Page 48 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

L ady Jo Everly hung in the shadows outside the servant’s entrance. She pulled her hood longer over her head.

It was late. The moon nestled behind the plummy clouds in the coal-colored sky and animals she dared not imagine skittered about in the many crevices behind the massive townhouse.

But she knew the butler would be awake. Hazard of his trade.

Though the man he served was altered, the butler’s habits could not be.

Being ready at all hours—especially the late ones—was what the position called for.

And Carlisle had served the Winchester family his entire life. He was one of the best for a reason.

Which was why Lady Everly only had to knock once—and only lightly—before she could hear the footsteps marching on the other side of the door.

Nevertheless, as good as Carlisle was, even he couldn’t hide his surprise when he came upon her face that evening.

“Lady Everly,” he said, quickly regaining his composure. With supreme effort, he un-furrowed his brow. “It’s… ah… well, it’s late.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she answered readily.

The firmness in her tone helped to settle the butler’s apprehension. He pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “He is not expecting company, my lady.”

At the mention of Oliver, Jo’s confidence began to falter. It had taken her days—weeks—to muster the courage to come to this place, and now all she yearned to do was flee back to the safety of her home, locking her heart back behind the bars she’d caged it in all these years.

But she’d come this far…

Jo stepped around the butler, entering the kitchens. Even though everything was cleaned and put away for the night, the warm smells of spices and baked bread twisted her stomach in knots. It smelled like a home. A home that, at one point, she had been sure would be hers. Theirs.

Jo shoved the emotions to the far reaches of her mind and turned back to the butler. She smiled, but knew it was weak. “The duke hasn’t expected me for quite some time,” she said evenly.

Carlisle shook his head, his expression painfully hopeless. “My lady—” He hesitated. “He’s not well enough for visitors…”

Jo ignored him, making for the stairs. “Oh, come now, Carlisle,” she tossed over her shoulder. “When have I ever been a visitor?”

*

Even in the moonless night, Jo found the room easily, remembering which step squeaked, which floorboard groaned. Carlisle followed her the entire way, but he gave up trying to stop her. He remembered too.

This time Jo didn’t knock. From what she’d learned, Oliver wouldn’t answer anyway.

All of London was talking about it. The headaches.

The opium. The changes in the man who used to be the life and breath of every ton event.

The way he’d hidden away like some monster in the attic.

A fairytale prince who’d angered the wrong witch and now had to live out his existence as some horrid half-thing.

Jo crept into the room. Behind her, Carlisle sucked in an anxious breath, but instead of scaring her, it incited her to go on and close the door after her.

Goosebumps immediately erupted under her layers of clothes. The room was freezing, with the long, heavy curtains swaying fitfully against the half-open windows.

Jo’s nostrils itched from the colliding smells.

Caustic and sterile metallic scents mixed with sweat and the fruity hints of wine.

Sure enough, Jo spotted an empty bottle on the table near the bed, along with a smaller amber bottle next to it.

She didn’t need to guess its contents. For years, her mother had used opium to find sleep.

Most of London used the miracle cure in one way or another.

But Oliver hadn’t. Not until now.

Jo had waited long enough. Finally, she let her eyes venture to the body lying motionless in the bed.

Her hands clenched at her sides as she took him in.

It had been months since they’d shared a space, and she had to stifle a sob as she witnessed all that had changed in him.

He’d lost so much weight. The bedding covered him like a shroud, seemingly pressing Oliver into the mattress.

His face was gaunt, the skin pulled tight and waxy along its many angles.

His eyes sank deep into their sockets, giving him a skeletal effect that came close to breaking her.

But it was Oliver’s hair that proved to be her undoing, yanking the sob from her throat.

Jo had heard the doctors had shorn it away to ascertain the damage to his skull, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

Oliver appeared so young and fragile lying there in front of her.

He’d believed himself to be invincible. He’d been so sure of himself that Jo had believed it as well.

Slowly, she reached out toward the jagged scar on the left side of his head but stopped short of tracing the horrid mark. Inky hair sprouted at its edges, but like stubborn grass that wouldn’t grow in certain spots, it refused to hide the craggy wound.

Jo stumbled back. The ground started to waver under her feet. She was off balance and the small amount of food she’d forced herself to eat earlier in the day threatened to come back up.

She’d told herself she could do this, but she’d been wrong. It was too much. Too soon.

But then it hit her, and Jo righted herself instantly.

Oliver had always been too much, too soon. It was what had made them perfect for each other. It was also what had ruined any happiness they could have had together.

Jo inflated her lungs and sat on the bed, perching herself near Oliver’s side. His breathing was smooth and calm in the deep throes of opium-induced sleep. He wouldn’t wake up. He would never know she was here, which was the entire point.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she said softly. “I didn’t know if you’d even want me to come or what I would say to you.” Jo smiled wistfully. “I still don’t.”

Before she could stop herself, Jo ran the back of her fingers over the edge of Oliver’s cheekbone. Her lips quivered at the sharpness.

She pressed herself to go on. “For the longest time I hated you. Maybe I still do. But even still, I couldn’t stay away. I tried. You have no idea how hard I tried. But when I learned that you could have died…”

Tears fell onto the bed. Jo swiped them off her face, annoyed at the emotion she couldn’t contain. “I realized that I couldn’t go through this life without your knowing the truth.”

Jo leaned forward. She came face to face with Oliver, stopping just before her lips skimmed against his own.

His wine-sweetened breath fanned her mouth and a multitude of memories—of happier, more innocent times—spanned across Jo’s memory.

His strong hands holding her hips… his inappropriate whispers in her ears…

his stares from across ballrooms that told everyone that she was her and only hers. Forever.

The words began to waver as Jo continued. “I do hate you; I hate you so much because of what you took from me—what you took from us.”

Jo’s neck felt impossibly weak. She yearned to rest her forehead on Oliver’s as she used to. However, that was a bridge she dared not cross. She came here to do one more thing, and then she would leave knowing she’d left nothing behind.

“But I didn’t come to tell you that I hate you, Ollie.

Besides, you already know that.” Jo closed her eyes.

“I came to tell you that I love you. I’ve always loved you and I always will.

You were the only one for me. For the longest time, I thought we were made especially for each other.

That God had designed this exquisite pair to show the world what perfect love could be.

And we, in our infinite humanity, wrecked it. ”

Jo stared at his mouth. She was tempted. So tempted. One last kiss to hold close. To remind her of being young and sweet and helplessly in love.

But she pulled away. Because Jo wasn’t young anymore. Or innocent. Or even sweet. She was a grown woman. Finally ready to move on.

She stacked her hands in her lap, feeling sheepish. Silly. Her voice came out deep and gruff. “So, now you know. I will love you forever. It’s not worth much, but take it for what you will. Get better, Oliver. Live. For my sake. You owe me.”

Then Jo got up from the bed and left the room. She didn’t look back. She wouldn’t let herself.

It was done.

*

Oliver waited for the door to close. And just to be sure, he waited a few more minutes.

Only then did he open his eyes.

And smile.

And utter to himself, “Well, I’ll be damned.”