“I’m all right,” he said, his voice hard as he crouched beside her husband’s cousin.

She heard harsh breathing, a gurgling sound—

“Jack, I need to see to him,” Dr. Graves said, and Olivia realized he was one of the men who’d come inside. The other was Claybourne.

“No,” Jack said.

Stanford coughed and gagged.

“The boys? How many were there?” Jack demanded.

“You…the first.”

“And after me? How many, damn you?”

“Don’t…know.”

“You killed them? Buried them in your garden? Is that what you were saying with all your cryptic words?”

But Rupert Stanford made no sound.

“Answer me, you bastard.”

“He’s dead,” Dr. Graves said somberly.

Jack slowly unfolded his body. Suddenly his arms were around Olivia, holding her tightly until she could barely breathe. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I’d come,” he growled.

“He said he was asking for a hundred thousand pounds.”

“I’d have given him everything, Livy. Everything to have you back safely.”

Jack and Olivia returned home immediately while Swindler and the others saw to the matter of Rupert Stanford and reporting tonight’s incident to Scotland Yard. The first thing Olivia did was dash up the stairs to the nursery and hold Henry close.

“I knew he’d save you,” Henry said.

It humbled her that Henry had possessed so much unquestionable faith in Jack, while she’d had so little. Never again would she make that mistake. Tonight she’d made many, and she intended to correct them all.

She considered how to go about that while she took a wonderful hot bath to get the grime of the rookeries off her. After that night’s experiences, she thought she’d probably take a full bath every day in the future. She’d hoped Jack would join her that night, would come in to see how she was doing, but when he didn’t, she put on her nightgown and went in search of him.

She found him in the library, sitting in a chair, his elbows on his thighs, his hands wrapped around a glass, the bottle nearby waiting to do its duty, to numb what had been a traumatizing night.

She padded across the carpet, knelt before him and wrapped a hand around each of his wrists. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”

“No, you probably can’t. Before tonight I had no name for the man who took me, but he was Stanford. I don’t know if I never knew his name or simply forgot it. It’s been nearly thirty years. I think he must have known my mother. She knew him, trusted him. They must have met when she worked here. She gave me into his keeping, thinking I’d be safe. The first night”—she heard him swallow hard—“he bathed me, put me to bed, then he crawled in with me. He touched me in ways a man shouldn’t touch a boy…he did things that not only ravaged my body but my soul.”

“Dear God, Jack.” She touched his cheek, tried to offer him comfort, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was peering into his past.

“He wept afterward, promised to never do it again. The next night, I learned he was a liar. The third night I ran away.”

Scalding tears welled in her eyes. “You can’t blame yourself for any of that. You were an innocent child. I’m glad he’s dead.”

He shook his head. “There’s more, Livy. I told you that Luke and I were arrested. When you’re convicted, you serve your time in a boys’ prison. But before that, before your trial, you’re kept in gaol with men. There were three, a nasty lot. They set their sights on Luke, but he fought them. God, he was only eight, but he wouldn’t stop fighting. His face was a bloodied mess. I thought they were going to kill him. I knew what they wanted, had survived it before.”

Dear God, no, she thought. Please no.

“I offered myself to them.” The words came out on a strangle.

“Oh, Jack.” She squeezed his hands, pressed her lips to them while the tears coursed down her face and pooled at the corner of her mouth.

“It was worse than I remembered. Or maybe they were just meaner. They broke something in me that night, Livy. I stopped caring about anything except for surviving, and I became convinced that if I had enough money I would always be safe. But inside, I stayed broken. Until you.

“You made me start to feel again. You and Henry. You brought joy into my life. Laughter and smiles. But there is pain in that, too. Caring for someone makes you vulnerable. What I was feeling whenever I was with you terrified the bloody hell out of me, Livy. I didn’t want it. I fought it with everything I could, but tonight I realized if something happened to you, if you died, I’d break again and this time I would remain broken. It’s a safer way to live, but it’s also a life not worth living.

“I love you, Livy. I know I’m not worthy of any affection you might hold for me—”

“Not worthy? I know of no man more worthy.”

“I live in the gutter.”

“You live in St. James. You may have begun your life in the gutter, but I know of no other man who has achieved what you’ve achieved. You are a man of means, who owes nothing to anyone. You have a generous heart. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true. Henry adores you. And damn it, so do I.

“I love you, Jack, with all my heart and soul. I was wrong to listen to Briarwood. I realized it as I was waiting in that dwelling, or whatever it was. I thought of all the moments I had with you, and with Henry. And I prayed I would have a thousand more.”