Page 69 of House of Thorns
Chapter Eighteen
The Beauty of Night
Nicholas cast his eyes to the sky and gazed at the stars covered by the occasional wisp of cloud. He’d left the hotel an hour ago, unable to sleep, and he wasn’t aware he’d returned to Olivia’s music shop until he stood several yards away from the faded sign.
Slowly, he folded his arms over the black iron railing of the fence and listened to the sounds of the piano drifting from the back window. Her father was a talented musician. There was little doubt the concert would be a smashing success, and even less that it would lift Olivia well out of her financial troubles. Most likely, she’d establish a fine reputation as a music publisher and a discoverer of talent, as well.
A figure moving in the shadows halfway down the street caught his eye. His lip quirked in a grin. He’d recognize the sway of those hips anywhere. He straightened.
The figure slowed. Then, Olivia’s voice queried, “Lord Blair?”
“Why are you wandering the streets of Glasgow at such a late hour?” he asked in a lazy drawl.
She snorted, and then arrived by his side. “I must work,” she answered, tugging the fingers of her gloves to remove them. “I had music to deliver.”
The thought of her delivering packages rankled him. “Do you not have a shop lad for such work?”
She gave a derisive chuckle. “The shop boys I can afford are useless, I assure you. I must save every shilling I can. I’ve so much music yet to print.” She took a step toward the door, then added, “Will you come inside?”
“I would be most delighted.”
Once the shop door clicked shut behind them, Olivia asked, “Have you news of the blackmailer?” Her voice sounded loud in the darkened shop.
“We are ready,” he assured, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. “He shall not escape our net.”
“That is good,” she murmured as she moved past him.
“And how goes the rehearsals?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“Florinda has the true voice of an angel.” She paused and then added dryly, “But then, you know that.”
“If truth be told, I haven’t seen the woman in some years,” he replied. “She could very well croak like a frog, now.”
Olivia snorted faintly. She hung her hat and pelisse on a hook near the curtain and then returned to join him.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked, the moonlight lighting her face as she tilted her chin upwards.
“Me?” he prompted with a curious brow.
“That day, in the shop. The day I was robbed. You sent Mr. Pitt on his merry way.”
Nicholas chuckled and doffed his hat. “It was my pleasure, I assure you.”
Olivia shook her head. “You’ve been prying into my business, Lord Blair. The matter of Mr. Pitt. The roof. Florinda.”
The roof. He’d quite forgotten. “Where’s the harm?”
She stepped around the counter. “I will pay you back, I assure you. With the concert, I will finally establish myself as a music publishing house to be reckoned with.”
Then, she was in his arms, melting into his embrace. The darkness only accentuated her softness. He smiled into her hair, the piano’s melodic chords the only sounds heard as he passed his hands slowly over her hips.
How he longed to play her body, note by delicious note. He breathed deeply, inhaling her scent, and then slowly, savoring each blessed moment, bent his head and dropped his lips to the soft flesh of her neck.
Soft. So velvety soft. She drew a long breath, one that hitched at the end.
The sound seemed to pass right through him, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
By God, how he wanted her. Intentions? Aye, he had honorable intentions. He’d wed her, of course. That didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in a little delight of the senses now. Something she clearly wanted as much as he.
