Page 69 of A Stranger’s Kiss

Olivia smiled. “Shall we retire to dinner?”

Her grandfather cocked his head to the side. “You would dine with me, alone?”

“I do not fear you,” Olivia replied with a shrug. “And I must admit, I am hungry. I have been up since dawn. Why waste a good meal?”

Her grandfather held out his arm in escort. Ignoring him, Olivia sailed down the hallway and into the dining room.

The dining room décor was gloomy, at once reminding Olivia of her grandfather. A grandfather clock ticked in the corner and a portrait hung over the fireplace. Beyond that, there was little to offer cheer in the dismal room.

The table had been set for six. Ignoring the spidery writing indicating she should sit on her grandfather’s right with Lord Randall by her side, Olivia walked to the foot of the table and took the seat opposite her grandfather at the head.

The duke sat down. “You are accustomed to having your way.” It was a clear criticism.

Olivia shrugged. “No more than you, I am sure.”

Her grandfather scowled. “I am the head of my house. I have earned such respect. You are in sore need of a husband to guide your ways.”

She spared him a look of disdain. “I will allow none to meddle in my concerns. Least of all, you. I will never wed Lord Randall.” She might as well drive to the heart of the conversation and get it done with, once and for all.

The old man’s eyes took on a sharp gleam. “And if he can offer you a title?”

“You speak as if a title is the only treasure in the world,” she observed.

“A title grants power. Respect.”

“Nae, it does not.” Olivia afforded a small laugh. “Both power and respect must be earned, and I am of the mind that a marriage should be founded on love.”

The duke snorted in disdain. “Foolishness.”

“Hardly.”

“Lord Randall would offer you security, a—”

“Then let him offer such to another. My affections are already taken.”

The duke scowled. “Who? Lord Blair?”

He was perceptive. She had to grant him that much, but then, true attraction to another was impossible to hide. Olivia lifted her chin. She wasn’t her grandfather’s puppet. She didn’t have to answer him if she wished not to. She glanced at the portrait hanging over the fireplace, an oil of a young red-haired man with a drooping mustache, his mouth and brows angled in overt disapproval.

“My father,” the duke said.

“I see the resemblance,” Olivia muttered.

His brow arched. Clearly, in the physical respect, he couldn’t be more opposite than the man glaring down at him, but there was no denying the family resemblance in disdain and arrogance. Olivia shrugged, not feeling compelled to explain.

The servants entered with a platter of quail with asparagus and orange jellies. When they’d finished serving, the duke waved them away.

As the man glowered at his plate, Olivia queried, “Have you seen Lady Blair lately?”

The duke looked up, clearly surprised she’d dare break his governing silence.

She smiled, pleased she had. “I have been amiss in visiting her, of late.”

A gleam entered the old man’s eye, a gleam she couldn’t quite place, but one that irritated her even though she couldn’t place why. Was it a challenge?

As if possessed by some devil, she said, “I do so wish to consult with her. I have been mulling the idea of taking a portion of the proceeds of this concert and financing another in London.” She hadn’t, but now that she thought on the matter, it was an excellent idea.

The duke’s head snapped back.