Page 23 of House of Thorns
Before Nicholas could respond, Olivia shushed him with a warning scowl and then took the man by the arm.
“I’m helping him, father,” she said in a soothing voice. “There’s no cause for concern. Let’s go back now, shall we?” Gently, she pulled him back toward the curtain.
The man peered down at her and his green eyes lit with amusement. “I swear, lass, have you grown since this morning?”
“I do believe I have, Father. Now, why don’t you work on your music? I can take care of the customers.”
The sadness that tinged her smile unexpectedly tugged Nicholas’s heart.
“Customers?” The man’s face lit, and he turned back to Nicholas. He bowed. “Goody day, my lord. And how may I be of service? What music might you be looking for today?”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes as Olivia commandeered her father’s arm and, this time, succeeded in pulling him through the curtain.
Odd. The man clearly suffered a malady of the memory. He wondered as to the cause as he glanced around the shop again, this time viewing the worn state of the place through a different pair of eyes. The lass was obviously struggling to make ends meet.
Shame flooded through him. He’d behaved as the worse kind of cad. He wasn’t one to chide the helpless—despite her chosen method of digging herself out of her situation.
The soft tinkling of the piano resumed and a moment later, the curtains parted and Olivia returned.
By God, there was something about the way she moved. He couldn’t stop his eyes from dipping over the soft swell of her breasts and the curves of her hips as she marched to the counter.
“Where were we, my lord? I do believe you were accusing me of blackmail?” she snapped.
Had he thought her helpless? His lip twitched. She was as helpless as a viper. Why did that make his blood boil even more?
“I have been hasty in my judgment,” he admitted, summoning his most charming smile. “I do apologize. I have no excuse.”
Olivia lifted a suspicious brow.
“Surely, you can understand. What man enjoys a false accusation—” he began.
“False?” she interrupted with a snort.
She was a feisty one. A strange combination of irritation, admiration and lust flooded him. “I’ve never laid a finger on your cousin Debora,” he clipped, the irritation winning.
“You lie, then, sir. She bears your child.”
“Deborah may very well be with child—but certainly not mine.”
Olivia’s green eyes widened. “Impossible.”
“How so?” Nicholas challenged.
She scowled. “My cousin wouldn’t lie over such a matter.”
“She wouldn’t be the first woman who did under such circumstances,” he observed in a dry tone. “As much as you may not wish to hear this, my dear, even I cannot father a child with a woman I haven’t seen in nearly two years.”
The long line of her lashes fluttered in surprise and, for a time, only the strains of the piano from the back room could be heard.
Then, clearly unwilling to abandon a fight, Olivia stubbornly raised her chin as if that settled the matter and said firmly, “No. Deborah wouldn’t lie to me. We’re…family.”
Her words pulled a mocking laugh from his lips. “Then all the more reason to do so,” he murmured dryly.
The lass thinned her lips in displeasure, and suddenly, he found himself drowning in the depths of her stunning eyes. Such a deep green flecked with gold and so very expressive. Secrets lay hidden there, secrets he wanted to discover. Sorrow, surely. Passion? He’d felt that and more when he’d kissed her in his mother’s garden.
She was fierce, yet so small, a tempest in a teapot and a woman with a spirit he could only admire. The thought startled him. He wasn’t in the habit of admiring women for more than their curves—though most assuredly, in that, this lass was truly blessed.
He straightened, surprised to discover just how far he’d leaned across the counter.
