Lunging for her, he grabbed her wrist and tugged until she tumbled back into his arms, tucking her up beneath him. “I don’t care in the least about the final item. He can keep it.”
“Have you no curiosity at all?”
“What does it matter what it is? Nothing Lovingdon can give me now is more valuable than you. He could take it all back and as long as I have you, it wouldn’t matter.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Tears of sorrow he hoped she’d seldom have, but tears of joy sparkled differently and those he enjoyed bringing her.
“You are not one to often say lovely things, Jack, but when you do, you have no idea how deeply I am touched.”
“I don’t believe in romance, Livy, but for you I will try to the best of my ability—as sadly lacking as that may be.”
“I love you so much.”
He wondered if those words would always slam into his heart and give him such an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm, her wrist, her elbow…
With a sigh of surrender she murmured, “I have not the strength to resist you. I forbid you to make love to me before Beckwith arrives.”
Chuckling at the challenge, he proceeded to show her, once again, that he was not a man who could be ordered about.
Chapter 23
Jack had told Livy true. He no longer cared about the final item. At this point it was little more than a bother, because it meant they couldn’t spend the entire morning in bed engaged in making mad, passionate love.
Beckwith strode into the library with his leather satchel and bowed slightly. “Lady Olivia, Mr. Dodger, congratulations on your recent marriage.”
Jack had known that by marrying him, Livy was giving up the title of duchess. Still, it was a surprise to hear her addressed as “Lady,” an honor that came to her through her father. But she’d told him she was content with her new station in life. He intended to do all in his power to see she never regretted it.
“Thank you, Mr. Beckwith,” Livy said, squeezing Jack’s hand as though she thought he needed reassurance.
“We appreciate your making time for us in your busy schedule, Beckwith,” Jack said. “As we’re also quite busy, let’s get this matter taken care of as quickly as possible, shall we?”
“Of course. If I may?” Beckwith indicated the desk.
“Absolutely. Whatever hastens your visit.”
Olivia slapped his arm. Jack scowled at her. “What?”
“You’re being inhospitable. Mr. Beckwith, would you care for some tea?”
Beckwith gave her a faint smile. “No, thank you. This matter won’t take long.”
He went to the desk and began arranging things to his satisfaction, removing items from his satchel. Jack and Olivia took the chairs they’d sat in the night Beckwith had read the will. The only difference was that now they held hands. Jack brought hers to his lips and kissed her fingers. As soon as Beckwith left, Jack was taking her back to bed. Or perhaps to the desk and then to the bed. Livy would no doubt be scandalized to know that Jack had placed the servants on notice: they were never to enter any room without knocking and receiving permission.
Jack could hardly fathom all that had happened in so short a time. He’d always wanted to be in charge of his life, but he couldn’t deny others were somehow influencing its course. If Lovingdon hadn’t named Jack guardian, he’d have never met Livy. For that alone, Jack owed Lovingdon his eternal gratitude.
Beckwith laid out several documents and a small velvet pouch. He folded his hands on top of the papers and cleared his throat. “The conditions of the will as originally stated have been satisfied with your recent marriage. Therefore, I shall read the portion of the will that has been kept from you.” He picked up a sheaf of paper and once again cleared his throat.
“To Jack Dodger, christened Jack Dawkins, beloved son of Emily Dawkins, I leave my most treasured possession, my gold pocket watch—handed to me by my father, who received it from his.”
Jack stared in stunned silence as Beckwith opened the velvet pouch, removed its contents—a gold watch and heavy gold chain—and set them very carefully at the edge of the desk in front of Jack. Even from this distance, Jack could see the fine craftsmanship, could hear the quiet ticking away of time.
Jack tightened his fingers around Olivia’s and with his free hand he reached for the timepiece—
And stopped within inches of grasping it. Shaking his head, he lounged back in the chair and held Beckwith’s gaze. “He should not have left it to me. He should have left the watch to his son.”
“I believe he did, Mr. Dodger.”
Jack heard Livy’s sharp intake of breath, felt as though his chest were collapsing on itself, as though all the air had been sucked from the room. He was aware of Olivia’s fingers squeezing his almost painfully, her gaze on him, but he couldn’t look at her, not yet.
He worked his hand free of her grasp. In spite of his best effort to control the tremors, his hand was shaking when he took the watch. Hesitantly he opened it. Nestled inside, opposite the clock face, was a familiar miniature. In disbelief, he looked at Beckwith, then at Olivia, whose brow was furrowed in concern. “It’s my mother.”
His voice was hoarse, as hoarse and rough as it had been when he’d screamed for her not to leave him.
Beckwith stood to indicate his job there was done. “The duke trusted me with all his secrets.” He darted a quick glance at Olivia before looking back at Jack. “I hope you understand you may do the same. Had I realized you were going to marry, I would have brought this matter to your attention sooner. But whatever you decide, what has been learned today will go no farther unless you wish it so.” He picked up an envelope and extended it toward Jack. “This I have not read, but it is addressed to you.”