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H ambone’s gray, fluffy tail flicked back and forth as she lay curled up on Ollie’s lap in the chair by the fireplace. She stared up at him with those big, round eyes as if waiting for him to do something.

It was impossible to resist petting her—she was too cute to ignore, even in this cloud of melancholy.

Not that she would let him ignore her if she wanted his attention, anyway.

As he ran his hand over her fur, she began to purr loudly.

Hambone really was a beautiful cat and he sometimes wondered how she’d ended up in a rubbish bin with a Christmas ham.

Someone somewhere had to have paid a pretty coin to a breeder for her.

But she also had to have been on her own for a long while because she’d been absolutely filthy when he’d found her.

“Do you remember that time I had to give you a bath? When I brought you home?” he mused with a chuckle. “I’m surprised you let me survive that.”

Hambone replied with a tiny mew.

“Mrs. Chapman was not happy I had brought home a dirty feline and she refused to go near you, told me to do it myself if I wanted to keep you. And I did, didn’t I?”

Hambone batted a soft paw at his cheek.

“Do you remember your old owners? Your old humans? Were they good to you?”

The fluffy cat yawned, exposing her sharp teeth. She then began to groom her front paws.

“I suppose if you were treated well, you wouldn’t have left.

Or, maybe, you were a lady cat scoundrel and wanted to do whatever you pleased.

” He watched as she licked her paw. “I bet you got the attention of all the tomcats. And I bet you bit any that came near you. Am I right?” He rubbed the top of her head and she glared at him.

Ollie chuckled and watched the fire dance.

“Funny how we both came from the gutter. Now look at us, in this nice townhome. You have your collection of bows; I have the best suits a man could buy. And yet we don’t really have much, do we?

Oh, sure, a house and food. We have survival and comfort.

But what’s my purpose? Do I really live to work at a pub?

Is that truly going to be the rest of my life?

Wake up to an empty house, go to work, come back home to an empty house?

Aside from you and the house staff, of course. ”

Ollie looked down at Hambone again and found she had fallen asleep.

He let out a sigh and now that he didn’t have a distraction, the guilt gnawed at him like a hungry rat.

He felt awful for turning his back on Evelyn and storming out of the room earlier.

He was hardly one to do that, and usually, it was she who had the heightened emotions, but he was a jumble of the most bizarre feelings ever since they’d gotten married.

It was to be expected, of course.

What hadn’t been expected, however, was how he’d felt after the ceremony.

Happy.

Which was absurd.

They’d been backed into a corner, almost literally, and it made sense to go through with the wedding at the time. They had agreed on rules and expectations. Neither of them wanted to get married to the other, especially for life, but it was the best way to protect Evelyn.

And he wanted to protect her at all costs.

But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he had a wife. Even though he didn’t, not really. His “wife” was itching to leave and go on with her life. She was already planning out their separation. Evelyn was running away already.

Of course, he would agree to it, there was no question about that.

He had no business being responsible for a wife.

And all she wanted out of life was her career and she seemed to think she could return to her job.

He wasn’t so sure, in all honesty, but what did he know?

She was brilliant at it, so he didn’t blame her for loving it, but she didn’t have room for him in her hopes and dreams. And she had made sure that was clear to him.

Not that he wanted that, anyway. A husband should love his wife, and he didn’t love her. Yes, he cared about her wellbeing. He definitely lusted after her—that would be idiotic to deny at this point. But he didn’t love her.

But why could he not stop thinking about her?

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the ceremony?

The way she’d smiled up at him, the feel of her small hand in his, the moment he’d slid the ring onto her perfect finger.

A family, none of them related by blood, but who had kept him safe and alive during his most vulnerable years, had witnessed the moment.

They’d congratulated him, shared tips for a happy marriage, offered best wishes, hugged him, and shook his hand.

For the first time in his life, it had felt like he had a purpose, other than being Victor’s scapegoat.

Ollie still couldn’t understand why the thief hadn’t been there, though.

Maybe he was also from their old Whitechapel street gang and thought Ollie might somehow recognize him and turn him in?

It was also possible the thief just happened to know some of those men.

But Ollie’s most pressing question was why the thief made the wedding happen to help Evelyn.

That, to Ollie, made the least sense out of everything.

He didn’t trust the thief for a moment. So, what was his goal?

Did he truly want to help Evelyn in some roundabout way, or was he cooking up something to destroy them?

And when would they get the blasted painting back?!

Ollie closed his eyes to level out the irritation the thief always seemed to lift. It helped—marginally.

Tomorrow, they would have her family over for dinner, tell them the news, and then start figuring out the separation aspect. The sooner they began, the better.

Hambone shifted and when Ollie opened his eyes, he found she had woken up. He gave her a little kiss on her forehead. “Did you dream about ham?” he asked while scratching under her chin.

Hambone mewed before getting a spooky, wild-eyed look she sometimes got.

The unsettling one where, in the middle of the night, she would stare wide-eyed at one specific corner of the parlor, making him wonder if ghosts might be real.

Though she had never done this before in his bedroom, which made him a bit uneasy.

She jumped off his lap and ran to his door, where she began to scratch at it.

“Hang on, hang on,” Ollie said while trying to catch up to the fur ball. As soon as he opened his bedroom door, she bolted out and ran down the hallway.

And stopped at Evelyn’s closed door.

Ollie swore under his breath. “Do you really need to get into her bedroom right this second?” The last thing he wanted right now was to see Evelyn. But, of course, Hambone insisted. She began pawing at Evelyn’s door and meowing loudly.

The door opened and Evelyn’s eyes widened at seeing Ollie.

But then she looked down and saw Hambone.

He noted she had a new dress on. It was a dark-green woolen dress with a yellow panel on the front and yellow piping around the bodice, sleeve openings, and skirt hem.

It was one he had seen her wear many times.

It fit her form perfectly. Beautifully, really, as if she were a new spring daffodil.

Ollie shoved the thought away. When a man began thinking like a poet, he was already deep in trouble.

Evelyn made a cooing noise to Hambone and said, “Aw, have you finally come to me for snuggles?” Reaching down, she picked up the cat.

But Hambone had something else in mind, wiggled out of Evelyn’s grasp, and rushed into her bedroom. Evelyn and Ollie exchanged a charged but awkward glance before following.

Hambone didn’t stop until she’d reached the window. She hopped up onto a small table beside one, stood up on her hindlegs, and pressed her wet nose against the glass.

Ollie and Evelyn hurried over to see what she was looking at. And down below, they saw a black tricorn hat disappear over the back stone wall.

“Finally!” Evelyn exclaimed, and with an eagerness that made Ollie feel even worse, she ran out of her room and down to the servants’ back entrance. She flung the door open and there on the ground was a note underneath another stone.

Evelyn eagerly took it up. “I swear if he plays any more games…” but her words trailed off as she peered down at the piece of paper.

Ollie studied the concentration on her face.

It was one she often held while deep in thought in the midst of working on a painting.

The corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly, her brows knit together just a little bit.

And if you talked to her while she was deep into her work, she wouldn’t hear you.

Not for several minutes, anyway. It was oddly endearing.

“It’s an address again.” She finally lifted her eyes to his and shoved the paper at him. “I don’t know if this is good, or if he’s playing further tricks on us.”

“He did promise the painting as a wedding present, and we did get married, didn’t we?” Ollie replied, trying to sound casual.

Evelyn’s cheeks flushed and she looked away.

Feeling off-balance, Ollie took the piece of paper and looked at the address. He swore out loud.

“What is it?” Evelyn asked. “Do you know that address too?”

He nodded. “I think it’s the tenements across from the Bethnal Green Museum. Looks like we have to go back there.” As he gave the paper back to her, he admired her green-and-yellow dress again.

“You changed,” he said, realizing how close they stood and needing to fill the moment with something innocuous.

Evelyn was only half a step away. He felt her pull, as if she were a magnet and he were iron.

As she took the paper from him, her hand accidentally brushed against his.

She took in a sharp breath, jerked her hand back, and stepped away.

No, this marriage could never be. Ollie loved touch, everything from embraces to heated intimacy, but Evelyn was wishy-washy regarding that.

Sometimes she enjoyed it—she admitted it herself—and sometimes she didn’t.

And it never made sense why she’d been accepting of it in the moments she had been.

Was he supposed to guess for the rest of his life if she were open to touch or not?

She cleared her throat and averted her eyes. “Let me go grab my hat. And then we can go see what he has to say this time.”

*

It took them a while to find the specific tenement the thief had indicated, but they eventually found it on the top floor.

Considering what had happened previously, Ollie motioned for Evelyn to stay behind him.

This time, it was definitely safest for her to follow.

They knew where their foe was. “Whatever we find behind that door, we go in, grab the painting, and leave.”

Evelyn nodded.

Ollie knocked and a moment later a voice said, “Come in.”

The door was unlocked. Ollie led Evelyn inside and was surprised to find it wasn’t a small tenement home with threadbare furniture like he’d been expecting. It seemed to be a large storage area.

“What is this place?” Evelyn whispered as they went farther into the dim room. It reminded Ollie a bit of the conservation center at the Bethnal Green Museum. There was artwork all over the place, though it was far more organized and there was far less.

“Hello?” Ollie called out, receiving no response, while Evelyn began to study the paintings around the room. She approached a wall where several paintings were hung like in a gallery.

“What is that?” Ollie asked as he watched her study it with deep concentration. She didn’t respond right away, so he decided to study it next to her. It was the Westminster Bridge.

Evelyn moved onto the next one and Ollie followed.

This next painting was a portrait of a beautiful woman.

She had a mass of black hair piled atop her head, brown eyes, and a serene smile.

It felt like her eyes pierced into his soul, and it seemed familiar.

It must have been something the thief had lifted from somewhere, and likely something he had seen in one of Evelyn’s art history books.

“I wonder who she is,” Evelyn said to herself as she studied it.

“The painter’s method is interesting. Look closely, Ollie.

See how the paintbrush strokes are full of energy, seemingly erratic and random?

Almost violent, in a way. But then you stand back…

” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him several steps back.

His heart raced and his skin heated from her touch.

Oh, the effects she had on him! Mere glances, small smiles, the lightest brush of her fingertips and she sent his mind and heart buzzing as if she had wrapped her body around his.

Tommy Malone could have been mugging him again and Ollie wouldn’t even notice, too lost in Evelyn in the moment.

Now that they were back to hunting down the thief, everything seemed back to normal. The awkwardness that had haunted him throughout the day had disappeared. Now, he was starting to revisit the memory of kissing her. Or her kissing him, as she’d claimed.

“Ollie, are you paying attention?” Evelyn asked.

“Apologies.” He scratched an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

She huffed. “What were you thinking about?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, of course.”

Should he tell her? Or lie? He decided to toe the line a bit, test the waters, see how she would react.

He still secretly hoped there would be a moment where he could show her what a passionate kiss felt like.

Ollie looked around, ensuring they were still alone.

Embracing the scoundrel side of him, he leaned down to her ear and in a deep, low voice, said, “I was thinking about kissing you.”

Evelyn let out a tiny gasp and when he pulled back—only a bit—she remained in place, staring up at him, her face flushed. Unable to help himself, he grinned. As she held his gaze, her hand reached up to her hat, patting and fussing with it.

“We should… We should keep looking.” She turned and nearly bumped into the wall.

Ollie gently placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her in the correct direction. “This way, wife,” he said, finding he was enjoying teasing her a little bit.

“Don’t call me that,” she replied weakly.

“Why not? You are my wife. For now.”

Evelyn cleared her throat, didn’t argue further, and studied the rest of the paintings for clues. But to his pleasant surprise, she also didn’t stray too far from him. In fact, she kept rather close.

The moment would happen soon, he could feel it, and he could hardly wait.