Page 57 of A Stranger’s Kiss

Nicholas arched a curious brow. “Florinda?”

Puzzled, Olivia hurried to the door. The famed opera singer hadn’t gone far. She’d paused at the parlor door, her finger to her lips, listening to the soft sounds of the piano within. Olivia held her breath as again, her father’s mournful adagio filled the air around them. Finally, when the song finished, the woman turned to Olivia, tears glistening the corners of her eyes.

“This is the music? This? This is what you wish me to sing?”

Olivia held still, astonished. The Lark of Paris sing her father’s songs? How could such a thing be?

“There is no question,” Florinda said as she reached for the knob. “I must sing this. I must hear the rest.”

“Wait.” Olivia caught up to her in a single step.

The woman paused and lifted a perfectly sculpted brow.

“My father,” Olivia whispered. “A carriage accident injured him sorely. He…he is unwell and interruptions upset him.”

The opera singer’s beautifully chiseled lips pursed in a line, and then she nodded. “Your father is an angel, Olivia. Only an angel can make music so beautiful.” She turned to Nicholas and pointed to the door. “Nicholas, bring me a chair. I will sit here and not disturb this angel of music, but I will listen.”

Nicholas? The familiarity rankled Olivia more than she could ever have imagined, and unaccountably irritated, she hurried toward the kitchen to fetch the chair herself. She should be dancing with joy that the famed Florinda would even entertain the notion of singing her father’s songs—why could she only wonder if she slept in Nicholas’s bed?

Scowling, she grabbed the back of the nearest chair.

“Are you upset?” Nicholas murmured.

So. He’d followed. Olivia pursed her lips and turned. He stood close, much closer than propriety should allow. His dark gray coat strained a little over his broad shoulders, the sight making her pulse skip a beat. Damn him. Why did he have to be so handsome? The crease in his cheeks deepened as he stood there, so very obviously aware of the effect he had on her.

“She is your lover.” The accusation slipped from her lips.

His lashes dipped, betraying his surprise at the question, but then he chuckled. “Was. A long time ago. No more.” He paused, then dropped his voice. “Dare I say, you’re jealous?”

Were all men such fools as to state the obvious? “You are free to do as you please,” she retorted. “It’s no concern of mine how many women you dally with.” She stepped forward, dragging the chair behind her.

He blocked her path, suddenly serious. “Nae, but it is your concern. I am no longer the man I used to be, I assure you. What matters of the past? What matters is how loyal I will be to the last woman I meet, is that not so? I assure you, I’ve no need nor desire to look elsewhere anymore.”

The look in his eyes made her heart pound. She scowled. Her body certainly wasn’t on her side. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Blair?”

She placed her palm flat on his chest to push him aside.

It was a mistake. The hard plane of his muscles beneath her fingers glued her hand in place and even through his waistcoat and shirt, she felt the heat of his skin. He drew a breath, a slow one, and a lazy look entered his eye. Olivia swallowed. He was going to kiss her again. She knew it. Her eyes dropped to his lips, appearing so hard, as if carved from stone, yet so velvety smooth at the same time.

“Nicholas?” Florinda’s voice called from the hall.

Her angelic tones shattered the spell. Nicholas groaned in disappointment as Olivia pushed him back and moved past him into the hall, dragging the chair behind her.

The opera singer’s brown eyes were shining with emotion. “I beg you, Olivia, I must sing these songs. I, alone. Do not allow another, I beg you. It is I who must sing them first.”

Olivia drew a sharp breath and shoved the chair in place against the wall. “As much as I would be honored—Nae, it would be a dream come true—I can’t even begin to pay the fee for a singer of your fame—”

“Oh, please,” Florinda interrupted, rolling her expressive eyes. “These songs will be forever tied to my name. I will become historic. I ask for little, I assure you. Indeed, I would sing them for no fee if I am given the exclusive rights to perform these songs for a year and a day.”

Olivia cast a sidelong glance at Nicholas as he arrived. Had he paid the woman to say such wonderful words? Did she owe him again, in addition to the roof?

A sudden bang from the front of the shop caused them all to turn as one toward the curtains.

“Olivia? Olivia?”

The next moment, Deborah flew down the narrow hallway, her hair tumbling loose about her shoulders and her eyes wide with fear.

“What is it? Whatever is it?” Olivia gasped, rushing to meet her with hands outstretched.