Page 49 of A Stranger’s Kiss

So now, it was ‘Olivia,’ was it? Did he really think she’d swoon over him, fall for him that easily? She wasn’t Louisa’s kind.

“If you will excuse me, Lord Randall,” she murmured in frosty tones. “I must be going.”

As she turned, he reached out as if to touch her again.

She stopped him with a withering glare. “Good day, my lord.”

She marched down the garden path, ignoring his calling of her name. Really, the man was a mystery. What did he expect of her? That she’d turn around and run into his arms?

She arrived at the shop, out of sorts, and slammed the front door shut.

The bang brought Mrs. Lambert through the curtains. “Oh, it’s you, lass.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I sold a song while you were out. Put the coins in the box there.” Her mole hairs pointed the way.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lambert.” Olivia grimaced. One sheet. Still, one sale was better than none.

She opened the box and emptied the coins into her palm. Eight shillings in all. Her gaze caught on one of the coins. It was bent. She squinted closer. It was the coin Lord Randall had given her. Odd. Bent, like the coin stolen from her box under the floorboard.

Strange.

What were the odds she’d possess two bent shillings?

With a sigh, she shrugged the thought away and headed to the print room to work. She had to bolster her sales. It was time to advertise in the paper, but first, she had to bind the music she’d printed.

* * *

Morning arrived dreary and unseasonably cold, but for all the gloom, the shop bustled with customers. Olivia smiled, pleased. Her last newspaper announcement had proved fruitful. She eyed her box beneath the counter. While it wasn’t overflowing, she was pleased with the week’s sales.

A gasp circled a group of young women perusing the music near the window.

“Who is it?”

“A noble—”

“Look at the carriage.”

“The horses—so white.”

A pang of disappointment stabbed Olivia. White horses ruled out Nicholas. Rolling her eyes at herself, she craned her neck toward the window. She couldn’t see much beyond the glossy back of a coach with a gilded hub and gold-painted wheels.

“He’s so braw, handsome,” someone whispered.

Olivia furrowed her brows. The ‘handsome’ ruled out her grandfather, and she’d like to say, Lord Randall, as well—but they were obviously judging on looks alone, not personality. Doubtless, Lord Randall had arrived to foist himself upon her, again.

She strode to the door and yanked it open just as a footman—a decidedly dashing and handsome one, resplendent in the Duke of Lennox’s livery—stretched his hand toward the knob.

The man blinked, then bowed. “His Grace, the Duke of Lennox, requests your presence, at once, for the afternoon and dinner.”

A chorus of oohs and ahhhs circled behind Olivia as she stared at the footman, surprised. What game was her grandfather playing now?

“Not bloody likely,” she retorted.

Gasps replaced the soft coos behind her. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t dance to her grandfather’s tune. She tossed her head, but then, an image of his shoulders shaking as he knelt by her mother’s grave slipped through her thoughts. Damn him. Why did family have to be so complicated?

A twinge of guilt made her wince. “I beg your pardon.” She eyed the footman ruefully. The poor man wasn’t at fault. “My grandfather brings out my worst manners.”

A gleam of amusement entered the man’s eye. He obviously commiserated. He bowed again, this time, a full bow of respect. “Forgiven, my lady. Think no more of it.”

Lady? Olivia arched a dry brow. “However, I must still decline. I have work.”