Chapter One #5
Olivia was on the point of seizing this opportunity to inquire after Alastair when the door opened and the lad who’d removed the tea service appeared on the threshold with a large tray laden with the repast the viscount had ordered.
Griffin Wright-Jones pushed aside more items on his desk and dropped a short stack of account books onto the floor.
He pointed to the clearing and removed himself, then he indicated to Olivia that she should take up the chair behind the desk.
When she didn’t move quickly enough to suit him, he said, “I will not hesitate to put you in it.”
Olivia saw the young man bobble the tray on his way to setting it down as he regarded his employer with surprise mixed with wariness.
She took that as an indication that the viscount was not in the habit of making threats.
She wished she might know better if it was Breckenridge’s habit to carry them out.
Olivia came to her feet in what she hoped was a dignified manner.
It was important to her that her host did not mistake cooperation for intimidation.
She had a kind smile for the bearer of the tray as she skirted the desk, but she waited until he was gone before she took her seat.
Aware of Breckenridge’s narrowed gaze, Olivia picked up a fork before she was ordered to do so and stabbed at the yellow curds of baked egg. “To spare you from feeding me as well,” she said before placing the egg in her mouth.
Griffin slipped into the chair she had occupied and watched her eat. She had no enjoyment of the food, of course, but that was not the point. The point was that she truly looked as if a sudden draft would lift her off her feet.
She wore a shawl about her shoulders, but it had slipped when he’d helped her out of her pelisse and he’d seen the unnaturally prominent line of her collarbones.
It was true that her figure did not lend itself to the fullness of sensual beauty, but judging by the bruised shadows beneath her eyes, she had recently acquired an appearance that suggested starvation.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“Am I?”
Of course he was, and he knew it. “Yes. Has anyone commented that it’s impolite to do so?”
“I find that women are glad for the attention.”
Olivia thought she might choke on the bite of toast she’d just taken.
She managed to push it down with a sip of the cocoa.
“You find that…” She stopped, unable to repeat the whole of it even to be certain she had not mistaken the words.
She simply shook her head and took another sip of her hot drink, nearly closing her eyes with the pleasure of it.
“I may have overstated it,” he allowed. He observed that she was not proof against the sweet cocoa.
A thin mustache of liquid chocolate appeared just above her upper lip, and even as he wondered if she would raise her serviette or lick it away the tip of her tongue appeared to do the deed.
He knew himself to be most grateful. “There are naturally exceptions.”
“I wish to be in the category of exceptions.”
Griffin gave in easily, but only because the fire was in want of tending and he’d already witnessed the flicker of her tongue along her lip.
He rose and crossed to the fireplace where he poked at the coals, then added more from the scuttle.
He stood there wondering what he might reasonably expect from Olivia Cole while she cleaned her plate and tipped her cup to swallow the last mouthful of cocoa.
“Will you take tea with me?” he asked when he returned to remove the tray.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
He did not insist. “Very well. You may remain there. It is a comfortable chair, is it not?”
It was, but the soft leather also held the faint scent of him. There was nothing comfortable about that. “I think I would prefer a turn about the room.”
“As you wish.” He set the tray on a side table and poured himself a cup while Olivia picked her way among the detritus that was the evidence of his work. “The servants dust and polish only. I don’t allow them to move anything.”
It was unnerving the way he seemed to respond to her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. “It seemed that might be the case. There is some method, I expect, to your placement of papers and journals and accounts.”
“I begin a new pile and never move it.”
“I suppose that system has merit.”
“Do not tempt fate by shifting even so much as the quills on my desk. The one servant who disobeyed me was summarily discharged.”
“Then I beg of you, make me your servant.”
Her quick response reminded Griffin that Alastair had written that she was both clever and resourceful. She had given him ample proof of the former. He decided to accept her brother’s word on the latter.
He added a dram of whiskey to his tea before settling in the leather chair she’d given up.
Observing her interest in the wall of books, he said idly, “In truth, I haven’t determined what use I might make of you, but you can be confident it will not be as my servant.
I am a generous employer, still, you would have to give over the rest of your life to service if there were to be a prayer of repaying your brother’s debt. ”
Olivia was not unaffected by his words. She adjusted the shawl about her shoulders to retain some semblance of warmth. “You have not told me where Alastair is.”
“You have not asked.”
She thought she could wait him out, but he was sipping contentedly from his toddy and appeared in no wise ready to offer information. “Where is my brother?”
“I haven’t a notion.”
“He’s not here?”
“I know everyone who is under my roof; if he was one, I would have a notion, wouldn’t I?”
Olivia frowned. “Then you don’t mean to exchange me for my brother?”
“Is that what you thought? I hadn’t realized. You’re here because your brother expressly said you should be. You don’t believe me? Come. Read this for yourself.”
Griffin set his cup down and opened the hidden cubby in his desk where he’d secreted Alastair Cole’s ring.
What he drew out was not that piece of exquisite jewelry, but a slip of neatly creased tri-folded paper.
He held it out to Olivia. Hesitation was evident in every one of her steps.
“You don’t look particularly eager to read it.
I can find no fault with that. Would you rather I summarize? ”
Shaking her head, Olivia took the last few steps to the desk and removed the paper from his hand. To afford herself some small privacy, in spite of the fact that he knew the contents very well, she gave him her back as she read.
Dear Breckenridge,
I pray that you will understand that I could not abandon the ring.
It is an heirloom entrusted to my care. When I learned that you were not wearing it, I knew what I must do.
If there is to be the slightest hope that my allowance will be advanced, I must make the request in person, and I cannot do that without the ring in my possession.
In place of the ring, I suggest you seek out Olivia at my Jericho Mews residence.
While the ring’s value can be measured, Olivia’s cannot.
She is vastly clever and resourceful, a gem rarer than the one I bear once again on my finger.
Take her to your hell, but show her more care than the disdain you showed for my bauble.
She will reward you in ways you cannot imagine.
You have my word that I will come for her with every shilling owed.
Your servant,
Alastair Clark Cole, Esq.
It was on Olivia’s second reading of her brother’s missive that her hands began to tremble.
She dropped the paper, and when she stood up from retrieving it, she felt peculiarly light-headed.
The floor listed, then the wall of books shifted in a like manner.
The volumes lying on their sides suddenly stood upright.
The mirror tilted at an angle that should have sent it crashing to the floor.
The logs in the fireplace were vertical while the flames flickered on the horizontal.
The perspective that guided her steps, controlled her balance, and made it possible for her to know up from down failed her in every conceivable way.
Griffin acted quickly, reaching her side in time to prevent her from hitting the floor in the event she fainted. True to her word, though, Olivia Cole did not faint.
She surrendered the most recent contents of her stomach instead.