Page 41 of The Viscount of Shadows

“Our absence must have been noticed, or it will come the dawn. The Galway Agency knows I am in Notting Dale. Will they contact the police? Will your cousin raise the alarm? Or perhaps your lady fair wonders why you never arrived for your rendezvous.”

Oliver smiled. “Are you asking if I am attached to anyone, intimately speaking?”

Claudia remained silent for several moments. “I suppose I am. I am merely curious.”

Right. So much for Claudia’s declaration of keeping people at a distance. “I have never been involved seriously with anyone. Ever.”

“Wait. What? Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

Oliver heard the genuine shock in her voice. “That I am a virgin viscount? It is true.”

Claudia snorted. “You are having me on. In my many experiences in the East End, I could not turn around on the street or in the pub and not brush up against some toff out for cheap thrills.”

Oliver stayed silent. What possessed him to reveal such a personal fact? It slipped out—must be the slight fever addling his mind. Well, perhaps not. Claudia had shared so much; it was only fair he reciprocated.

“Oh,” Claudia said with a subdued tone. “It’s true, then. Not that there is anything wrong with that, not at all. But why? I thought all those with wealth and titles indulged—and frequently.”

“They do. I am a member of The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park.”

Claudia chuckled. “You joined as a cover.”

“Partly. I also thought it best to align myself with powerful men. If I were to move forward with my vigilante plan, I wanted to know where the worst of the vice is to be had. For that is where the underprivileged are forgotten and ignored.”

“That is certainly the case. Did you take a vow of celibacy?”

Was Claudia mocking him? Seeing he was ill, it was hard to judge, but he heard no sarcasm or scorn in her tone. She sounded genuinely inquisitive.

“No. I have had singular encounters with a few women. We gave each other sexual release. I just did not take the final step. As far as the peerage goes, perhaps I am old-fashioned. I believe it a deeply intimate act and not one I want to share with someone I hardly know.” Oliver paused. “Now that I say it aloud, it sounds peculiar. Why give a woman oral or touching pleasure but not go the rest of the way? I cannot explain it adequately. I want it to be with someone special.”

“I-I think the same. You may not believe this, but in ten years living on the street, I never—not all the way.”

“Forgive the personal question, but in what way?”

Claudia sighed. “On the rare occasion we were desperate for money, I frigged men to completion. Are you disgusted now?”

“No. I have seen enough on the streets over the past several months to understand the desperation you are speaking of. I condemn no one, most of all—you.”

“I was not a prostitute in the strictest sense. I fell in with a group of women, and despite my young age, I became their protector, procurer, cash carrier—their pimp. They called me their captain, and I suppose I was, for I collected the money and, in wielding my knife, protected them on more than one occasion. I secured us at least one hot meal daily and a roof over our heads when possible. But it was precarious—our safety and our lives—from day to day.”

“I can see you in that role,” Oliver murmured, his heart aching for what she had to endure. “As a captain or leader. It suits you.”

“Keeping the gangs at bay was difficult and a constant struggle. The women looked to me, but I never let them close. Not really. What does it say about me that at the first opportunity, I turned from them, eager for a fresh start?”

“There is more to it than that. There is part of your story you haven’t disclosed as yet.”

“And why am I telling you all this?” Claudia cried, clearly agitated. “Because I am scared, cold, hungry, and find myself in involuntary proximity and a dangerous situation with someone under normal circumstances, I would never share a conversation, let alone confide my horrid past.”

“Because I am a viscount? You would never let that stop you.”

Claudia sighed again. “Oliver, where would our paths ever cross in a social situation?”

“At our mutual acquaintances’ gatherings. This isn’t 1806, where everything is strict decorum occurring in ballrooms or other restrictive and monitored settings. Times have changed.”

Claudia snorted. “Not that much.”

“No, it has. Perhaps there is some truth in what you say for certain elites, but not any I know. Beyond that, you cared for the women under your protection. You kept them safe. In a way, you acted as a vigilante, like me. Not a pimp. Don’t ever think that.” Oliver exhaled, growing more fatigued by the moment. “I wish I could see your expression. I will wager emotions wreak havoc over you, and you fight it diligently.” Oliver started coughing.

“Enough for now,” Claudia urged. “You must sleep some more. We both must.”

Oliver brushed his fingers by her cheek. “I was correct. Tears. You feel things deeply, Claudia Ellingford. There is no need to hide it. Not with me.”

“You don’t know me—”

“Oh, but I want to know—every depth, every dark corner, and crevice, every aspect of your life, along with your hopes and dreams. All of you, Claudia, every inch of your skin…”

He was too exhausted to form any further words. His eyelids fluttered shut, but he did not fall asleep right away. Oliver lay perfectly still, trying to will away the waves of aches and torrents of pain rippling through him. Finally, he started to drift into a troubled sleep.

“Oh, I feel,” Claudia whispered, “I was attracted to you as the viscount and the Sentinel. But I must fight it. However, you make it so blasted difficult—”

Oliver wasn’t sure if Claudia spoke those words or if it was all a dream. But he fell into a deep slumber with a hopeful smile on his face.