His Wicked Heart (9 page)

She was well aware of the benefits. The money
was an obvious need, but the intimacy of sharing a night with him
would give her more than food, shelter, or clothing. It would warm
her through a hundred—maybe a thousand—lonely nights. But the cost
was too dear. She wouldn’t change her mind. “Don’t come back. I
made a mistake.”

His features flashed with fury. “Damn it,
Olivia. I am
not
a mistake. I am the Earl of Saxton.”

And more tempting than the devil himself. She
summoned her anger. Needed it if she wanted to keep him at bay.
“I’m not interested in a liaison with you. You’ll have to satisfy
your lust with someone else.”

With a few quick steps, he came around the
table. She flattened herself against the wall. He didn’t touch her,
but his lips hovered above hers. “I don’t want anyone else. I want
you.” The barest touch of his mouth against hers, a whisper of a
kiss. “Only you.”

He pulled back, whisking his coat from the
chair. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Olivia sagged against the wall. It was only a
matter of time before she surrendered. Because of the money, and
because she couldn’t deny what he said…and he knew it.

He glanced at the pound notes strewn about by
the breeze. “Keep the money. You’ll pay the debt—somehow.”

Her gaze strayed to the door.

He thrust his arms into his coat sleeves, his
face stern and beautiful. “Don’t run from me, Olivia. I’ll find
you.”

At last, he left. Her knees wilted, and she
slid to the floor. She couldn’t be here come tomorrow. Though she
knew it would infuriate him, she had to take the ten pounds and
run. And pray he never found her.

JASPER COULDN’T wait to hit someone. He
strode toward the Black Horse Court and the tavern that bore the
same name, his long gait devouring the cobblestones beneath his
feet.

He still couldn’t believe she’d deceived him.
He didn’t give his trust lightly, and tonight was a painful
reminder why. Nevertheless, he still wanted her. More than he’d
ever wanted anyone. More than Abigail.

And not just because of her beauty—Olivia was
spirited and intelligent and unafraid to seek her own fortune. God,
she’d set him afire. All while lying through her beautiful
teeth.

He had great difficulty believing she wasn’t
a prostitute—the skill she’d displayed before blindfolding him was
not that of a virtuous young maiden. Abigail had demonstrated no
such prowess.

However, if Olivia were a prostitute, there
was no reason for her to have concocted her swindle in the first
place. She would’ve taken his money and provided her services. So
why the ruse?

His pace slowed as he turned into the court.
He assumed her financial situation was dire, but to blindfold him
and leave him to the mercy of some unknown whore was inexcusable.
He intended to discover the truth, and maybe, if she could manage
to keep from telling more lies, he’d offer to help her in a manner
that didn’t involve fraud. And if he found her to be as innocent as
she claimed, he would argue that trading her honor was never an
acceptable solution. Ten years ago he’d allowed his honor to be
stripped from him, and he would never, ever let it happen
again.

Fisting his hands, he stalked into the
crowded common room of the Black Horse Tavern. Sevrin typically sat
at a table in the back corner with other members of the club.
Jasper’s gaze settled on them, and he made his way to the lone
empty chair.

“Evening, Saxton. I’d offer you some gin,”
Sevrin gestured to the bottle on the table, “but I know you prefer
whiskey.”

Gin sounded just fine after the night he’d
had. “Is there a spare cup?”

Sevrin chuckled and motioned for the serving
girl, who quickly deposited a chipped mug on the table. Jasper
didn’t wait for niceties and poured himself a healthy draught. He
took a deep, stinging drink, noting the entrance of two women, one
with radiant red hair. She wasn’t Olivia, but her presence reminded
him of her duplicity.

“You ready for conversation yet?” Sevrin
asked with a more than a bit of sarcasm. Jasper shot him a warning
glance, but Sevrin didn’t seem to care. He gestured to the lean
young man sitting to his left. “This is Gifford. I don’t think
you’ve met.”

Jasper contemplated the smoothness of
Gifford’s jaw, the narrow set of his shoulders. He wasn’t terribly
young, but neither had he reached full manhood. “Is he old enough
to fight?”

Sevrin called for ale. “Don’t be an old fart,
Saxton.”

“Will you fight tonight?” the young man
asked.

“Aye.” Jasper drained the cup, eager for the
gin to take the edge off his emotions. Coupled with a good fight,
soon he wouldn’t feel a thing.

“Your knuckles have been bleeding, Sax,”
Sevrin observed. “You already get into it tonight?”

“A necessary interruption.”

“I suppose that means you weren’t at some
Society event. Isn’t there a ball or dinner party that needs your
attendance?”

A musicale at Lady Ponsonby’s, not that
Jasper cared. “Probably.”

Their ale was delivered—one tankard for each
of the three men at the table. Sevrin took a long draught before
saying, “I understand you’ll be selecting a bride soon.”

Jasper swilled the rest of his gin. “How do
you know that?”

“My membership at White’s is still intact.”
Sevrin grinned. “There are some things even stiff-necked Society
pricks can’t take from a viscount. I saw at least a dozen wagers in
the betting book as to who she’ll be. Care to give me a tip?”

“No.”

A crash from the other side of the common
room drew their attention. Then came a shriek. Gifford jumped to
his feet. Jasper and the others followed.

The commotion grew. Gifford preceded them
toward the altercation. On the floor, a man straddled one of the
women who’d entered. “Ye’re coming with me.”

She struggled, but the man was too big for
her. Gifford reached down and threw him to the side. The boy was
much stronger than he looked.

The man scrambled to his feet, but Gifford
advanced on him. “You shouldn’t beat up women.” He grabbed the man
by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. His head
hit the wood with a loud smack. Surprisingly, he didn’t lose
consciousness.

The tavern keeper rushed to Sevrin. “Not in
the common room. We have an arrangement.”

Sevrin nodded and moved to Gifford’s side. He
pulled on the lad’s arm. “Go to the back. I’ll take care of this.”
His voice was stern.

Gifford hesitated a moment, then he turned
without a word.

“Go with him,” Sevrin said to Jasper.

He nodded and followed the youth into the
back room they used for fighting. He stepped over the threshold
just as he heard a grunt. Gifford stood near the far wall shaking
out his hand.

“Did the wall somehow offend?” Jasper crossed
the room and studied the lad’s hand. “I thought you meant to tear
that man’s limbs from his body.”

“I might’ve, if not for Sevrin. If not for
this club.”

Though he’d only just joined, Jasper shared
his sentiment. In the midst of Holborn’s expectations, he’d needed
something he could take inside himself and hold close. Fighting the
other night and tonight dulled the sharp edges of his emotions,
made the cold requirements of his station palatable. Jasper
marveled at the commonality between him and this young man. “I
think I understand.”

Gifford gave a commiserative nod, his eyes
burning bright. “You can do things here, be different here.”

Sevrin stalked into the room. “Christ, Giff,
you know the rules. No fighting outside this room.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He said the words, but
he didn’t look contrite at all. The fire in his gaze was hot and
vivid. “I just couldn’t let him bully her.”

“You might try words first next time.” Sevrin
motioned toward the makeshift bar along the wall. “Go on, Giff,
have a drink.” The young man took himself off, the obstinate jut of
his chin suggesting he needed the libation.

A woman pushed open a back door that Jasper
hadn’t noticed during his previous visits. Several others tried to
follow her inside, but Sevrin crossed the room and ushered them
out. “Damn prostitutes.”

Other members began arriving, each hailing
Jasper with a strong handshake or a hearty greeting. Sevrin
returned to Jasper’s side. “Lightskirts from the neighborhood
loitering in the hope of income.”

Was Olivia one of them? “Tell me, is there a
red-haired beauty among them?”

Sevrin’s brows narrowed. “I don’t think so.
There’s a carrot-topped woman, quite buxom, but I wouldn’t term her
a beauty. Wait, do you mean Olivia West? She lives across the
street in Coventry Court with a group of women who do come
here.”

Jasper turned toward him sharply. “What do
you know of her? Is she a prostitute?”

“She doesn’t hang about with the others. Come
to think of it, I’ve never seen her hawking her wares.”

Just because Sevrin hadn’t seen her didn’t
mean she was innocent. Of anything.

Sevrin clapped him on the shoulder. “You
ready?”

“More than.” Jasper shrugged out of his coat,
eager to banish all thought of Olivia. At least for tonight.

THE following morning, Olivia tucked the last
of her belongings—her mother’s painted box containing Saxton’s ten
pounds—in her old valise. She’d also stuffed her sewing basket and
tattered bag, but she’d still have to leave a few things behind and
perhaps come back for them later.

She’d spent the night tossing fitfully. The
heat in her tiny, airless room was more than enough to keep sleep
away, but coupled with tormenting thoughts of Lord Saxton’s kisses
and the way she’d deceived him, she’d been helpless to do anything
but stare at her ceiling. A ceiling she must now bid farewell. At
least she could afford a decent place to stay for the short
term.

She lugged her items down the four flights of
stairs and set them in the corner of the entry hall. Brushing her
hands on her skirt, she turned and went to Mrs. Reddy’s door. She
rapped twice and waited patiently for the landlady to appear.

The moment stretched, causing a bead of
concern to wedge between Olivia’s eyebrows as she stared at the
door. She raised her hand to knock again, but the portal cracked
open to reveal Mrs. Reddy’s battered face.

“Livvie,” she croaked and opened the door
wider. “Come to check on me?”

“Are you all right, Mrs. Reddy?” Olivia tried
not to wince as she looked at the damage to the woman’s eye and
throat. Memories of her mother’s countless beatings pounded the
recesses of her mind, but she refused to visit them.

Mrs. Reddy waved her hand. “Bah, I’ve had
worse.”

Olivia peered around the woman to see if she
too had packed her things, but there was no evidence of it. “Are
you ready to leave with Lord Saxton?” She kept the tremor from her
voice. She could
not
be here when he arrived. Heavens, what
if he was on his way even now? Oh, but surely earls didn’t rise at
this hour.

“I don’t think I’m leaving. I’m comfortable
here.” She stuck her chin out in a thoroughly stubborn fashion.

Olivia wasn’t surprised. “You must go. Unless
you’re content to die at Mr. Reddy’s hands.” She didn’t say that
lightly. Olivia firmly believed Mrs. Reddy could very well die from
one of his beatings. She’d seen it happen firsthand.

“Doubt it. He likes havin’ me to smack
around.” She exhaled heavily and glanced behind her. A piece of
parchment sat atop her small dining table. “His lordship sent a
note a little while ago. Threatened to haul me off to debtors’
prison if I don’t work off what I owe.”

Of course he did. Just as he’d threatened
Olivia with the magistrate. And then he’d sworn that she’d repay
the debt after insisting she take his money. “Lord Saxton is
ruthless. I wouldn’t take his threats lightly.” Not that Olivia was
following her own advice. Even now, her feet itched to run.

Mrs. Reddy rubbed her dirty hand across her
forehead. “I suppose. He’ll be here soon anyway. Guess I have to
make up me mind.”

Olivia’s breath seemed to evaporate right out
of her chest. “Soon? When is he coming?”

“Noon.”

Relief nearly collapsed Olivia’s frame
against the door. “He won’t give you a choice. If you refuse his
demand, he’ll take you to prison.”

“You think he’d do that?”

“In a trice. Don’t you see you can’t stay
here? He’s taken that option away from you entirely.”
From both
of us
. Anger burned beneath Olivia’s already heated skin.

Mrs. Reddy’s thin shoulders slumped. “I don’t
want to work for him.”

Olivia didn’t blame her, but for Mrs. Reddy
it would be far preferable to her current existence. “It won’t be
bad. I’m sure his lordship is…kind.” She reasoned it was acceptable
to lie in order to better this poor woman’s life.