Page 48 of A Stranger’s Kiss

She didn’t care. Caught in a depth of anger she’d never before experienced, she planted her hands on her hips. “Lord help me, but do I understand you correctly? Dare you, and Lord Randall—of all men to walk the Earth—dare speak of my marriage? The impudence, the pure audacity…” her voice trailed away, speechless.

“These are men’s concerns,” the duke spat.

“Oh? My own life isn’t my concern?” The fury boiling in Olivia grew hotter by the second. How dare her grandfather speak to Lord Randall…and how dare Lord Randall speak with her grandfather? Suddenly, the man’s constant snooping around her shop became clear.

“Never,” she vowed. “I will never wed the man. Ever.”

“His title could restore some semblance of respectability to a woman of your position,” came her grandfather’s curt reply.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “I have no interest in joining the ranks of those coldhearted, uncaring…” she faltered as an unwanted image of his shaking shoulders in the graveyard slipped through her thoughts.

She fell silent, her anger drained.

The duke didn’t move.

For a time, only the creaking of the carriages on the street outside came between them. At last, the duke stalked to a walnut cabinet in the corner of the room, took a key from his pocket, and twisted it into the uppermost locked drawer. He opened the doors and pulled out a small, carved box.

“This means nothing to you?” He held the box up as he turned to face her.

Olivia shook her head. Slowly, he joined her. When he reached her side, he extended his hand and opened the lid of the box.

“This was your mother’s heritage before she let pride get in her way,” he rasped.

A small ceramic shoe glistened on a bed of white velvet. Sapphires and diamonds encrusted the heel and the upper edges. Where one might expect a bow or a buckle near the toe, a sapphire, as large as a Robin’s egg, rested instead, surrounded by a ring of diamonds catching the stray rays of light filtering into the room.

Olivia knew what it was. The Blue Slipper.

“Your mother’s pride kept you poor, Olivia. Her pride prevented you from a proper education, one that befits a lady. Your mother’s pride—her obstinance—condemned you to the lower echelons of society.” He spoke slowly, ominously.

For a suspended moment in time, Olivia simply stared at the small shoe, lying on its velvet bed.

The lid abruptly snapped shut and her grandfather spun on his heel to return the box to the cabinet. As he twisted the key in the lock, he said, “Walk away from this madness of An Enchanted Summer Evening. Sponsoring a concert is no place for a woman. Sell your shop, if you must. Wed Randall and gain a title. Then, you can return to your proper place in society.” He faced her, his craggy face an unreadable mask. “It is simple, Olivia. It’s time you walked away from your father and his dreams.”

Walk away from her father? Olivia’s chin lifted. “Never. You dare judge my mother? Pride, you say? Obstinance? You are so wrong, so very, very wrong. My mother’s love taught me the meaning of a true family and a home.” She eyed the soulless perfection of the room around her as well as the man, then added, “Clearly, that is something you will never understand. True love cannot be bought.” She whirled and headed for the door.

She was three feet away from it when her grandfather’s hand dropped on her shoulder. “Accept Randall,” he urged. “Then, I can bestow upon you a dowry.”

Olivia didn’t bother turning around. “At the price of my father? Never. Yet even more so, from myself. I detest Lord Randall. I will never wed the man.”

“I will not give you a penny otherwise.”

This time, she did turn. With a laugh combined with a humph of disdain, she retorted, “Never have I asked from you a single penny. I will most certainly not start now. I will make my own way—without your help. That, I promise you.”

She stormed out of the sitting room, down the hall and out the front door. It wasn’t until she reached the edge of Glasgow Green that she realized she’d left without garnering news of Deborah’s time of return. She expelled a breath. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. She would find a different way to reach her cousin, one that avoided any meeting with the cantankerous, judgmental Duke of a grandfather.

Just what the man was up to fair puzzled her. Why care now? Why throw a husband and a dowry in her path? Did her concert hurt his reputation that badly? She smiled, coldly. If it did, then she’d double her efforts. She’d do everything possible to make An Enchanted Summer Evening happen. She’d even bally well sell the press if she had to.

The moment she set foot in the park, another hand dropped on her arm. She jerked free and glanced up, surprised and affronted and very much irritated at men manhandling her arm and shoulder as they pleased. To her great annoyance, Lord Randall peered down at her with a pleased, smug expression.

Pleased, was he? Unable to stop the anger from erupting, she snapped without preamble, “You have spoken of me to the duke?”

His brows twitched, obviously not expecting such a direct response. “Forgive me, am I out of order?” he asked after a moment.

“If you’re asking if you are out of order discussing my future with the duke—without my consent, mind you—then the answer is yes.” She looked him straight in the eye. “The duke does not speak for me. You have been misinformed.”

Olivia didn’t miss the tic of his jaw muscle nor the fleeting flare of his nostrils. The rumors of his temper were obviously true. Her anger deepened all the more. How dare her grandfather seek to forge a union with a foul-tempered man with a title—simply for the sake of his own reputation. Small wonder Deborah was distraught about confessing her situation to him.

"Olivia, please.” Lord Randall stepped closer.