Page 1 of House of Thorns
Chapter One
The Garden Party
Olivia slammed her glass of lemonade down on the table. Thecad. Had he no shame? He washerfiancé—or would be soon. Yet there he was, Timothy Menzies, pulling Maggie Wilkins behind the hawthorn hedgerow in Lady Blair’s garden.
“Olivia, darling, do you have any moreSummertime Melodybooks? The one with the new arrangement ofRobin Adair?” Lady Kendrick called out as Olivia stormed past the summer tent spread out on the lawn.
“Louisa sang so wonderfully this afternoon,” another voice chimed amidst choruses of agreement.
Then, of course, the inevitable murmurings, all a variation of, “Isn’t that the Mad Printer’s daughter?”
Olivia rolled her eyes and continued on as if she hadn’t heard. Right now, she was keen on giving the two-timing Timothy Menzies a piece of her mind. Questions of song and everything else could wait.
With a scowl, she marched around the hedgerow. She was treated to an impressive view of Lady Blair’s stately Wedderburn Manor, a majestic backdrop to the formal garden that sprawled before her in a fine array of climbing roses, lilacs, and sculpted boxwoods.
At first, she couldn’t spot him, but the shaking limbs of a boxwood to the left drew her attention. Timothy. Not more than a dozen yards away behind a marble Italian bust. He stood with an awkward arm locked around Maggie’s waist and his lips attached to hers like a leech. Olivia huffed. Just what did Maggie have that she didn’t? They were practically twins—both redheads with bright green eyes and voluptuous curves.
As if sensing her eyes burning holes through his head, Timothy turned and squinted in her direction. He froze.
Olivia’s nostrils flared.
He cringed, looking as guilty as sin.
Olivia’s emotions churned. She couldn’t lose him—not that she loved him, of course—but now with her father disabled, she needed a husband. Desperately. Her father’s music shop stood on the brink of ruin and now that the bankers understood he’d never recover, they had given Olivia an ultimatum: sell the shop or hand it over to a husband, as a proper woman should.
Unfortunately, finding a husband had proved a daunting challenge. Timothy, as the fourth son of a bookbinder, had been her best possibility, by far. He could scarcely do better than to marry her. She could tolerate him—barely.
Yet, as she saw him standing with his arm hooked around Maggie’s waist—of all women,whyher?—a sense of anger warred with hurt pride.
The anger won.
With a scowl, Olivia planted her hands on her hips. Her left elbow struck something that gave way only slightly.
A harsh intake of breath behind her made her realize she’d just elbowed the gut of a passing stranger.
“Pardon me,” she tossed a distracted apology over her shoulder.
“My pleasure, I assure you,” a man’s deep baritone rumbled above her left ear, much higher than she usually heard.
He had to be tall. Timothy was short and incredibly sensitive over the matter. Without a second thought, Olivia whirled, grabbed the stranger by his neckcloth, rose on her tiptoes and planted a kiss over his startled lips. He was even taller than she expected. She would have missed his mouth entirely and kissed his chin instead had he not obligingly dipped the last inch or two.
The pleasing blend of soap and sandalwood eddied around her. Then, the man’s lips parted beneath hers. Surprised, Olivia dropped to her heels. His head dipped with her, never breaking contact as his tongue teased the seam of her lips. Instinct opened her mouth. His tongue immediately slid over hers, the soft warmth along with the roughness of his chin sending a frisson of awareness straight down to her toes.
Startled, Olivia’s lashes flew open. Just when had she closed them? And was this even a kiss? She’d never experienced shivers in other parts of her body when Timothy had dropped a peck on her mouth.
Flustered, she wrenched free of the man and stepped back. She caught only the briefest impression of blond hair, laughing gray eyes, and a strong, dimpled chin before he’d caught her about the waist and swung her back into the circle of his arms.
“Have a care, lass.” His chest vibrated against her breasts.
He stepped back, pulling her with him as a footman barreled around the hedgerow behind them. The footman gasped and lifted his tray of lemon ices over Olivia’s head. He danced sideways, the crystal glasses clinking and wobbling precariously as he attempted to regain his balance.
He succeeded. Barely. Drawing a deep breath, he schooled his features and politely dipped his chin. “Pardon me, my lord, miss.”
“Bravo, well done,” the man holding Olivia commended with a chuckle.
With a formal nod, the footman spun smartly on his heel and hurried off toward the tent.
The hard muscles beneath Olivia shifted. She held still, acutely aware of a hard abdomen, long thighs, and the bulging muscles of the arm so casually looped around her waist. Her heart skipped a beat as every nerve in her body flared to life. She’d never known such intimate contact with a man could have such a heightening effect. The experience was far different than she’d imagined.
