Page 27

T he brass door knocker echoed down the dark, foggy cobblestone street. Ollie found himself at a small townhouse in a middle-class area of London with which he was unfamiliar.

He waited, eyes anchored to the glossy, black Georgian door, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, his head down just enough for the brim of his top hat to conceal his eyes should anyone walk by.

But he wasn’t feeling casual; he was quite on edge.

Somewhere nearby, Evelyn was hiding in the shadows, and even though she was out of sight, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

It had been a few hours since they’d kissed, and he still felt her lips against his. His fingers still felt the thick, wiry strands of her hair, the curve of her back against his palm. It was as if the moment had somehow burned into him.

Ollie still wasn’t convinced Evelyn had initiated the kiss.

It didn’t make sense. She hated touch, so wouldn’t that include kissing?

She’d recoiled from him any time he’d touched her unexpectedly.

And the kiss had been an unexpected one full of hesitation, further evidence he’d been the one who’d leaned in first and she hadn’t known what to do.

It had only lasted a moment, a slight brush before lips had met, a closed-mouth kiss, then nothing more.

No, he didn’t believe for a second she’d initiated that kiss.

He was the one losing his mind over her. Whenever Evelyn was around, his stomach did nauseating flips. At first, he’d thought he was getting ill. Maybe he was, but the illness wasn’t one remedied by a physician’s visit.

No, it was far direr.

It had started to dawn on him when she’d walked into his dining room, hypnotizing him. Something had practically hit him upside the head. Evelyn Sparrow was gorgeous—and he didn’t have a bloody chance with her.

And then there was the gut punch that had followed. He’d thought he’d lost her when she’d run away. It had been the most horrific feeling when he couldn’t find her. He hadn’t known what to think, and he’d nearly fallen apart because of it.

Ollie couldn’t deny it any longer. Evelyn was not just some woman from the pub, or walking down the street, or a lady nob from some insipid ball. She wasn’t even a simple friend.

No, Evelyn was something else entirely.

But how had it all managed to change in one day?

Not long ago, she’d been the woman fixing his brother’s art collection.

Mere hours later, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and protect her from the wrath of Fergus and Marjory, from her family, from the earl, from the world.

Comfort her, soothe her. With words, with his mouth, with his body.

With every minute movement she made, he wanted her more.

With every swish of her skirt, every lock of tumbling hair, the craving to feel her against him one more time got worse. Not better.

Ollie cleared his throat. He was utterly depraved.

And he desperately needed to get a hold of himself. Evelyn Sparrow was not an option. His family would absolutely flip. Victor, Dantes, and Vivian had all made it quite clear that of all the women in the world, Evelyn was the only one off limits.

To Dantes and Vivian, Evelyn was the woman restoring their prized artwork.

They wouldn’t want to sour that professional relationship—and had said so previously.

They knew Ollie’s reputation in chasing pretty women.

He couldn’t resist them, and he never stuck with the same woman for long.

But he’d never taken any of those relationships, if they could even be called that, seriously, either.

To Victor, Evelyn was too far up the social ladder. Victor despised the aristocracy and everything it stood for. And also, he thought Ollie had the maturity of a child. He would never support Ollie being responsible for another person.

And to Fergus and Marjory, she wasn’t Miss Elsa Campbell. Or was it Miss Isla Campbell? And Evelyn was English. The English runaway bride, which they didn’t know about yet, but they would find out eventually.

If somehow they were able to rise above their families, they couldn’t rise above their job responsibilities.

Ollie partially owned The Harp & Thistle, so he had to be there nearly every day for most of the day.

And he would never dream of asking Evelyn to leave her own career.

She had made it clear it was what she wanted most.

Not that he was considering marriage and a family right now, of course, that was silly. This was all just a strange train of thought as he waited for someone to answer the blasted door!

Irritated, he knocked again.

Though he was in a tough spot with his family, family was still important to him, and it still mattered that his family would love the woman he ended up spending his life with.

Years down the road, of course. But it mattered .

He loved his brothers. His grandparents, well, they’d taken him in and he was grateful for that.

Even though they hardly got along, they were the only family he had.

Ollie often wished he knew his mother’s family. Perhaps they would have been more agreeable than the McNabs. But, alas, that side would always remain unknown. She’d had no family left in London, according to Dantes and Victor.

Ollie knocked on the door, harder this time. If no one answered, he would leave. But then what would they do? They had no other leads for the Signature Swindler.

Somewhere in the dark, Evelyn cleared her throat, growing impatient now, too.

He wanted to kiss her again. Properly. He would pull her onto his lap, run his lips gently along her neck, leave her sighing, breathless.

He swore aloud.

“Is everything all right?” Evelyn whispered from somewhere nearby. The thick London fog concealed her exact whereabouts.

“Yes, I’m just frustrated no one is answering this door.” No, he was thinking about bedding her because he was a depraved scoundrel.

“I think someone’s coming,” she replied and sure enough, the door opened, spilling a ribbon of yellow light into the night. Somewhere inside the home, numerous voices overlapped rapidly, indicating a small party of sort.

“Yes?” a man stood in the doorway, frowning up at Ollie. Recognition hit the man after a moment. “Mr. McNab?”

“Hello, Mr. Burlington,” Ollie replied with barely masked disdain. Outside of the museum, James Burlington didn’t seem nearly as intimidating.

“What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

Ollie faltered. How would he shift this conversation? “I need your help.”

“Does this have anything to do with Miss Sparrow?” Burlington asked.

Ollie hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much to share with Evelyn’s colleague. He decided to be as vague as possible. “Sort of.”

Burlington looked up and down the street as if searching for her, but the fog was too thick. “Have you talked with her? Do you know where she is? Is she all right?”

Ollie ignored Burlington’s questions. “I need your help getting in touch with Mr. Albert Martin.”

Burlington blinked. “Why do you want to talk to Mr. Martin?”

Ollie didn’t respond.

Burlington looked back over his shoulder into his home then stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. Silence and darkness surrounded them. “I’ll tell you how to get in touch with Mr. Martin if you tell me what’s going on with Miss Sparrow.”

Ollie took a sharp inhale. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Then I can’t help you.”

This was a conundrum. But Evelyn had assured him they could trust Burlington. “You saw the newspapers. She’s being forced into a marriage she doesn’t want and ran away from it.”

Burlington nodded. “I also saw the letter she left on my desk, apologizing for her sudden departure, leaving us to unexpectedly manage our department with one less person. Curious, how she did that during the time of her disappearance. And now here you are seeking me out for information that somehow helps her, though I cannot figure out for the life of me how.”

Ollie stilled. The museum didn’t realize Dantes’s Gustave Courbet painting was missing yet. Even though it wasn’t from their collection, it had still been under their care and it would create significant negative attention for the museum if its theft were discovered.

“Why should I help you and her with anything when she left us in the lurch?”

Ollie kept quiet.

“Is she staying with you?” Burlington tilted his head slightly in a study of Ollie. Then he grinned widely. “She is, isn’t she? How fascinating. She left the altar for you.”

He swallowed. “That is not true.”

“Of course it is. The woman is obsessed with you. Surely, you know that.”

Hope flickered inside him, but Ollie resisted the urge to argue against such a blatantly ridiculous statement. Evelyn was the most intelligent person he had ever met. Meanwhile, he couldn’t even correctly count change for a cash register. “Can you help me get in touch with Mr. Martin or not?”

Burlington scratched at his jaw as he again eyed the area surrounding them. “Give me a minute.” He then disappeared into the house.

Ollie let out a long breath. That had gone better than expected.

A moment later, the door opened again. Ollie had expected Burlington to emerge with a scrap of paper containing an address, but to Ollie’s surprise, it was a new person.

Mr. Burlington stepped out from behind the man, made the introductions between Ollie and Mr. Martin, then retreated into the house when Ollie refused to say anything in his presence.

This new, blond fellow was taller than Mr. Burlington, and he looked hardly a day out of university. “Yes?” the man asked while looking at Ollie with confusion. “You’re looking for me?”

What luck he was already here! “Yes. You’re the museum director for the Bethnal Green Museum, correct?”

“That’s right. Paintings curator as well. What’s this about?” Mr. Martin crossed his arms, concern pulling at his brow.

“I wanted to ask about your encounter with the Signature Swindler.”