Page 82 of House of Thorns
Chapter Twenty-One
An Enchanted Evening
Olivia stood at the back of the opera house, again wiping tears from her eyes. She could only laugh at herself. She’d heard Florinda sing the song countless times before, and looking at her now, singing on the stage, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy, knowing Nicholas had kissed her—and more besides. Even so, the tears still flowed. The woman had the voice of an angel. Truly, there was no better singer to sing her father’s songs.
And as for Nicholas? Olivia smiled. In the past week and a half, he’d taught her the many delights of his tongue and the wonders of his fingers. There was no need for jealousy now, not when he spent his nights withher.
No, tonight the world would hear her father’s music. She’d sold every ticket. Florinda, the Lark of Paris, was the talk of Glasgow. Tonight, the mystery of her father’s work would be unveiled.
Olivia couldn’t have wished for a more successful concert if she’d tried.
“Tonight,” Mr. Pitt’s voice huffed behind her.
She turned, grimacing a little. Tonight, as well, they’d catch the blackmailer red-handed. She’d kept her eye on Mr. Pitt the entire week, on the alert for any hint or sign of his guilt. She’d seen nothing—not a single hint.
“Yes, Mr. Pitt,” she replied. “Tonight. At long last.”
“There won’t be a dry eye in the house,” the man puffed with pride, as if he were personally responsible for the entire venture.
“Indeed,” Olivia murmured.
“Flowers, lad.” Mr. Pitt turned away as a lanky, red-haired youth skipped down the stairs. “See that Mistress de Bussone’s dressing room is filled with roses.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Move. Right quick.”
Right quick. Olivia frowned. It was such an odd turn of phrase, and Mr. Pitt was the only man she’d ever heard use it. She watched him leave. Mr. Timms had searched the man’s rooms in the theatre from top to bottom. He’d found no evidence of any kind, not one page of Deborah’s letter.
Olivia sighed. If only she hadn’t lost the blasted letter to begin with.
The church bells rang in the distance, interrupting her guilt.
Excitement welled. It was time. Time now, to go home and ready herself. Time to slip into the dress Deborah had gifted her, and then to return, to see and hear the premiere of her father’s music.
Still, even now, she could scarcely believe the concert was, at last, happening.
Quickly, she hurried backstage and escaped the theatre to head across Glasgow Green. Above the trees, starlings swooped in ever-shifting clouds. Soon, night would fall, bringing with it the brilliance of the theatre chandeliers, the strains of the music, the applause.
Of course, her father wouldn’t attend. He would be home, safe with his piano, with Mrs. Lambert by his side. She sighed. If only he could hear his music…but then, no doubt, he already heard symphonies in his heart.
“Miss Mackenzie.”
Olivia paused at the edge of the park, recognizing Lord Randall’s voice so very close behind. She hadn’t seen him since the night of her grandfather’s dinner party. Frankly, she hadn’t spared him a thought. Slowly, she turned.
He stood behind her, elegantly dressed, his silver-handled walking stick looped over the crook of his arm. “Miss Mackenzie.”
“Lord Randall,” she acknowledged with a dip of her chin.
“It’s so hard to reach you, with Lord Blair constantly hovering by your side,” he said. His eyes glittered with a coldness that sent a shiver down her spine—a very unpleasant one.
“And why would you care to reach me?” she asked, frowning slightly.
The man hesitated and then smiled. Something about the way his lips curved made her want to smack the smile straight off his face.
“Surely, you know that your grandfather has blessed a union between us,” he said, without preamble. “I beg your forgiveness in being so blunt, but I must—”
“Lord Randall, I am astounded,” Olivia’s lips parted with contempt. “I have been clear with you from the start. I cannot be clearer. I will not wed you. Ever.”
