Page 2 of House of Thorns
“It’s been a pleasure, Miss,” the man began.
Embarrassed, she twisted free of his embrace, and then suddenly remembered Timothy. A quick glance toward the hedgerow revealed both Timothy and his redheaded lover had gone.
“I daresay, you succeeded in making the sallow-faced fop jealous,” the man behind her commented in a knowing voice.
Fop? Olivia winced. The description fit Timothy more than she cared to admit. Still, she tossed her head and lifted her chin. “I wait for no one. I was merely illustrating that fact. He’s no longer welcome to keep my company, good sir.”
She faced the man then, and for the first time, noticed the fine quality of his immaculate white shirt, gray silk cravat, and double-breasted, velvet-trimmed waistcoat. Expensive and of the highest quality. The clothes of a nobleman.
Wincing, she hastily amended, “Eh…my lord.”
Again, he chuckled, the sound drawing her eyes from his midriff to his face. Sweet Lord above, the man was handsome. He towered over her, his gray eyes glinting with amusement over his strong, straight nose. Then, her gaze dropped to his lips. They appeared as sensual as they’d felt. She shivered.
A light summer breeze blew through the garden, ruffling his blond hair as he peered down at her with brow cocked. “Only a fool would risk losing a lass like you.” His lip quirked.
Olivia’s eyes widened.
“Aye, a true man doesn’t let the lass that caught his interest slip through his fingers. He goes after her.” His lips widened into a mischievous grin, then he lowered his voice to add, “Rather like this.”
Before she could respond, he caught her close, splaying his fingers low over the base of her spine as he molded her body against his. A wave of liquid heat flooded straight to her core as his tongue immediately sought entry to her mouth. She didn’t hesitate. She opened her lips, breathing him in as he swept inside. For a timeless moment, their tongues tangled. Warm. Wet. She dug her fingers into his waistcoat to steady herself. He moaned, a soft sound, more intimate than she’d ever heard, and then, slowly, he pulled away.
“Aye, lass.” His laugh was a lazy one, full of satisfaction. “A true man kisses the woman he’s interested in—precisely like that.”
He stepped away, executed a gallant bow, swung on his heel, and strode through the garden toward the gray stone manor without a backward glance.
Dazed, Olivia watched him go, unable to tear her gaze from his narrow hips and the line of his broad shoulders. Lord help her, but after him, how could she ever make peace with Timothy’s fumbling pecks and awkward, one-armed hugs? Who knew such kisses truly existed outside the pages of a book?
“Olivia?”
Startled, Olivia jerked as her friend, Louisa, joined her.
Beautiful Louisa Hamilton, a well-endowed opera singer with a lark’s voice and a body that drove men mad, knew how to use both of her assets to her advantage. She smiled at Olivia, every strand of her elaborately coifed, raven hair in place and each fold of her rose satin gown artfully arranged.
Olivia nodded a greeting, ignoring the customary twinge of envy she felt in Louisa’s presence. She’d never attain such elegance and beauty. She simply hadn’t the time nor patience to primp for hours in front of the mirror, painstakingly painting her face, even to the darkening of each individual eyelash.
“Did you find him?” Louisa’s brown eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Olivia frowned, puzzled. “Who?”
Louisa covered her mouth with her hands and giggled. “Your lips are swollen. He kissed you, didn’t he? A real kiss this time. Iknewhe couldn’t resist you in that green gown.”
Olivia blinked and glanced down at the green-sprigged muslin she’d borrowed from Louisa just that morning.
“There’s no need to be shy,” Louisa chided. “Tell me, Olivia. Do. I didn’t think Timothy knewhowto kiss.”
He obviously didn’t—not if one could call what the nobleman had done a kiss. Olivia shook her head, finding the experience far too intense to share, especially with Louisa. Glasgow’s gossips would be chattering about the Mad Printer’s lusty daughter within the hour. Maybe even less.
“Oh, fiddlesticks.” Louisa rolled her eyes and gave Olivia’s arm a disappointed tug. Then, her face brightened. “Don’t fret. I’ll pull each delicious detail from your lips at my house party.”
Again, Olivia shook her head. “I really must return to the shop.”
“Nonsense. You’re coming,” Louisa announced firmly. “I sang your songs, didn’t I?”
Olivia clenched her jaw. She’d hardly sung the songs for free. While they were friends, they weren’t of the bosom buddy kind. She’d paid Louisa a fine penny to sing and she had the contracts safely tucked away under the print shop’s floorboards as proof—but disagreeing with Louisa was always a losing proposition. The opera singer altered facts to suit her fancy.
Still, Olivia simply wasn’t in the mood to attend a party—especially one of Louisa’s raucous ones. “I can’t.”
“They never rush to the print shop to buy the sheet musicthisquickly, silly,” Louisa reproved in a teasing tone. “But even if they should, you still have your shop boy, don’t you?”
