Page 58 of House of Thorns
Deborah threw herself into Olivia’s arms and sobbed, “My confession.Twelvepages ofconfession.”
“Confession?” Olivia frowned, smoothing her cousin’s hair back from her face.
“I was at my wit’s end,” Deborah wailed. “I didn’t mean to lie. I didn’t think you’d act on what I said about Nicholas, Olivia. I was just so ashamed. After all, who could believe I slept with the stable hand?”
Olivia froze. “What are you saying?”
At last. The sordid truth. Nicholas held still, lest Deborah become distracted and change her mind. Then, she slipped from Olivia’s grasp and came up to him, pale and gliding like a ghost.
“Can you ever forgive me, Lord Blair?” she asked through white lips. “Can you forget that I lied and claimed you were the father? Can you forgive me?”
He’d embarked on the journey of solving Deborah’s problems solely to impress Olivia, but now, as he looked into the poor lass’s tortured eyes, he felt a deep sense of pity.
“Forgiven,” he said at once.
If he’d thought she’d sobbed before, he was wrong. His words unleashed such a volley of tears that he excused himself from the lounge. Such matters were best settled between women.
He adjusted his cravat and headed for the library door.
At last, the truth. At last, Olivia knew. He smiled and jogged down the stairs. When Deborah had calmed, he’d broach the matter of Lord Deveraux, and if his suspicions held true, he had no doubt that soon, he’d see a genuine smile on the lass’s face.
“Lord Blair?”
Nicholas looked over his shoulder and paused.
It was the Duke of Lennox. He didn’t mind the man, as gruff as he was. However, the Duke wasn’t alone. At his side stood Lord Randall with a particularly smug smile on his infernal lips.
“Your Grace.” Nicholas recovered to bow. Then, he arched a brow and lowered his tone, “Randall.”
Lord Randall spared him a nod. “Blair,” he acknowledged before turning to the Duke. “Then, Your Grace, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Tomorrow, then,” the Duke replied.
With a nod and an elegant bow, Lord Randall spun on his heel and took off down the street, swinging his silver-handled walking stick. Arrogance marked his every step.
Nicholas watched, displeased, until the man rounded the corner, out of sight.
“And?” The Duke of Lennox cut a formidable figure in his green kilt as he stood there, eyeing Nicholas from under his thick line of brows. “And?”
“Lord Randall, Your Grace.” Nicholas drove directly to the point. “I would warn you to have a care with the man.”
“What, exactly, are you insinuating, Blair?”
“Insinuating?” Nicholas met his gaze squarely. “No, I am warning, Your Grace. He is not what he appears.”
The Duke tilted his head to one side and a gleam entered his eye. “And you? Are you more than the rake you are known to be?”
Nicholas hesitated. Inexplicably, he wanted to be. Before he could answer, the Duke’s eyes latched over his shoulder in the direction of the library door.
“Grandfather?” Deborah’s faint voice sounded behind him.
Nicholas turned to see Olivia standing beside her cousin on the top of the stairs. God, she was beautiful. Her color was high, and her breasts rose and fell as she locked gazes with her grandfather on the bottom step.
“Why did you not come to dinner, as summoned?” the Duke challenged.
Olivia raised her chin and her eyes flared with passion. “I don’t take kindly to orders.”
The Duke’s chin raised, in very much the same manner as Olivia’s, and the stubborn expression crossing his face startled Nicholas almost into a snort of amusement. Olivia and her grandfather were so very much alike, from their posture, to the thinning of their lips, and down to the obstinate gleam in their eyes.
