Page 72 of House of Thorns
The thought summoned a smile to her lips. “If word of that gets on the streets of Glasgow, I will have a mob of maidens at my door.”
Nicholas laughed and then grew serious. “It is you I fret over. Once this concert of yours reveals your father’s music, there will be more than Lord Randall sniffing here.”
Lord Randall. Olivia’s lip curled in disdain. “I know how to handle the likes of Lord Randall.”
“He’s a crafty man,” Nicholas countered. The muscle on his jaw twitched.
“He’s a fool,” she retorted. “Any man who thinks he’ll come by my hand by conspiring with my grandfather is a fool of the highest order.”
She turned away, but Nicholas’s hand lashed out to catch her elbow. She glanced back. The look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. She watched, mesmerized, as he skimmed his palm lightly down her arm to slide his hand over hers. Lacing their fingers, he slowly brought her fingertips to his lips, his eyes locked with hers all the while.
“Then let the fool conspire away,” he murmured, pausing to drop a kiss on the tip of each finger. “I shall consult with the lady herself.”
Olivia swallowed, a pit of want burgeoning deep inside her.
“I must ready myself,” she finally said, her voice suddenly hoarse.
“Yes.” He nodded, letting her hand slip free, but not before he added, “We shall continue. Later.”
She hurried through the curtains and up the stairs. Later. Continue later? She could only hope so.
In the heat of her attic room, the dress had dried, all but the hem. She took her time changing, mostly to regain control of the thoughts he’d unleashed. It was difficult. Memories of his lips on her breast kept rising in her mind, trampling all others.
Of course, she was engaging in the utmost of scandalous behaviors, and, of course, she should wed before she let a man touch her so…but, strangely, she didn’t care.
It was Nicholas she wanted. She had from the very moment she’d met him.
She eyed her reflection in the mirror.
Of course, they could never wed. He was far above her station. Her choices lay in men such as Timothy. She shuddered at the thought of him touching her, suckling as Nicholas had. Truly, after Nicholas, how could she give herself to another man? She’d rather have him and become his mistress than not at all.
“Enough, Olivia,” she informed her reflection as she fanned her cheeks.
Enough, indeed. She had Deborah to succor first, a wrong to be righted.
Clearing her thoughts, she reached for her hat and pelisse lying on the bed. It was time to go and support her cousin. Doubtless, worry over the blackmailer was eating her alive.
* * *
“I assure you, all is in order. Mr. Timms will trap the man,” Nicholas said. “Trust me, Olivia.”
Olivia nodded. “I do.”
He lifted the brass knocker on the Duke of Lennox’s townhouse door and knocked three times.
Three hours. In three hours’ time, the blackmailer would be waiting for Deborah to hand over two thousand pounds. Knowing her cousin as she did, she figured she must be on the verge of fainting from stress.
She was.
As the maid ushered Olivia and Nicholas into the drawing room, Deborah rose from the settee looking pale, wan, and definitely most ready to collapse.
“Deborah, my dear.” Olivia rushed to her side.
“Olivia. Nicholas,” she choked in greeting.
She opened her lips to speak, but clamped them shut as the Duke of Lennox chose that moment to arrive.
“Blair,” the man grunted with a curt nod before turning his censorious gaze upon Olivia. “Are you still continuing this madness at the Theatre Royale?”
