A Stranger's Kiss (Lords of Chance Book 2)

by Tarah Scott

  “Of course,” Nicholas murmured. “You should have come to me first.”

  “How could I?” Deborah wept. “I was so ashamed.”

  She looked so lost, forlorn, that tears threatened Olivia’s own eyes. “It’s my fault,” she repeated, hoarsely.

  Neither Nicholas nor Deborah seemed to hear.

  “May I see the demand, Deborah?” Nicholas asked. “Did you bring it?”

  Deborah nodded and pulled at her reticule strings with shaking fingers. At last, she drew out a sheet of paper. “Two thousand pounds. In four days. They want me to bring two thousand pounds to the cemetery. Delivered by my own hand and no one else’s.”

  Olivia simply stared. Two thousand pounds?

  Nicholas’s brows lifted in surprise.

  “What shall I do?” Deborah whispered. “Grandfather will have to be told.”

  Silently, Nicholas scanned the letter, then, at last, looked up. “We will set a trap for this fool.”

  “How?” Deborah whispered faintly.

  Nicholas folded the paper and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “Such a demand is preposterous. You’ll leave him a letter in its place, demanding more time, arrange another meeting, what have you. It matters little. We’ll catch this blackmailer at the cemetery, in the act.”

  A flash of hope crossed Deborah’s face, then her face fell again. “It matters little, in the end. Either way, I am ruined. There is no denying this.” She dropped her hand on her belly. “Soon, Grandfather will toss me onto the streets.”

  “Nonsense,” Olivia objected. “He will do no such thing.”

  “Nae, he will,” Deborah whispered.

  “Then, you will come live with me,” Olivia replied stoutly. Of course, she may soon be on the streets herself, but she couldn’t think of that…not now.

  “Oh, would you take me in?” Deborah squeezed Olivia’s hand so tightly she winced in pain.

  “There is another solution, is there not?” Nicholas inserted mildly. “Surely, you could speak with Lord Deveraux?”

  Deborah’s head jerked back as if she’d been slapped. “How do you know of him?”

  “Does it matter?”

  A series of emotions crossed her face, and then she turned her head to one side. “That ship has sailed for me, my lord.”

  “I happen to know he still cares for you,” Nicholas disagreed in the gentlest of tones.

  Wonder lit Deborah’s face, but then her lips tugged down once again. She smoothed her hands over her rounding belly and whispered harshly, “Even if I cared, what man would accept a stable hand’s child?”

  “Perhaps, a man truly in love.”

  That made her humph, bitterly. “Nae, Lord Deveraux does not love me that much.”

  “I do believe, the question is do you still love him?” Nicholas asked, still insistent.

  Fresh tears fell down her cheeks. She didn’t need to speak the words.

  Olivia frowned at Nicholas. Why torture the woman so? Clearly, Deborah still loved the man. “Enough,” she hissed.

  Nicholas eyed her, unperturbed, then turned back to Deborah. “Return home and write your response. I know a man who can catch this blackmailer in the act. Trust me, there is little to fear.”

  Deborah drew a wavering breath.

  “As for your other matter.” Nicholas dropped his eyes to her belly and smiled. “A week is all I ask. A week, and I do believe I can offer you a solution to your liking.”

  “A week?” Deborah whispered.

  Olivia blinked, surprised.

  With a broad smile, Nicholas held out his arm. “Shall I escort you to your carriage?”

  Deborah darted a look at Olivia.

  “Do go, Deborah.” Olivia nodded.

  “You are such a gentleman, Lord Blair,” Deborah murmured as they stepped out of the kitchen.

  As they vanished into the front of the shop, Florinda rose from her chair.

  Doubtless, she’d heard. The shop was small, and they hadn’t taken pains to speak softly, despite the music.

  “Do pardon us—” Olivia began.

  The opera singer smiled and put a finger to her lips. “Hush. It is an age-old story, is it not? I am the soul of discretion, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” Olivia experienced another pang of jealousy. So, the woman was not only beautiful, but kind and honorable. Why did that bother her so?

  “Miss Mackenzie,” Florinda continued, her smile turning a shade rueful. “I know now is most likely not the best of times, but I am already late for a prior engagement. However, before I go, I have made up my mind.”

  “Pardon?” Olivia blinked.

  “I beg you, draw up your contract and send it to my hotel. Allow me to take the music with me? I must practice, but there is enough time. We have two weeks, do we not? The musicians? Surely, you have hired them?”

  The famed Lark of Paris…to sing her father’s songs? Dare she hope?

  “My dear, the musicians?” Florinda repeated.

  “Yes,” Olivia cleared her throat. “They were well known to my father, his friends. I gave them the music…months ago.”

  “Delightful.” Florinda nodded. “Then allow me to take this music with me, so I can prepare.”

  In a daze, Olivia led her back to the print shop. Safe, in the cupboard, she’d stored the concert scores. She’d given one copy already to Louisa, but what did that matter now? Even if the woman appeared?

  With growing excitement, but still unable to believe her luck, Olivia picked up the An Enchanted Summer’s Evening score, returned to the singer and held it out.

  “Nicholas asked you to sing, didn’t he?” Olivia blurted. She hadn’t known she was going to ask, yet now that she had, she wanted to know.

  Florinda’s eyes lit with a smile as she took the music reverently into her hands. “I owe Nicholas much, my dear,” she murmured with a private smile. “I confess that I did jump at this chance to repay him, but now…now, after hearing your father’s music, I fear I have only indebted myself to him all the more.” She brought the score to her lips and kissed the cover. “Truly, your father is so talented, Olivia, but then...” she paused and looked her straight in the eye, “you know this already.”

  Olivia nodded, her throat closing with emotion. She could do little but stare and follow, rather like a lost duckling, as Florinda swept through the curtains and into the front of the shop.

  “I must leave, Nicholas,” she said as he stepped through the door. “I have so much to practice. The concert is soon. So very soon.” She pushed past him, headed to the carriage waiting outside.

  Nicholas grinned at Olivia and lifted a brow. “We need to speak, you and I.”

  Sudden shyness took Olivia by surprise. Rattled, she licked her lips and nodded, once.

  Then, he strode off down the walkway toward the carriage.

  She watched him through the window, allowing her gaze to linger on his broad shoulders, thighs and lean hips far longer than propriety allowed, but Lord help her, how could she resist?

  Again, Nicholas had come to her aid. The roof. Her cousin. The opera singer.

  Indeed, it seemed he was determined to solve her every problem. If only he could solve the ache in her heart, as well.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Without Guilt

  “And where are you going?”

  The rumble of Nicholas’s deep voice made Olivia’s heart leap with pleasure.

  She paused on the path leading through Glasgow Green, composed herself and turned.

  There he sat, astride a red roan a few yards away. The horse was a fine one, but the man on its back finer still. As she watched, he crossed one arm over the saddle and leaned forward with a lazy grin.

  She was half-tempted to roll her eyes at herself. She was powerless against him, no different than any other woman in Glasgow. One look at those sea-blue eyes and her heart melted like salt in water.

  Ah yes, she owed him an answer.

  “Where am I going?” she re
peated the question, primly lifting her chin as if she’d delayed her answer due to his mere impudence of asking. “If you must know, I am off to see Mr. Pitt.”

  Nicholas arched a sardonic brow, swung his long leg over the saddle, and hopped down from his horse. “Why?” He stepped up to her side.

  Would she ever get used to his height or the breadth of his shoulders? Olivia lowered her lashes, but there were just as many temptations below the waist as above. The way his tan breeches stretched over his strong thighs, for one. Dryly amused at herself, she forced her gaze back to his.

  “Why else?” she repeated, resuming her walk. “To pay the man his money. Believe me, it most certainly is not a social call.” Indeed, she’d dreaded facing the man alone.

  “Allow me to accompany you, then,” he suggested.

  “Please.” Olivia smiled. “I would be most grateful, I assure you.”

  His caught her hand and slid his thumb over her palm, slowly, languorously, before he looped her arm through his. She held her breath. His touch felt like fire.

  “I haven’t seen you…” She paused to clear the strangled sound from her voice. “I haven’t seen you about these past few days.”

  “I had most urgent business in Edinburgh.” He paused, then asked in a teasing tone, “Did you miss me?”

  Heat rose to her cheeks and she turned her head away, praying he wouldn’t notice. “Deborah has been fretting.” She focused her gaze over the rolling lawns of Glasgow Green.

  “She needn’t fear,” Nicholas assured.

  “It’s tonight, you know.” Tonight, the blackmailer expected Deborah to bring the two thousand pounds.

  “I assure you, Mr. Timms and his men stand at the ready. One of the men will be wearing her gown. We will catch the blackmailer in the act.”

  Olivia nodded. “I shall be so glad when this is over.”

  “We all will be,” Nicholas agreed.

  For a minute, perhaps more, they strolled side-by-side down the woodland path. The horse flicked its ears and snuffled as it followed.

  Finally, Nicholas broke the silence with, “Are you attending the duke’s dinner tomorrow evening?”

  She hadn’t wanted to, but Deborah had begged her to come. “Most reluctantly, on my grandfather’s behalf,” she confessed dryly. “But for Deborah, how can I deny her anything?”

  Nicholas chuckled. “Your cousin is most fortunate to have you.”

  “I don’t think so.” Olivia sighed. “It is I who landed her in this mess.”

  “Hardly. Since I am also invited, allow me to escort you.”

  She glanced up, then nodded. He was behaving quite the gentleman. Why didn’t he catch her about the waist and back her against an alley wall as he had their last meeting? Heavens, did he not see they stood near a forest?

  “How goes the preparations for the concert?” he asked politely.

  “Well. Very well.” Kiss me, Nicholas. Hard. This time, she’d kiss him back, unfettered by a guilty conscience.

  “And Florinda?”

  The woman’s name felt like a dash of cold water. “The woman has the voice of an angel,” Olivia replied. “I heard her practicing when I arrived at her hotel with the contract.”

  “That is well, then.”

  Olivia faltered and then faced him. “You’ve done so much. The roof. Flor—”

  “Hush,” Nicholas murmured. He dropped the horse’s reins to lay a finger on her lips.

  The mere touch of his skin on hers made her want so very much. As if possessed, she parted her lips. Nicholas’s expression altered. His lashes lowered, half covering his eyes. Then, slowly, he inserted his fingertip between her lips and over her tongue. Olivia held her breath.

  “Soon,” he said, his voice low, gruff, as he dropped his hand.

  Soon? The word made her pulse leap.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped back to retrieve his horse before offering his arm once again. “Mr. Pitt? How far?”

  “Just over the bridge,” she replied.

  “Then, let us hurry. I am of a mind to indulge in other things far more pleasant than the company of Mr. Pitt.”

  Other things. Pleasant ones. Olivia drew a long, silent breath. She could hardly wait.

  * * *

  Mr. Pitt was displeased with both the money and Nicholas’s presence by her side. It was clear he’d envisioned a far different ending to her predicament. Upon hearing the news that Florinda, the Lark of Paris, would be singing, he grinned, switching at once from lecher to a man of business.

  “Well, this turned out fortunate, indeed,” he said for the fourth time as he escorted them to the door. “Most fortunate. A wise investment. I knew you would surprise me. The Lark of Paris in the Theatre Royale.” He wagged his head from side to side.

  “The rehearsals start tomorrow,” Nicholas announced.

  “Indeed, my lord. Now we’ve a real concert here, I will have the lads prepare the stage right quick.”

  “See that all is ready,” Nicholas continued.

  “Indeed, my lord.” Mr. Pitt bobbed up and down. “Indeed, I shall.”

  Olivia shook her head in wonder as they stepped out into the street. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the Theatre Royale rising so majestically behind her. In two weeks, Glasgow would finally hear her father’s music.

  Tingles of pleasure zipped down her spine.

  She turned back to Nicholas. “The meeting with Mr. Pitt was far less trying than I feared. Thank you for coming.”

  He stood at her side, one corner of his mouth crooked. “My pleasure, I assure you.” He caught her hand and brushed it against his lips.

  The gesture reminded her of the ‘other things’ he’d promised. Her breath hitched.

  “My carriage awaits.” He squeezed her fingers.

  Olivia blinked. “Your carriage?”

  “I sent a messenger to fetch it whilst we concluded our business with Mr. Pitt.” He drew her toward his coach-and-four, waiting under a nearby streetlamp.

  After handing her inside, he seated himself opposite and then rapped the window.

  As they began to move, Olivia smiled. “I should apologize.”

  Nicholas tilted his head to the side. “And why is that?”

  “But then…” Olivia’s smile deepened. “I find it strangely hard when I truly feel no need to seek forgiveness.”

  His brow furrowed in dry amusement. “For?”

  “Writing the letter that summoned you.” She never would have met him otherwise. “If I had known you were a man of character, perhaps I would have believed you from the start. But then, with a man of your reputation, what else is a woman to think?”

  His blue eyes took on a gleam of amusement. “A man of my reputation?” In two swift jerks, he dragged the curtains across the carriage windows, then took a seat by her side.

  Olivia lifted her chin. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  The last syllable had barely left her lips before his mouth was on hers—at last. She opened to him at once, thrilling as his tongue danced over hers. She moaned, a wanton, yearning sound. She didn’t care. She had nothing to hide, not anymore. His hand lifted to cradle her neck as he deepened the kiss, then drew back, sucking her bottom lip as he pulled away.

  “Must you return to the shop so quickly?” He peered down at her from mere inches away.

  Olivia sighed. Pleasure would have to wait. “I am late already. I have enough to keep me busy for three days or more, honestly. There’s still music to print and Father to mind while Mrs. Lambert runs errands of her own.”

  He said nothing but brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. A shiver of want rippled down the back of her neck. Again, his lips touched hers, lightly, but with an increasing fervor, and it was with a great sense of disappointment that she felt the carriage lurch to a stop.

  With one last, light kiss, Nicholas lifted his head. “I shall return to escort you to the duke’s dinner tomorrow. Shall we say, six o’ clock?”

  Olivia nod
ded.

  After handing her down, he dropped a light kiss on her fingertips. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “I will be ready,” she promised, then hurried into the shop.

  It was a good thing Mrs. Lambert wasn’t yet there. She wouldn’t have failed to notice Olivia’s kiss-swollen lips.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Beauty of Night

  Nicholas cast his eyes to the sky and gazed at the stars covered by the occasional wisp of cloud. He’d left the hotel an hour ago, unable to sleep, and he wasn’t aware he’d returned to Olivia’s music shop until he stood several yards away from the faded sign.

  Slowly, he folded his arms over the black iron railing of the fence and listened to the sounds of the piano drifting from the back window. Her father was a talented musician. There was little doubt the concert would be a smashing success, and even less that it would lift Olivia well out of her financial troubles. Most likely, she’d establish a fine reputation as a music publisher and a discoverer of talent, as well.

  A figure moving in the shadows halfway down the street caught his eye. His lip quirked in a grin. He’d recognize the sway of those hips anywhere. He straightened.

  The figure slowed. Then, Olivia’s voice queried, “Lord Blair?”

  “Why are you wandering the streets of Glasgow at such a late hour?” he asked in a lazy drawl.

  She snorted, then arrived by his side. “I must work.” She tugged the fingers of her gloves to remove them. “I had music to deliver.”

  The thought of her delivering packages rankled him. “Do you not have a shop lad for such work?”

  She gave a derisive chuckle. “The shop boys I can afford are useless. I must save every shilling I can. I have so much music yet to print.” She took a step toward the door, then added, “Will you come inside?”

  “I would be most delighted.”

  Once the shop door clicked shut behind them, Olivia asked, “Have you news of the blackmailer?” Her voice sounded loud in the darkened shop.

  “We are ready.” His eyes began to adjust to the darkness. “He shall not escape our net.”

  “That is good,” she murmured as she moved past him.

  “How goes the rehearsals?” He leaned his elbows on the counter.