“What the devil is that?” Jack asked.Frannie eased around to see what Jack was staring at. Greystone’s back bore a painting of an unusual creature with fire coming out of its mouth and wings spread wide.”

“Have you ever loved anyone?""You mean besides my mum?"Luke was dumbfounded as he stared at Jack. He knew his friend's story. "She sold you when you were five."Jack shrugged. "Doesn't mean I didn't love her. Just means she didn't love me.”

“If she’d spun on her heel and left the room, Jack would have laughed at her retreat. And if she’d stayed, staring him down and trying to shame him into leaving, they’d probably still be standing there.”

“Olivia dared not ask, but she had to know. It seemed unlikely her husband could have made a worse choice than Jack Dodger, but if he was her husband’s first who would serve as his second? The devil himself? “Who is appointed as my son’s guardian in that will?”

“I fear you’re correct there. Catherine warns me that he has the look of a scoundrel about him.”“Jack has told me that he’s not going to let his daughter out of the house until she’s forty.”

“How did you get in here?” Sterling asked, wishing his words didn’t sound quite so slurred. He was having more difficulty than usual bringing his shadowed world into focus. Damnation, why hadn’t he lit more lamps or poured himself fewer snifters of brandy?“Not important,” Jack Dodger said. “What is important is for you to realize that you can do nothing to keep us out if we decide we want in.”

“Henry nodded. “May I ask you a question?”“Certainly, Your Grace.”He pointed at Jack. “Is he the Artful Dodger?”Mr. Dickens bent low. “I write fiction, Your Grace. The characters inmy books do not really exist, but if they did”—he winked—“I do believehe would be the Artful Dodger.”“I knew it!”“And do you see that gentleman over there?”“Lord Claybourne?”Dickens nodded. “He would be Oliver.”“And what about Miss Frannie?”“She is every sweet girl who appears in the story.”