s eyes widened, and she searched
Olivia’s face. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Olivia pulled back at the vehemence in
Tilly’s tone. “No. Why would you think that?”

A shiver twitched Tilly’s shoulders. “Meg saw
him fighting last night at the Black Horse.”

This shouldn’t have surprised her, given his
apparent penchant for violence. Twice she’d met him, and twice he’d
fought. Granted, both acts had been for a good cause, but Olivia
couldn’t ignore the sense of dread curling up her spine. She was
aware of the club, run by some viscount, and because of it had
stayed as far away from the Black Horse Court as she could. “He’s a
member of that fighting club?”

“Must be. Lord Sevrin’s particular about whom
he lets in, and Meg said he was fighting.”

A man who enjoyed violence enough to engage
himself twice in one evening wasn’t a man Olivia wanted to spend
time with. It was good she was running. Necessary, even.

“Where will you go?” Tilly asked.

“I’m not sure.” She wouldn’t tell Tilly even
if she knew. Trying to sound as uninterested as she ought to feel,
she asked, “Did Saxton purchase anyone’s services?”

Tilly giggled, a surprisingly charming sound
from such a coarse woman. “Bit jealous?”

“So he did?”

Her giggle escalated to a laugh. “Not that I
heard. It’s not too late for you. Invite him over again.”

Olivia kept her head bent so Tilly couldn’t
see the flush spreading up her neck. “Why would I willingly seek
him out? He’s furious with me and likes to hit people for fun.”

“He was fairly angry with me and didn’t lift
a finger. Mayhap his fighting really is just sport. I don’t think
you need to be afraid of him, Livvie.”

But she was. Afraid that she wanted him
without care for his money or her position, that he would hurt her
in ways that could never be seen on the outside. “Goodbye, Tilly.
Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone I’ve gone.”

Tilly nodded. “You’ll land on your feet.
Girls like you always do.”

That afternoon, after securing a small room
in a clean inn that she could only afford for a short time—unless
she wanted to spend the entire ten pounds on temporary lodgings,
and she didn’t—Olivia made her way along the Strand. Her multiple
attempts to sell her wares had so far been fruitless, and with each
rejection she found herself thinking of Saxton more and more. She
could stretch the ten pounds for quite some time, but she suspected
he’d give her more. But if she accepted more, he’d expect something
in return—more than he already did.

Would a few nights of pleasure be so awful?
It wasn’t as if she would be committing to a life of selling her
body, as her mother had done. It would be a temporary situation to
provide for her long-term needs. Then there was the tiny voice in
her head—the one that had kept her up all night.
Don’t do it for
the money. Do it for yourself
.

The sun burned hot through her bonnet and the
lawn of her gown. The basket containing her sewn goods grew heavier
with each block. By the time she reached Mrs. Gifford’s shop, where
she’d left ten handkerchiefs on commission a few days prior, Olivia
felt flushed and overheated. The interior was blessedly cooler and
she welcomed the relief.

A man emerged from the back as soon as she
entered. He was similar in age to Olivia, which immediately put her
at ease, as did his warm sherry-colored eyes. They made her feel
welcome, comfortable. So different from Saxton’s pale blue, which
so often imbued a sense of danger or, perhaps more accurately,
excitement.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, a smile
lighting his face with charm.

“Good afternoon. My name is Olivia West, and
I’m here to see the shopkeeper, Mrs. Gifford.”

“That would be my mother. Do you have an
appointment?”

“I don’t, but I’m a seamstress and recently
left some embroidered handkerchiefs on commission. I’d hoped she’d
had occasion to sell them.”

His brow gathered briefly, but in question,
not concern. “By chance did these handkerchiefs bear roses and
doves?”

Olivia’s pulse quickened. “A few of them,
yes.”

“Allow me.” He took her basket and ran his
fingers over the topmost item. “Lovely. I think my mother sold all
of your handkerchiefs just today. In fact, the woman who bought
them wanted to meet you. She was most impressed with your
needlework.”

The best news! Perhaps she wouldn’t need
Saxton’s money. Olivia barely restrained herself from grinning like
a fool. “I’d be delighted to meet with her.”

“I’ll fetch Mother.” He gave her a jaunty
wink before depositing her basket on the floor and exiting the way
he’d come.

Olivia squeezed her hands together, trying
not to succumb to excitement. Just because the woman who’d
purchased the handkerchiefs wanted to meet her didn’t mean she’d
order enough embroidery to solve all of Olivia’s problems. Oh, but
wouldn’t that be grand? It was difficult not to let hope bloom.

Mrs. Gifford, a pleasant woman with a plump
frame, emerged from the back room. Her cheerful face broke into a
wide grin. “Good morning, Miss West. I’m so glad you’ve come
today.”

Mr. Gifford followed. Olivia immediately saw
the resemblance in the shape of their eyes and the jut of their
chins.

“I understand you’ve already met my son.
Samuel is a dear boy.” She looked at him with obvious love, a
painful reminder of Olivia’s loneliness. “Has he told you about
your handkerchiefs? I sold all of them not an hour ago to a lovely
woman. She’s eager to meet you. In fact, she may still be shopping
along the Strand. I’ll send my apprentice after her.”

Olivia could scarcely believe her luck, just
when she needed it most. Fortune must surely be smiling upon her
today. It was about time.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gifford. I’m happy to
wait.”

The shopkeeper nodded her silvery head. “I’ll
just go and send Becky off then. Samuel, why don’t you take Miss
West to the sitting room for tea?”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Gifford departed to the rear of the
store once more.

“The sitting room is just back here.” Mr.
Gifford retrieved Olivia’s basket and led her through a curtained
doorway to a small room containing a settee, chair, table, and
dressing screen. Presumably this was where Mrs. Gifford conducted
fittings.

“I’ll just get the tea. Please, sit.” Mr.
Gifford indicated the striped settee.

Olivia sat and waited for him to return. Her
mind continued to spin possibilities regarding the woman who’d
purchased her handkerchiefs. Perhaps she would commission enough to
allow Olivia to afford new lodgings. Beyond handkerchiefs, Olivia
could offer embroidered gowns, furniture covers, and any number of
accessories.

Mr. Gifford returned with the tea tray. It
had been years since she’d taken proper tea at the vicarage with
her foster mother, who was also her aunt. Olivia missed the
civilized ritual of it, particularly when teatime with Fiona
Scarlet had always included boisterous impropriety.

“Mr. Gifford, do you mind if I pour?”

“Not at all.”

He sat in the lone chair while Olivia poured
out. “Sugar?”

“Yes, please.”

Olivia handed him his cup and then made her
own. The first sip was heaven, but it could’ve tasted like dirt and
she wouldn’t have cared. Just the simple act of sitting in polite
company and enjoying a cup of tea was enough to make this a perfect
day. Add to that the potential for substantial income, and she was
fairly ecstatic.

He peered at her over his cup. “Your skill
with a needle is superior. You must have been embroidering for
quite some time.”

“Since I was a child. I find it relaxing, as
well as profitable.”

“My mother called you ‘Miss West.’” His face
reddened. “I wonder, that is, do you have an address at which I
might call on you?”

Call on her? In her youth, she’d imagined
gentlemen callers, a courtship, marriage. But in the ensuing years
with her mother, she’d given up on such folly. Furthermore, she
didn’t yet have permanent lodgings. “I, that is, I don’t have a
residence appropriate for social calls.” Goodness, that sounded
awful.

“Alone in London… You’re a brave young woman,
Miss West.” Respect shone on his face. “You’re an independent
seamstress then?”

Olivia nodded, liking that description
immensely. She studied Mr. Gifford for a moment. The flesh around
his left eye was puffy and red, with just a touch of purple that
might be explained away as part of his complexion. However, seated
in close proximity as they were now, she had a better vantage
point. He definitely looked wounded. “Did something happen to you?
Your eye…”

He set his cup down and gave a sheepish nod.
“It’s terribly embarrassing. I tripped down the stairs.”

“Heavens. Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I was carrying too many
bolts of wool. I apprentice with Mr. Weston.”

“Indeed?” He was nice-looking, courteous, and
working for the most illustrious tailor in London. Furthermore, he
seemed legitimately interested in
her
—not just her person.
She allowed herself to feel…flattered.

The bell over the front door of the shop
jingled. Olivia’s gut clenched. She set her teacup on the table and
smoothed her hands over her skirt, glad she’d worn her most
respectable gown.

Mr. Gifford leapt to his feet as the curtain
moved. An older lady—she was most certainly Quality—stepped through
the panels. She was dressed in the height of fashion, but with nary
a stitch of embroidery anywhere on her costume. Olivia suffered a
moment’s concern.

The lady’s gaze immediately settled on
Olivia. She looked her fill and then smiled, her diminutive
features lighting up. She walked to Olivia and took her hands. “My
dear, I am so pleased to meet you. I’m Lady Merriweather.”

Mrs. Gifford came in from the back door,
which presumably lead to the rearmost room of the ground floor. “My
goodness, Becky found you very quickly.”

“Yes, and I’m so glad she did,” Lady
Merriweather said, glancing at the young woman who’d followed her
through the curtain.

Olivia stood up and then had to look down at
the tiny woman. Lady Merriweather possessed the most vividly blue
eyes Olivia had ever seen. At once they made her feel charmed,
delighted, and cared for. A peculiar reaction upon meeting
someone.

Lady Merriweather turned to Mrs. Gifford, but
didn’t release Olivia’s hands. “I wonder if I might speak with Miss
West alone.”

“Of course. Come, Becky, Samuel.” Mrs.
Gifford gestured for them to follow her. Becky departed with
alacrity. Mr. Gifford, however, lingered a moment.

He bowed to Olivia. “It was my singular
pleasure to take tea with you, Miss West. I look forward to our
next meeting.”

“Indeed, thank you.” Though Olivia had very
much enjoyed their tea, she couldn’t wait for him to leave. She
sensed a barely contained energy in Lady Merriweather, and her
curiosity had the better of her.

Once they were alone, Lady Merriweather—still
holding Olivia’s hands—pulled her down to sit beside her upon the
settee. She studied her for a moment, beaming. Olivia couldn’t
begin to imagine why the woman appeared so happy.