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Oliver & Jack: In London Towne

by Christina E. Pilz

In the noisy, crowded streets of London, where shadows hold secrets often too horrible to describe, an orphan and his beloved pickpocket attempt to rebuild their shattered peace. This is the love story of Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger.

As Jack recovers from the sexual assault at Chalenheim’s hands, he finds that he is unable to express his love for Oliver with any intimacy. Oliver, meanwhile, rescues Finley from Axminster Workhouse, and returns to London full of love for Jack and the desire to do whatever is necessary to help Jack recover his dignity and his passion.

Chalenheim is still on the loose in London, waiting for another chance at Jack and Finley, which soon comes. Though they escape with barely a scratch, Oliver vows to rid the world of the man who would dare lay hands upon his beloved Jack.

In London Towne is the sixth and final book in Christina E. Pilz’s Oliver & Jack gay historical romance series. If you enjoy stories about forbidden love battling against the dark forces that threaten to tear them apart, then you’ll enjoy this tale, so pick up a copy today!

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Oliver put his arm around Finley and leaned close to the window to look out, taking in the increasing number of buildings and the lack of open fields as the dark, soot-streaked houses became more common. Soon the horses were clattering across cobblestones, and the ring of the wheels became sharp, with the coachman slowing the coach to a trot and the clang of some distant machinery echoing off the buildings. As they crossed the Thames River, the smell of mud and filth and ash sank into Oliver’s lungs and pushed into his skin, and in that moment, he realized that he was home, home where Jack was.


As the coach wended its way along streets, even in the low dusk of evening still crowded with traffic with laborers making their way home from factories, and women carrying empty baskets, he realized he knew exactly where they were. They’d passed Hyde Park and were headed up Oxford Street where, somewhere, his old solicitor Mr. Bond had once signed papers for Oliver’s apprenticeship to Mr. McCready, the haberdasher.

Soon, quite soon, up ahead they’d take a right into Drury Lane, and into the inn yard of the White Hart, where Jack would be waiting. At which point, Oliver’s heart began to race. His throat grew tight and he gripped the edge of the seat so that he would not upset Finley with his anxiety, his sense of being overwhelmed that soon the coach would stop. Indeed, the coach did slow to a clattering stop as it began to rain, a soft spring rain that brought a sigh of relief to the dry air and sputtered the candle lanterns that hung over the wide, open gate to the yard as they pulled in.

There, beneath the row of balconies, stood Jack. He was waiting to one side of the flickering shadows, patient and still, his hat in his hands, as if he’d just taken it off while waiting to wipe his brow. Oliver saw him resettle it on his dark head just as he looked up to see the coach. Surely he could see Oliver’s face through the window, anxious and impatient, and indeed he must, for he did not wait for the coach to stop, but walked up to it, boldly, and threw open the door with his own hands. He pulled Oliver into his arms.

Oliver was never so glad to be held. He dipped his head into the curve of Jack’s shoulder and inhaled a slow breath, delighted and overcome all at once.

“I love you,” Oliver said, quite fiercely. “I missed you so much, Jack.”

“And I you,” said Jack, in Oliver’s ear without any bluster at all. “Every day, every single day.”


About the Author

I write historical fiction about attractive young men in love. I love coffee, history, the Oxford comma, and Devon. There might not be dancing, but there will be a happily ever after!