His Wicked Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

wardrobe wasn’t extravagant, but she viewed herself as a
walking advertisement for her services and endeavored to wear
something fashionable when conducting business.
    By the time she reached Mrs. Johnson’s shop
in Orange Street, moisture had beaded beneath her gown. Gratefully,
Olivia entered the cool interior, toting a basket filled with the
gowns she’d been hired to stitch. Mrs. Johnson designed the dresses
and pieced them together, then paid women like Olivia to complete
them. This was Olivia’s third commission from Mrs. Johnson, and she
desperately prayed it would become a permanent arrangement,
particularly after losing not one, but both of her positions at the
theatre.
    The front room was empty, save the stark rows
of fabric lining the right and left walls. Tables marched along the
middle of the shop bearing buttons and ribbons. Though Mrs.
Johnson’s establishment was smaller than most, it was scrupulously
neat. In fact, Olivia thought the space could do with swaths of
fabric in the corners and displays of Mrs. Johnson’s work. Perhaps
she’d suggest such improvements if Mrs. Johnson decided to hire her
on.
    Olivia made her way through a curtain to the
back area, which they used as both a consultation and workroom. She
stopped short upon seeing Mrs. Johnson seated with two
customers.
    The shopkeeper looked up. “Olivia, I’d like
to introduce you to my new clients.” Mrs. Johnson gestured to the
pair—a young woman and a man who, by looks, had to be her father.
Their clothing was simple, elegant. Not the finest materials, but a
cut above most. “This is Mr. Clifton and his daughter, who is to be
married. She’s quite taken with your handkerchiefs and wishes to
commission a gown embroidered with doves. I’ve assured her you’d be
pleased to stitch her gown.”
    Olivia’s insides gushed with excited
expectation. She set her basket on the floor and moved closer to
their conversation.
    A masculine cough filled the small chamber.
“You look familiar to me, Miss…”
    “West,” Olivia supplied cautiously. His
questioning tone eroded the edge of her elation.
    Mr. Clifton was a large man, too big for the
chair Mrs. Johnson had provided. His knees stuck up, and his elbows
seemed to engulf the space. He stared at Olivia, his dark eyes
protruding from beneath a heavy brow. Men often stared, but she
expected a different sort of behavior from a man chaperoning his
daughter.
    “Olivia, Miss Clifton’s nuptials are in
mid-September. I assured her that would be plenty of time to
construct her gown and complete the embroidery. Don’t you agree?”
Mrs. Johnson asked.
    Olivia focused on the round-faced Miss
Clifton in an effort to ignore the father’s rude appraisal.
“Yes.”
    Miss Clifton blinked overlarge gray eyes.
Then her face split into a wide grin, and she clapped her
hands.
    Mr. Clifton coughed again, drawing everyone’s
attention once more. Olivia found it odd he accompanied this girl
on her errand. If she didn’t have a mother, surely she had some
other female guiding her? Olivia wasn’t so far gone from her polite
upbringing to comprehend that a young, unmarried girl in Miss
Clifton’s sphere required a feminine influence.
    “I’ve just realized,” Mr. Clifton said,
nodding appreciatively—too appreciatively. “You look rather like
Mrs. Scarlet.”
    Olivia’s gut tightened. Her mother.
    Mrs. Johnson looked from Mr. Clifton to
Olivia and then back again. “The actress?”
    His gaze traveled over Olivia, lingering on
her tell-tale red hair. “Yes.”
    Mrs. Johnson gave him a placating smile.
Olivia expected her to remark that this was an inappropriate
conversation to conduct in front of Miss Clifton. Instead, she
said, “You must be mistaken, Mr. Clifton.”
    He smiled, the corners of his mouth jutting
up in a grotesque fashion. “I’m certain I’m not.” He didn’t
elaborate, but from the subtle widening of Mrs. Johnson’s eyes, she
well understood his meaning.
    Olivia prayed