by Tarah Scott
Dear Mr. Pitt,
I am writing to inform you that I will no longer be singing An Enchanted Summer Evening…
Olivia’s heart stood still. She gripped the letter tightly, unable to read anything more, other than the name scrawled at the bottom: Louisa.
“As you very well know, Miss Mackenzie,” Mr. Pitt’s voice droned in the background, “I foresaw this exact risk when I agreed to rent the Theatre Royale for this concert. Our contract states that all monies are due, in the event I deem it necessary to collect them—which I do so, now. Fetch the coin and right quick.” He paused, then his voice altered when he continued, “Unless, of course, you seek alternative arrangements—”
Olivia crushed the letter in her hand. “She will sing. I have contracts myself, Mr. Pitt. She will sing.”
He stared at her, eyes cold. “Then show me these contracts, along with the remainder due. Otherwise, I will not hold the date.”
The remainder? She only had eighteen pounds in her keeping, not the twenty owed. Why was he being so obstinate? He couldn’t have a host of performers eager to perform in the summer months, but she knew better than to challenge the man.
“The remainder,” he repeated, his voice low. He didn’t mention ‘alternate payments’ again—verbally, anyway. He let the lift of his eyebrow and the quick glance at her breasts speak, instead.
“Very well,” she snapped. “I will show you the contracts.”
Olivia marched through the curtains, her mind racing. She was short two pounds. Perhaps seeing the contracts would be enough? Would he accept something as a good faith gesture? She couldn’t bear to part with her mother’s locket, but did she have something else of value the man might accept? Nae.
Tears gathered at the thought of handing over her mother’s locket. But the payment was only half the problem. Louisa. She scowled. Well, she’d show the woman the contract. She’d force her to sing if there was no other recourse. Such an action would end their friendship—but then, it didn’t matter, not when they weren’t much of friends to begin with.
If only she could find someone else to sing, but it was too late. There wasn’t enough time, and of all the opera singers she knew, only Louisa could draw a large enough crowd.
She closed the print room door behind her and dropped to her knees before the secret floorboard. Again, tears burned her lashes at the thought of giving the odious man her mother’s locket, but what choice did she truly have? What could she possibly say to convince him to wait? At a loss, she pried the floorboard loose and pulled out the box. It was unusually light. Puzzled, she lifted the lid.
Her heart stood still.
The box was empty.
Frantically, she searched the cavity in the floor. There was nothing there. Her coins, the contracts, and her mother’s locket…gone.
“Nae,” she gasped. “Nae. Nae. Nae.”
Panic seized her. Who could have taken her things? William? Mrs. Lambert? They were the only two in the house besides her father. Mrs. Lambert wouldn’t. She was practically family, and in her heart, she knew William wouldn’t, as well. He was a simple lad, incapable of such things. Biting back the tears, she jumped to her feet and ran to the parlor. Nicholas sat in the chair opposite Mrs. Lambert, listening to her father play the piano.
“What is it, child?” Mrs. Lambert rose to her feet, alarmed.
“The box,” Olivia choked. “The box in the print room.”
“Box?”
The genuine confusion on the old woman’s brow made Olivia feel guilty for even mentioning the matter. She drew a shaky breath. “William? Have you seen him?” She hadn’t let him go yet. Perhaps, he’d stumbled on the box by accident and thought it a lost treasure, free for the taking?
“William’s snoring in the kitchen, lass.”
She was off to the kitchen before Mrs. Lambert had finished the sentence.
“The box, William,” Olivia gasped as she shook him awake. “Where is the box?”
“Box?” William mumbled, looking even more puzzled than Mrs. Lambert had.
The tears flowed then. With a sob, Olivia sank to her knees. She was ruined. It made little difference if Louisa sang now. The man would cancel the venue. Without the concert, she would be forced to sell the printing press…and without the press, how would she and her father survive?
She remained on her knees, the tears sliding down her cheeks. Slowly, she forced herself to breathe. Sniveling never solved a thing. Not once had tears provided much needed help. An image of her grandfather snaked through her mind—not the image of a friendly source of strength, of aid, but a tall, stern man who would no doubt be delighted to see her fail.
She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t giving up. Nae, she would give him not a single jot of satisfaction. She would see her father’s songs sung in the Theater Royale and she would sell every blasted book of music she’d ever printed—with or without Louisa’s help. Aye, she would hire someone to find Louisa. She’d force her to sing, with or without the contract. The woman was greedy. Surely, she couldn’t refuse a doubling of her fee?
Right now, she had to convince Mr. Pitt to wait without having to sell her soul—but then, it wasn’t her soul that he wanted. She shoved to her feet, wiped her eyes, and straightened her hair.
“Mr. Pitt,” she began as she stepped through the curtains.
Nicholas glanced up from the counter, where he flipped through the pages of Delightful Summer Songs of the Heart. “I am afraid Mr. Pitt has been called away on urgent business,” he said with a circumspect nod. “He asked me to convey the message that he would return on the original agreed upon date for the last payment.”
Olivia blinked. She glanced around the room, unable to believe his words. “Surely, you misunderstood.”
“Ah, here.” Nicholas fished in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was Louisa’s crumpled letter, but there was new writing on the back. “He did remember to write it down. Signed it, as well, I believe.”
Olivia read the spidery scrawl on the back. Indeed, it was Mr. Pitt’s recognizable script, though somewhat shakier than usual.
“Why?” she wondered, aloud.
Nicholas yawned. “I couldn’t say.”
Olivia cocked a brow and looked him in the eye. He met her gaze easily enough, the corners of his chiseled lips quirking at the edges.
Then, the sight of Louisa’s name rekindled her anger. “You have a carriage, do you not, Lord Blair?”
“Indeed, I do.”
“Then I must impose upon you. I need a ride to Number Fourteen, Parsonage Square. As payment, I will willingly assist with your business with my cousin.”
His blue eyes gleamed as he executed an elaborate bow. “I am at your service, Miss Mackenzie.”
Chapter Nine
Hooked Like a Fish
Nicholas eyed the lass seated across the carriage, swaying from side to side as the carriage navigated the potholes in the road. The sight of her weeping on the kitchen floor had disturbed him, deeply. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as the events played out, he was glad he had.
Mr. Pitt had been easy to browbeat. Within minutes, he’d agreed to honor his original contract, his hand had shaken so strongly, he’d nearly broken the quill when he’d written the message. He scarcely finished before he’d run out the door.
Nicholas suppressed a chuckle and glanced out the window. In the past, he would have used the situation to seduce the object of his desire into his bed. Strangely, this time, he wished his help to remain unknown.
The carriage turned onto Parsonage Square, a pleasant enough street with rows of townhouses bordering a park dotted with bluebells. At the fourth townhouse from the end of the row, the carriage stopped.
With a pleasant smile, Nicholas exited the carriage and offered his hand. “Allow me, Miss Mackenzie.”
She spared him a curt glance, her mind clearly on her predicament.
“Shall I wait in the carriage?” he asked as she joined him on
the street.
“Please do,” she muttered. “I cannot imagine I’ll be long.”
He tipped his hat as she marched past him to the door. Then, he lounged against his carriage and crossed his arms, he watched her rounded derriere from under hooded eyes.
The third time Olivia rapped the heavy brass knocker, a heavyset maid answered the door. She squinted at the carriage before asking Olivia, “How may I help you, Miss?” Her sour voice easily carried to Nicholas’s ears.
“I must speak with Miss Hamilton, at once, please.” Olivia handed the woman her card.
The maid gave it a glance, then shook her head. “I am sorry, Miss Mackenzie, but Miss Hamilton went off last night. She didn’t tell us where.”
Olivia’s spine visibly straightened.
With another nod, the maid closed the door.
Slowly, Olivia turned and swept back to the carriage, her head held high and her jaw set with determination. By God, she was a fighter. Her fingers rested small in his hand and her touch light as he handed her back inside the carriage.
“Where to?” he asked.
“The duke’s townhouse, is it not?” she asked with a distant smile. “I am a woman of my word.”
She settled into her seat and smoothed her skirts over her knees as flashes of anger crossed her face, but by the time they exited Parsonage Square, she abandoned all semblance of control.
“The harridan,” she seethed. “The strumpet.” Her nostrils flared.
Nicholas eyed her in admiration. He’d always been attracted to bold women with spirit. “I take it that Miss Hamilton has betrayed you?”
“Indeed, betrayal seems to be the theme of the month.” Olivia lifted her chin.
By God, she was a voluptuous goddess of temptation. “Yet, you’re not one to wilt into vapors.”
She snorted in dry amusement. “If wilting solved the matter, my lord, I would be the first on the floor.”
He chuckled. “With your spirit, I have no doubt you will succeed in your endeavors, Miss Mackenzie.” Indeed, she’d win through sheer strength of will alone. “If I can be of service, please let me know.”
She met his gaze squarely. “Tempting, to be sure,” she murmured.
“Tempting?” he queried, intrigued.
“Louisa has a weakness for charming men,” she answered, as if thinking aloud.
“You find me charming?” He arched an amused brow.
“You have quite the reputation, do you not?” Her voice held a mocking note.
His mirth faded. “Perhaps, but I am a changed man.” Of late, he seemed to be changing by the day.
Silence fell, a strangely peaceful one, despite the situation, and one in which he felt no need for unnecessary conversation. Instead, he observed Olivia from under his brows as she stared at Glasgow’s streets. He’d thought her bonny from the start, but the more she resisted and ignored him, his fascination grew, and by the time they arrived at the Duke of Lennox’s townhouse, he found himself hooked like a fish.
* * *
The moment Nicholas laid eyes on Deborah, pity stirred, and his irritation melted away. The lass looked downright terrible. Dark circles ringed her eyes, a gray pallor tinged her skin, and her hair hung in limp brown ringlets.
“Lord Blair,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes darting nervously to Olivia and back again.
Nicholas bowed his most courteous bow.
Deborah took one look and rushed to Olivia’s side. “Why…why?” she hissed, grabbing Olivia’s hands, a fine sheen of sweat beading her brow. “Why is he here?”
Did the lass truly think he couldn’t hear?
“Lord Blair’s come to make things right, Deborah,” Olivia assured with a sympathetic smile.
“Olivia,” Deborah gasped, and stumbled to the settee. “Olivia, what did you tell him? Olivia?” Horror and despair warred in her voice.
“Why, I told him what…he needed to know.” Clearly, Olivia was puzzled.
Her cousin buried her face in her hands. “No. No,” she gasped. “Not him. He shouldn’t be here. Olivia, what did you do?”
Perplexed, Olivia gingerly sat by her side. “There’s no cause to fret, Deborah. Whatever do you mean?”
“What is this?”
Nicholas looked up to see the Duke of Lennox standing in the doorway, wearing a dark green kilt, his thick brows drawn in a stern line.
“Please,” Deborah sobbed. “Let me faint.”
Nicholas straightened but before he could take action, Olivia rose.
“It appears I have unnecessarily upset my cousin.” She faced her grandfather.
The man scowled. “She’s ever prone to fits of vapors.” He turned to Nicholas. “Lord Blair, why are you here?”
The eyes of both women latched onto him, at once, Olivia’s keen and alert, with Deborah’s growing rounder by the second. Indeed, it was a miracle she hadn’t fainted already.
Nicholas dipped in an easy bow. “Good day, Your Grace. It is my pleasure to escort Miss Mackenzie about her business this day, and as I have been remiss in paying my respects to Lady Deborah these past two years, I merely sought to use the occasion to make amends.”
The duke tossed him a cynical look, then cocked a grizzled brow at Olivia. “Explain yourself.”
She lifted her chin and met him with a cool, confident gaze. “What is to explain? Am I not free to appreciate the company of my cousin?”
“Then you find hysteria particularly enjoyable?” The duke crossed his arms, his expression peeved.
Deborah whimpered like a lost puppy.
“Indeed, I much prefer hysteria to cruelty,” Oliva replied with a pointed stare.
The duke’s brows snaked higher. “Dare you accuse me of cruelty, insolent girl?”
“I merely stated my preferences, did I not?” Olivia challenged in turn, then turned back to her cousin. “My dear Deborah. I must be going.”
Her cousin jumped to her feet and grabbed Olivia’s hands. “You will return?”
“Of course. There’s no need to fret,” Olivia promised, and kissed Deborah’s cheek before turning back to the duke who still stood in the doorway. “I will be leaving now.”
Boldly, she strode to the door, seeming as if she’d walk right over the man. At the last moment, he stepped aside and stared, as if she’d sprouted horns as she swept down the stairs. Nicholas suppressed a chuckle. The woman had spirit. A jolt of excited pleasure rocked through him. This was a woman he simply had to bed.
Suddenly aware of the duke’s penetrating gaze locked upon him, he turned toward Deborah and bowed his farewell. “Perhaps, I shall have the honor of your company soon, my lady?”
The lass responded with a kind of muffled squeak that provoked a momentary concern for her health, but after assuring himself she still breathed, he turned and faced the duke.
The man’s gaze had apparently never strayed. Somewhat unsettled, Nicholas cleared his throat. “Your Grace—”
“What business do you have with my granddaughter?” the man interrupted harshly.
Nicholas cast an uneasy brow at Deborah.
“Not that one,” the duke snapped, impatience threading his voice. He nodded at the stairs. “Olivia.”
Ah, so the duke’s cantankerousness masked a decided interest in the lass, did it? Nicholas tilted his head. “I—”
“I am aware of your reputation, Lord Blair,” the duke cut him short. He furrowed his brows and glared for a good ten seconds before grunting, “Have a care.”
Deborah squeaked again, but the duke scarcely noticed.
“Most certainly, Your Grace,” Nicholas assured. He cleared his throat again, strangely a little ill at ease.
After a moment, the duke nodded. Once. “You may go.”
With one last dip of his chin vaguely in Deborah’s direction, Nicholas left. He caught up with Olivia as she waited on the townhouse step.
“Allow me to send for my carriage—” he began.
She whirled, her auburn curls b
ouncing in irritation along with the rest of her. “Oh, I have already taken care of that,” she replied, her jaw tight. “The audacity of the man.”
There was no doubt of whom she spoke. Few stood up to the Duke of Lennox—he’d ruined more than one man with a single word. Yet, this wee lass hadn’t hesitated to challenge him.
A sizzle of attraction raced down the back of his neck. He let his gaze trail slowly over her curves as his coach-and-four rolled to a stop before them in a jingle of horses’ harnesses.
Olivia barely acknowledged him as he handed her inside the carriage, and as they started to roll, he couldn’t help but notice the manner of her scowl. She sat on the seat opposite him, her brows drawn in an expression very much like her grandfather’s. They were strikingly similar, now that he’d seen them side by side. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her. She’d doubtlessly behead him. He suppressed a smile and lounged back in his seat as she glared out the window at Glasgow’s passing streets, every line in her slender form rigid.
There was much to concern her, of course. Clearly, Deborah had landed herself in a fine fettle, but her surprised reaction to his presence surely had planted a seed of doubt in Olivia’s mind? But then, the female mind was truly a mystery.
In what seemed like mere minutes, his coach stopped before Olivia’s door and again, he was handing her out.
“Miss Mackenzie—” he began as her hand touched his.
“I must help her,” she interrupted with a frown.
Damnation, but couldn’t the lass see just how like her grandfather she truly was? Neither had little compunction over interrupting as it pleased them.
“No doubt, your cousin is in a situation,” Nicholas granted. “And though it is clearly not one of my making, I do wish to assist, as I may.”
Olivia’s frown deepened. “I have yet to hear her explanation, my lord. I will arrange a better time and place. Good day.”
With that, she whirled and made for her door. His irritation at being so quickly dismissed faded at the sight of her hips swaying from side to side. By George, those hips could tempt a man. A sudden heat rushed to his loins.
There was only one way forward on this matter if he wanted Olivia in his bed.
