Page 19 of A Stranger’s Kiss

Chapter Seven

A Patron of Music

Nicholas stepped down from his carriage and eyed the narrow townhouse with a censorious eye. Clearly, the place had seen better days. Rust pitted its black iron fencing and he could barely make out the writing on the weathered sign above the door: Mackenzie and Sons, Purveyors of Fine Music.

Removing his hat, he stepped inside. He heard the notes of a piano first, drifting through the curtains at the back of the shop. The pleasant scent of cedar assaulted his nostrils next. He glanced around. The simple shop held little more than boxes of sheet music, as expected, but nearly half stood empty. Still, despite its rundown condition, the place held a kind of charm. Oddly. And despite the harsh, venomous soul living there.

The curtains rustled at the back. He turned as a lass emerged. He recognized her, at once. The auburn-haired lass he’d kissed in his mother’s garden. She froze, her eyes wide with surprise, and his lips curved with astonished delight.

She was even more fetching than he recalled, dressed in a high-waisted day dress made of a violet-sprigged muslin and a satin ribbon tied snug beneath her breasts. She’d swept her hair back in a loose bun, but a strand had escaped to curl at the nape of her neck—a neck he’d soon be nibbling if everything went as planned. Was that a smudge of ink on her chin? Her skin was white, without a freckle in sight—such an unusual combination with the redness of her hair.

“How ever did you find me?” A faint flush stained her cheekbones.

He stood, grinning like a fool for Lord knew how long, then the purpose of his visit paraded across his mind.

“I have a wee matter of business to settle, lass, and then I am at your disposal.” Indeed, there was no rush to visit his mother any longer when the object of his desire stood before him. “I am looking for Olivia Mackenzie.”

He glanced around, half expecting to see the old biddy charge through the curtains at the mere mention of her name.

The charming lass frowned. “What matter of business have you to settle with me?” she asked, her tone curious.

The words took much longer to register than they should have. When they did, they felt like a slap in the face.

The redhead had penned the letter?

Nicholas’s playful mood vanished. Slowly, he retrieved the letter from his waistcoat pocket and dropped it on the counter.

“I am Nicholas. Nicholas Hunter Blair.” He enunciated each syllable in chillier and chillier tones.

He watched the progression of emotions cross her face. Confusion, recognition, and then anger. Anger? The chit.

“You?” She swallowed hard.

With a derisive curl of his lip, he raised a brow, waved a hand at his surroundings. and with more acid than was his wont, stated, “At least, the motive is clear now.”

Olivia’s fine nostrils flared. “Pardon?”

“Shall I spell it out?” he asked.

“Please do,” she hissed.

He slammed his palms flat on the counter. “You are blackmailing me to save your business, are you not? Have music sales soured of late?”

The shock and anger that flooded her face summoned such a sense of guilt that he almost apologized right then and there—despite the fact he was the innocent one.

“So, holding a man accountable to his responsibilities is deemed blackmail in your eyes?” she snapped with a fierce toss of her head.

By God, she was beautiful when she was angry. Those lips could tempt a man into ignoring his better judgment. He unwittingly leaned closer, but as he did so, the curtains behind the counter parted.

A wiry, gray-haired man entered the shop, his brows drawn into a faint line of confusion. “Good day, my lord,” he addressed Nicholas with a bow. “How may I be of service? What music might you be looking for today?”

Before Nicholas could respond, Olivia shushed him with a warning scowl, then took the man by the arm.

“I am helping him, father,” she said in a soft voice. “There is no cause for concern. Let’s go back now, shall we?” Gently, she pulled him back toward the curtain.

The man peered down at her and his green eyes lit with amusement. “I swear, lass, have you grown since this morning?”

“I do believe I have, Father. Now, why don’t you work on your music? I can take care of the customers.”