Page 7 of A Stranger’s Kiss

Before Louisa could reply, the dour-faced maid stepped into view. “You have a visitor, ma’am.”

Louisa turned to leave.

“Wait.” Olivia caught her arm. “I want to go home. If you could just call your carriage now?”

“Fine,” the opera singer huffed, “but you’re making a mistake. Soon, you will have to swallow your pride.” With a lift of her chin, she hissed, “Just like the rest of us.”

Not bloody likely. She’d live on the streets and beg before she let a man like Mr. Pitt touch so much as a toe, but she knew better than to object and alienate Louisa further.

“Louisa?” a man’s deep baritone called from the entryway.

With a wide smile, Louisa picked up her skirts and nearly bowled Olivia over in her haste to greet the man. Olivia rolled her eyes and stalked to the nearby sitting room to wait for the carriage. She’d give the man twenty minutes before heading home herself. The last rays of sunlight cast a warm glow over the rose-painted walls. To her relief, the room was empty. She crossed to the large, comfortable leather wingback chair and leaned over the back to peer through the window at the darkening sky. Even if she left that precise moment, she still wouldn’t get home before nightfall.

She drummed her fingers on the leather. With the amount of type left to set, she’d have to burn the oil lamps tonight. She knew better than to hope the shop boy had already set the pages. He was near useless, but, please God, surely, he’d kept the windows shut? Twice in the last week alone, he’d opened the shutters, complaining of the heat, and the scholar’s cat, Mr. Peppers, had slipped inside. The last time, he’d gotten into the ink and left a trail of pawprints on the music she’d set out to dry. She’d lost an entire day’s work.

“Beautiful,” a man’s soft voice murmured.

Olivia whirled. A man towered in the gathering gloom behind her, halfway between herself and the door. Dressed in dark clothes, he easily merged with the shadows, but the silver handle of his dapper walking stick glinted in the stray rays of light. Odd. She hadn’t heard him enter. Apparently taking her silence as an invitation, he joined her by the chair, moving with the silence and grace of a cat. Olivia shivered. She would have truly thought him a bodiless spirit until the pleasant scent of cedar and mint swirled about her.

The last remnants of the day’s light played over the face of the man staring down at her. He was handsome, virile, with intense blue eyes and a smile that curled the corner of his lip that seemed more than a mite suggestive. No doubt, he thought her one of the drawing room women.

“Beautiful,” he whispered this time. He trailed his gaze slowly over her body, then added, “The sunset, so beautiful.”

“Then, should you not be looking out the window, my lord?” she asked in arched tones.

His brows lifted, surprised, but the interest in his eyes only deepened. “Pardon me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord James Randall. You are?”

Lord Randall, the man with a temper blacker than a chimney sweep, and a man that apparently caught Louisa’s fancy. If they weren’t already lovers, no doubt, they would be soon.

Lord Randall leaned close, his eyes hooded. “And you?” he repeated, deepening his voice.

Olivia cleared her throat. “Olivia. Olivia Mackenzie.”

He shifted and something about him changed. “Olivia Mackenzie,” he said. His tone now took on a formal cast. “Granddaughter to the Duke of Lennox?”

It was Olivia’s turn to be surprised. “How did you know?”

A look of amusement flashed over his face. “Glasgow society has spoken of no one else but you tonight, my dear.”

Olivia frowned. Of course, with Lady Kendrick involved, no doubt everyone in London already knew, as well. “Then, I fear Glasgow society will find their evening a disappointment.”

“Why would that be, Miss Mackenzie?”

Miss Mackenzie? He looked down at her with only respect now. His suggestive manner had vanished entirely.

“Olivia?” Louisa barged through the door. “I have been looking…” The words died on her lips as her gaze fell upon Lord Randall.

Olivia stepped back at once, lest Louisa misunderstand. “If you will excuse me,” she murmured to Lord Randall, then turned toward the door. “I am ready, Louisa. Is the carriage here?”

“You can wait on the step,” she replied.

The coolness of her tone couldn’t be missed.

“Surely, you don’t have to leave so quickly, Miss Mackenzie?” Lord Randall queried as he followed her into the hall.

“Yes, she does,” Louisa answered in her stead. “She has an ill father to attend, my lord.” Eyes locked with Olivia’s, she rubbed her palm over Lord Randall’s chest in a blatant statement of ownership.

“Yes, I must go,” Olivia quickly agreed. “Good evening.”