Page 33 of A Stranger’s Kiss

“Lawks, there you are, Miss Mackenzie.”

It was Elena. The young brunette hovered by the door, plucking the feathers sewn on her dress, her soft, brown eyes worried.

Relief flooded through Olivia. “I am so pleased you’re here. We need to speak—”

Elena grimaced and grabbed her arm, pulling her close. “That’s just it, Olivia,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t be here, at all. Louisa will be furious.”

Anger flashed over Olivia. “Do you know where she is?”

The young singer shook her head and glanced away, looking almost guilty.

So, she did know. “Please, tell me. I must speak with her.”

“She’s not going to sing for your concert, Olivia. Not anymore,” Elena whispered.

“But, but I have contracts.” Or, she had, but Elena didn’t need to know that.

Elena hesitated, then confessed in a rush, “I cannot sing for you anymore, either, Olivia. I feel so very dreadful over the matter, but she’ll ruin me and she has connections. I had to tell Lady Winthrop I suffer from a sore throat. I brought Marie. She’s in the drawing room, now.”

Olivia blinked. Another betrayal? And Marie? Marie Geertz. She worked closely with Foster and Sons’ Publishing House. They specialized in the classics, not the lighthearted ditties that she printed.

“I am sorry,” Elena choked. “I really am.”

Olivia sucked a deep breath. “But you signed a contract yourself—”

“I cannot. I really cannot.” Elena blanched, then pushed past Olivia to run out of the house.

Olivia closed her eyes, battling the sudden urge to bang her forehead against the wall.

Why bother with contracts? The singers treated them like discarded letters from a scorned lover. But then, perhaps they knew she didn’t have them any longer. She drew a sharp breath. Had Louisa had a hand in the robbery? Stolen her mother’s locket?

The sounds of Mozart’s “O zittre nicht, mein lieber Sohn” drifted from the floor above, intruding upon her thoughts. Of course, it was music she never printed.

She left the house. Lady Winthrop wouldn’t miss her. The women of society tolerated her presence at their charity gatherings out of pity and respect to Lady Blair. Blowing her hair out of her face, she headed for a row of willows that bordered the banks of the River Clyde. The wind rustled the long, sweeping branches as she walked through them.

She needed a new plan. She still owed Mr. Pitt fifteen pounds and another five for the musicians. The concert was in a month. She had a month to convince Louisa to return or she really would be out on the streets, as a true charity case of her own.

Olivia closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. Was this really over a man? And of all men…Lord Randall? Something about him made her hackles rise. He spoke so smoothly and in far too polished a manner—almost as if he had something to hide.

“Miss Mackenzie.”

Olivia jerked and glanced over her shoulder. There he was, as if summoned by her thoughts. The man himself: Lord Randall. He stood just a few yards away, elegantly dressed in tanned breeches, fine polished black leather boots and black velvet top hat.

“Are you avoiding me, Miss Mackenzie?” he teased.

Did wishing to avoid him now count? Olivia forced herself to smile—he was a customer, after all. “Nae, my lord.”

“Every time I visit the shop, I find you’re not there,” he explained, even though she hadn’t asked.

He’d been coming to the shop? Why did she find that disturbing? “How can I help you, my lord? Are you looking for something in particular?”

He smiled, an easy smile, and one obviously of the flirtatious kind. “Perhaps, I did not visit for the music.”

Olivia took an unwitting step back. The slight muscle twitch on his jaw informed her he’d noticed.

“Miss Mackenzie,” a new voice hailed her from behind.

Nicholas ducked under the trailing branches to join her and looking handsomer than ever in his gray breeches and a dark silk cravat, intricately tied.