Page 45 of A Stranger’s Kiss

A fever? Of course. Polite society could hardly tolerate the truth of the lass hanging herself from the rafters in a barn.

He repeated the same story he’d told Mr. Timms. She listened with rapt attention, never interrupting. When he’d finished, she remained quiet.

Finally, he broke the silence with, “I beg you, Olivia. Do not trust Lord Randall. He is hiding something.”

She responded with a muffled snort. “Have no fear. The man disturbs me.”

Aye, she was so different than Henrietta. She was a fighter, a lioness.

Then, she looked him straight in the eye. “As for Deborah, you must make things right.”

He shot her a withering look. “As for Deborah, I am truly helping the lass, I assure you, but I will not wed her when I am not the father. A week, Olivia. A week and I should know more.” Mr. Timms would, no doubt, uncover the truth, and once uncovered, the next step would become clearer.

“A week, then,” she agreed.

Further conversation ended with their arrival at the music shop. He helped her down, again savoring the light touch of her fingers on his hand, and as ever, his eyes fell to the sway of her hips and the wide ribbon spanning her waist as she took her leave.

“The hotel, my lord?” his coachman asked when he turned back to his carriage.

He nodded and returned to his seat. It was fitting that Olivia was in the music business. Her body was the finest instrument and, soon, would be his for the playing. He lifted his lip in a private smile. Soon, she’d wear a ribbon and nothing else. He felt himself grow hard at the thought.

The thought of visiting Demelza flashed across his mind, the thought quickly followed by revulsion. He knew what the reaction meant. He was falling for Olivia. Hard. He focused his gaze out the window. In the not-so-distant past, the thought of falling for a woman would have made him run. This time, he wanted a different ending…a permanent one. He slouched back into his seat, letting his thoughts wander over Olivia’s roof, her endeavors with the concert, and, of course, her splendid curves.

In less time than he’d thought possible, the carriage arrived at his hotel, and he’d no sooner stepped inside than Mr. Timms’ bulky form rose from one of the leather chairs beside the window.

“My lord.” The man bowed.

The movement threatened to pop his straining waistcoat buttons. With amusement, Nicholas noticed the top button already missing.

“I have news,” the man announced.

“So soon?” Good. “Please, join me in my rooms.”

Neither man spoke until they settled safely behind the closed door of Nicholas’s private sitting room.

“Lord Randall,” Mr. Timms began at once, “seems to have an interesting financial situation.”

“Interesting? How?”

“His estate is in ruins, owed entirely to the bank, yet he has founded many charities, my lord.”

Charities? Not bloody likely. Randall was the least charitable person to walk the streets of Glasgow. “Ridiculous.”

“I am inclined to agree with you, my lord, but I am still inspecting the matter.” Mr. Timms folded his pudgy hands across the vast expanse of his belly. “As for Lady Deborah…”

Nicholas tapped his finger in anticipation.

“Hers is a common enough plight. Until five months ago, she was keeping close company to Lord Piers Deveraux, second son to the Comte de Gercourt. A man I believe you know well?”

“Piers?” Nicholas drew a sharp breath in surprise. “He never mentioned her. Of course, I haven’t seen him since Paris—last fall, I believe.”

Mr. Timms nodded. “Their affair was of a whirlwind nature, and from all appearances, a genuine one, despite Lord Deveraux’s passing distraction to the Lady Marie Rochambeau.”

“Passing distraction?”

“Lady Deborah discovered them, ahem…shall we say…in a compromised position?” Mr. Timms mopped his face.

“Caught them in bed, eh?” Nicholas queried dryly.

“Aye, my lord.” The investigator nodded. “Her heart broke. She left Paris and returned home to her grandfather’s estate, outside Glasgow. There, shall we say, she succored her heart with the attentions of the stable lad.”

“The stable lad?” Nicholas repeated, surprised. So, the stable lad had fathered the child? Deborah’s desperation could now be understood. Then, he recalled Mr. Timms’ first comment. “You said their affair—Piers’ affair with Deborah—appeared genuine in nature?”

“The man is distraught. He pines for her in Edinburgh, according to those with knowledge of the matter.”

Nicholas strode to the window and crossed his arms. Pined for her, did he? Genuine? Genuine enough to forgive her for making the same mistake Piers had himself? He drummed his fingers on his arms.

Well, there was only one way to find out. He’d have to speak with the man himself.