A Stranger's Kiss (Lords of Chance Book 2)

by Tarah Scott

  The minutes passed, but Olivia scarcely noticed. The music flowed through her, pulling her back to her younger years, when her father worked the press and her mother tended their home. Laughter and love abounded. She could hear it all, in every note. She listened, caught up in a dream.

  Then, the music ended.

  The ushers brought candles into the audience below. Light filled the room. The audience clapped. Men and women shouted brava, brava, just as they had in her dream.

  The bells announced the intermission.

  Olivia drew a startled breath. How had time passed so quickly? She noticed Deborah fidgeting at her side.

  “All will be well, Deborah,” Olivia reassured as they exited the box.

  “A message, for Lady Deborah,” one of the ushers approached with a folded letter.

  Deborah tensed. Lord Deveraux and Nicholas exchanged looks. With shaking hands, Deborah broke the seal.

  “It’s from him,” she squeaked.

  “What is it?” Nicholas demanded.

  “I am to bring my reticule to the lobby,” she whispered. “That is all.”

  “And?” Lord Deveraux prompted.

  “He’s to find me there.”

  “What the devil?” her fiancé spat.

  “We will catch him,” Nicholas assured. “I have more than one man lurking around Lady Kendrick. We’ll be watchful of Mr. Pitt or any other who approaches her.”

  “Then, shall we?” Lord Deveraux stepped forward.

  Deborah descended the stairs, clutching her reticule so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Olivia followed closely behind. Halfway down, she spied Mr. Pitt bobbing through the crowd, hurrying their way.

  So, it was him.

  Olivia glanced at Nicholas, but his gaze was locked on Mr. Pitt.

  “Miss Mackenzie,” Mr. Pitt called. “Miss Mackenzie.” He pushed straight past Deborah and to herself. “You are wanted backstage,” he said with a worried frown. “Is is a bit of a disaster, if I say so myself. Florinda’s dressing room.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “Disaster? Is she well? Can she still sing?” Of course, disaster would strike, and at the worst possible moment.

  “Best run,” the man hissed.

  Again, ignoring Deborah, he hurried away. Olivia stared at his disappearing back. Was he not the blackmailer? He hadn’t so much as spared Deborah a glance.

  “It truly sounds important.” Deborah sad. “You should go.”

  “How can I leave you?” Olivia gasped.

  “I assure you, Deborah is safe in my care,” Lord Deveraux insisted.

  Olivia shot Nicholas a quizzical glance.

  “Go.” He lifted his brow at Mr. Pitt’s disappearing, then returned his attention to her. “There’s naught to fret over here. You are safe. Mr. Timms’ men have you under their eye, I assure you.”

  She didn’t have a choice. Truly. “I will hurry back,” she promised.

  She rushed away, ignoring the host of patrons calling out her name.

  Mr. Pitt was nowhere to be found. She nearly ran back to Deborah, just to ensure her cousin’s safety, but once she neared Florinda’s dressing room, the unmistakable sound of angry voices sent her heart into a wild rhythm. She reached for the knob, but the door flew open beneath her touch. A woman stood, angry—nae, furious. Her hair loose and in disarray.

  Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “Louisa.”

  Louisa Hamilton glared back at her, nostrils flaring, hands on her hips. “This, this strumpet dares to sing my songs?” Her voice rose in a crescendo. “This is my concert. My songs.”

  “Toss this toad to the street,” Florinda spat from behind the mountain of roses filling the room.

  Olivia blinked.

  Some of the vases lay broken on the floor and the flowers crushed.

  Louisa tossed her head and craned her neck over her shoulder. “Better a toad than a grunting pig—and with the looks of one, as well.”

  Candlelight caught the locket hanging about her neck.

  Olivia’s throat closed.

  There was no mistaking it. Her mother’s necklace.

  With one swift jerk, she yanked the locket from Louisa’s neck. “Where?” Olivia gasped. “Where did you get this?”

  Louisa screeched. “Have you gone mad?” She waved a paper in front of Olivia’s face. “This is my concert, and I have the contracts to prove it.”

  Olivia held still. The contracts. The stolen contracts. She snatched them from Louisa’s hand. “Where did you get these?”

  “Lord Randall gave them to me, and the necklace, as well,” Louisa retorted in near hysteria. “He told me what you were up to. How you betrayed me…”

  Olivia was no longer listening. The blood rushed to her ears. Lord Randall. Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. He’d paid for his music with the bent shilling. There weren’t two, after all. As for the contracts and her mother’s necklace, he must have broken into her house. Had he watched her that night through the window, when she’d taken the box out from beneath the floorboard? She shuddered. He’d followed her home.

  The letter. Deborah’s letter. He’d been there that day. Lord save her, he hadn’t shown up at the cemetery the night of the dinner. He’d known Deborah hadn’t left the house, because he’d been there, standing amid the trees. He’d clearly enjoyed torturing Deborah…and all the audacity he possessed, in asking her grandfather for her hand?

  She shuddered. The blackmailer wasn’t Mr. Pitt, at all. It was Lord Randall. No doubt, he’d written the letter in such a fashion to throw them off the scent.

  With a gasp, she remembered. Lord save them all. Lady Kendrick. She’d seen him herself, escorting Lady Kendrick on his arm.

  Olivia whirled and ran down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Answers

  Nicholas leaned against the railing and watched Lady Kendrick from under speculative brows. Lord Randall had arrived with her. He hovered at her side every instant, sitting by her, and now, offering her a glass of red wine. He’d played the attentive fool. A plethora of others had approached the woman, of course. After all, one would expect nothing less from Glasgow’s premiere gossip. Still, while so many had exchanged words, nothing had changed hands.

  Deborah made her way through the crowd, her reticule still clutched in her hand.

  Nicholas straightened from the railing when Olivia arrived out of breath.

  “Nicholas,” she breathed, her green eyes wide. “It’s Lord Randall.”

  “Randall?” he repeated.

  “The blackmailer. It is Lord Randall.”

  The truth struck him, at once. Of course. Such a perfect fit for the man. Nicholas didn’t hesitate. He took the stairs at a run. By the time he arrived at Lady Kendrick’s side, Lord Randall had left her.

  “Lord Nicholas,” Lady Kendrick smiled.

  Nicholas nodded and scanned the crowd. There. Near the balcony door.

  He hurried after him and caught the man by the shoulder just as he stepped into the night air. Lord Randall whirled and swung his cane to strike, but years of brawling and dueling as a rake came to Nicholas’s aid. He ducked and whirled, lifting his leg to execute a vicious kick. The cane flew from Lord Randall’s grasp as he fell, sprawling backwards onto the balcony floor.

  “Are you mad, Blair?” Lord Randall spat, attempting to rise.

  Nicholas pinned him down with a booted foot to his throat. “You will pay for this.”

  “Pay?” Lord Randall hissed as best he could.

  “You seek to blackmail your betters, do you?” Nicholas grated. He pressed his boot harder. “Where is the letter?”

  “What letter?” Lord Randall breathed heavily.

  “This letter,” Olivia answered close behind.

  Nicholas glanced sideways as she stepped into view, holding the silver handle of Lord Randall’s cane in her hands. From it, a roll of paper half protruded.

  “A hollow cane,” Nicholas snorted. Of course. The man was a devious one, hi
ding the letter in plain sight.

  Olivia glared. “You think to blackmail my cousin? You will pay, Lord Randall. No one interferes with Deborah’s happiness. No one.”

  “She is ruined,” Lord Randall seethed. “Soon enough—”

  Nicholas silenced him with additional pressure to his foot.

  “What is this?”

  Nicholas looked over just in time to witness the Duke of Lennox, plucking the letter from Olivia’s hands.

  “Nae.” Olivia grabbed for it.

  Her grandfather stopped her with a deadly look, then, Mr. Timms and his men pushed their way through the crowd gathered at the balcony door.

  “This is the man?” Mr. Timms blinked, surprised.

  “Aye,” Nicholas replied with a curt nod. “Take him away.”

  “Wait.” The duke held up a hand.

  Olivia made a strangled noise and again, reached for the letter, but it was too late. Clearly, the duke had seen enough.

  Coldly, he approached Lord Randall. “Blackmail, is it?” Slowly, he knelt on one knee and whispered, “I will ruin you for this, Randall.” He stood and faced Mr. Timms. “As Lord Blair says, take this bastard away.”

  Olivia closed her eyes. It was over. At last.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Blue Slipper

  Nicholas watched Olivia work her way through the gathering. A week had passed since the concert. An Enchanted Summer Evening had been a smashing success. Glasgow still spoke of little else—barring the news of Lord Randall’s fall from grace. True to his word, the duke had ruined the man.

  Still, Olivia was primarily the talk of the town, and her father, as well. Every newspaper in Scotland and England carried the story of her father’s music, sung by the famed Lark of Paris. The concert had exceeded even his highest hopes for her success. With a smile, he watched her circle the ballroom of the Duke of Lennox’s country estate, Arbroath Hall. She moved with such poise, such grace, conversing easily with even the most cantankerous, manipulating them into smiles. By God, her talent was wasted building her music empire. She belonged in the government. He watched her from under hooded lids, his gaze snagging on the length of ribbon on her gown. Soon, he’d see her wearing such a ribbon, and nothing else.

  “My dear son.”

  Nicholas cleared his throat and turned to see his mother bearing down upon him.

  “I have been remiss in visiting,” he acknowledged as she drew him into a warm embrace. “But I have been rather busy.”

  “No son should be so busy as to not visit his own mother—especially in the very same town,” she chided, but then, he noticed the gleam in her eye. “At last, you are here at the very same time as my dearest friend’s daughter. I have so wanted the two of you to meet.”

  Nicholas graced her with a smile. “Mother, I would be delighted to meet her, but I have made up my mind. I have decided to wed.”

  “Wed?” Her lips parted in surprise. “Surely, you jest?”

  “I assure you, I do not.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I shall bring her to you, shortly. At the moment, she is rather engaged.” He angled his head toward Olivia, who spoke to Lord Deveraux near the punch table at the far end of the ballroom.

  Lady Blair sighed. “I did so want you to meet Olivia.”

  Nicholas cocked a brow. “Olivia?”

  “My dearest friend’s daughter, Olivia Mackenzie,” his mother replied. “Indeed, she is as a daughter to me.”

  Nicholas chuckled. His mother glanced at him in confusion, but he was prevented an explanation by the entrance of the Duke of Lennox, with Deborah on his arm. The voices in the room fell. Deborah moved to the center of the ballroom, dressed in sapphire blue with a matching string about her neck.

  The Duke of Lennox clapped his hands. A footman appeared at the door, bearing a silver tray over his head upon which rested a small, wooden box. He stopped before the duke and bowed. Slowly, the duke opened the box and withdrew a small ceramic shoe, encrusted with sapphires. A chorus of ‘ahhs’ resounded through the chamber.

  “Lords and Ladies,” the duke raised his voice as he held the shoe aloft. “This day has been so very long in coming. I thank you, one and all, for your attendance on this joyous occasion: the announcement of my heir.”

  Applause circled the room.

  Nicholas smiled at Olivia where she stood with Lord Deveraux. There had been rumors the duke was announcing Deborah’s inheritance. Indeed, it was the only reason Olivia had agreed to attend. While her relations with her grandfather had improved since the concert, the progress could barely be measured. Still, he knew her to be secretly pleased the old man had attended.

  “My granddaughter,” the duke continued, “is a woman of rare constitution and strength, a fierce spirit who bows to none.”

  Nicholas arched a brow at Deborah. Surely, the duke jested.

  “Loyal to her family, and of the utmost worth to carry forth the family name. Indeed, I could not ask for a fiercer protector of the line of Lennox,” the duke continued, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. He lifted the sapphire shoe higher. “I am proud, Nae, both honored and humbled to announce the next Duchess of Lennox.”

  Again, the applause. Deborah was loyal enough, but it was the only word in the man’s speech that applied. Oddly, Deborah was grinning widely, Nae, beaming from ear to ear as if she could barely hold her joy in check.

  “Please,” the duke continued when the applause abated. “Let me introduce you to Lady Olivia Mackenzie, my heir, the future Duchess of Lennox.”

  Nicholas froze.

  Across the ballroom, he watched Olivia’s face change from smiling widely at Deborah to utter confusion, and then, turn into one of utmost shock. Nicholas began to chuckle. Cheers mingled with the applause as the duke slowly approached her with Deborah practically skipping by his side. Of course, it all made sense now. Deborah had been in on the secret all along. The duke stopped before Olivia, almost appearing a bit wary—but then, with the history and nature of their relationship, Nicholas could hardly blame the man.

  Silence fell.

  Finally, Olivia’s lips parted. “I do not understand.”

  The duke smiled. “I am correcting an error made long ago. I am bestowing upon you your mother’s inheritance. One, so rightly earned.”

  Olivia swallowed, glanced around at the faces turned her way, then curtseyed. The duke’s shoulders relaxed.

  Once the applause had faded away and the music and merrymaking resumed, Nicholas threaded his way through the crowd to where Olivia stood by her grandfather’s side, smiling graciously at the well-wishers lined up to greet her.

  “I am expanding into London,” he heard her say as he arrived.

  “Aye,” the duke grumbled, smiling his thanks at Lady Winthrop.

  “And Paris,” Olivia pressed before turning to greet Lord Bramwell and his wife. When they moved away, she turned back to the duke and added, “You might wish to reconsider this decision. “I will never stop publishing music.”

  The duke arched a brow. “No doubt, even the hounds of hell couldn’t stop you. What chance have I?”

  Olivia lifted her chin. “What of my father?”

  The duke’s head snapped around. Excusing himself from the crowd surrounding them, he turned to Deborah. “Show her.”

  Deborah grinned and held out a hand. “Come, Olivia.” Catching sight of him, she added, “Nicholas, you come, too.”

  He followed, looping Olivia’s arm through his as they left the ballroom. Somewhere, in the sea of faces, he spied his mother’s astonished face. He flashed a grin in her general direction, then Deborah started up Arbroath Hall’s grand staircase.

  “I do not understand,” Olivia said.

  “I do,” Deborah giggled. “I am so relieved, so happy. You will make such a wonderful Duchess. Clearly, you were born for it, dear cousin. So much more than I.”

  “But I cannot,” Olivia replied. “I could never accept such a thing, not after the w
ay he…”

  “He seeks to set things right,” Deborah assured as she led them down a corridor on the third floor.

  “But my father…” Olivia began. Her voice trailed away as the strains of a piano drifted through a nearby door.

  “Grandfather says to all that he is a most talented man.” Deborah pointed to the last door at the end of the corridor. “He seems very happy, if I may say so.”

  Slowly, Olivia approached the door. Nicholas kept a step behind. The room was a spacious one, lined with windows to welcome the gentle evening light, and with the finest of pianos placed before the fireplace. On a rose brocade sofa several yards away, sat Mrs. Lambert, her knitting needles flashing in the lamplight.

  Olivia stilled.

  “Grandfather brought him here this very morning,” Deborah explained in a hushed voice. “You will be living here now. That is, when you’re not printing music. I heard grandfather saying how you will likely have a print house built nearby. He’s even sent for several of London’s finest printing presses as a gift.”

  Still, Olivia didn’t move. With a smile, Deborah bobbed a curtsey and started toward the stairs and the gaiety of the ballroom below as Nicholas slipped up behind Olivia and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  For a time, they stood, listening to her father play, but at the end of the third song, she suddenly twisted in his arms. He let her go. She passed down the hall, her fingers clenched, and then, at the sound of approaching voices, she reached for the nearest door and vanished inside.

  He followed.

  They stood in a bedroom, a small guest room, decorated in rose patterned paper with an ivy-green settee and four-poster bed.

  “What is it, my love?” He came up behind her once again.

  She faced him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I…I have hated him for so long.”

  Nicholas smiled. “Your grandfather?”

  She nodded.

  “The two of you are so very much alike, my love.” He chuckled.

  Her brows furrowed with displeasure.

  “Time.” Nicholas ran his hands down her back. “Take time to learn who he is, my dear. He clearly is a man of regrets.”