His Wicked Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

do?”
    Miss Clifton, ribbons cascading from her
fingertips, gaped at Olivia.
    “I protected myself. Mr. Clifton was…too
familiar.”
    Mrs. Johnson sucked in a breath. “Did you
hurt him? I heard a noise.” She peered around Olivia.
    Fright and anxiety suffused Olivia in sweat.
She had to get out of the shop. “He’s fine. I think.”
    The shopkeeper returned her narrowed gaze to
Olivia. “If you’ve done him harm, pray he doesn’t notify the
watch.”
    Olivia’s fear crested into panic. She tried
to push past Mrs. Johnson, but the older woman grabbed her arm.
“You’re a fool to refuse his offer.”
    “I’m not for sale, Mrs. Johnson.” Olivia’s
voice shook with anger and revulsion. “I was raised as a
gentlewoman.”
    Mrs. Johnson sneered, revealing yellowed
teeth. “You’re no gentlewoman now. From what I’ve seen, you can’t
afford to refuse Clifton, and I refuse to lose his business!
If you leave now, you’ll never work for me again.”
    “I know. Here.” She pulled the dresses from
the basket and thrust them at Mrs. Johnson so the shopkeeper had to
let go of her arm. The loss of income, especially for the dresses
she’d just brought, was something she’d contemplate—and bitterly
regret—later, but now she just had to get out of the shop.
    The curtain behind her rustled. Olivia turned
her head just as Mr. Clifton’s beet-colored face appeared. Sweat
ran down his cheek as he limped into the shop, retribution etched
into his angry features.
    Olivia sprinted for the door and freedom
beyond.
    “I’m not finished with you!” Clifton’s
furious promise chased her from the shop.
    Olivia ran until perspiration trailed down
her back in rivulets. When her lungs felt close to bursting, she
slowed. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed she hadn’t been
followed. At least not that she could see.
    She walked quickly, her breathing coming in
fast, hard pants. Mr. Clifton may not be on her heels, but his
declaration still rang in her ears.
    Twice in as many days she’d suffered attacks
on her person. The protective cocoon she’d carefully built in the
months since her mother’s death was crumbling around her. She
supposed it was bound to happen. How safe could a young, unmarried
woman with no family hope to be in London?
    Olivia forced her panic into a cold knot of
determination. Though she’d lived with her mother the past seven
years, she’d spent the entirety ensuring her own well-being.
    If she could manage to find
employment—honest, decent employment—she could continue as she’d
done. She’d survived nearly a year on her own, and she refused to
let these two lamentable occurrences beat her down. She simply had
to find more sewing work immediately. Several embroidered
handkerchiefs sat at the bottom of her basket. She made her way
toward the Strand where there were several shops that might be
interested in purchasing her work.
    Her options, like her meager savings and her
food stores, were dwindling. She could almost see how her mother
had fallen into the position of courtesan. How easy it must have
been to accept a protector and enjoy all of the luxuries that
accompanied such an arrangement. But Olivia couldn’t countenance
suffering the unsavory proclivities of the man who all but owned
her.
    Unless the man wasn’t unsavory at all. Like
Lord Saxton. Little flutters danced in her belly as she recalled
his fair hair and pale blue eyes.
    She cringed at the direction of her mind. She
wasn’t yet willing to take on her mother’s trade. And there was the
key: yet . Which meant she was already beginning to consider
it.

Chapter Three
     

     
    THAT AFTERNOON, Jasper strode into his
parents’ drawing room. As the space was not yet filled to the brim
with Important Persons, he was able to make his way quickly to his
aunt, the only person he really cared to see. In truth, he’d rather
be anywhere else, but duty dictated he suffer his mother’s
bi-weekly tea, which was a means to