Chapter Four #2
Griffin rang for a servant before he drew a chair to the bedside and sat down.
Warm, healthy color was just beginning to return to Olivia’s cheeks by the time his summons was answered.
He asked for a report regarding the well-being of his patrons and was satisfied to learn that the excitement of the moment had subsided.
The generous application of alcohol had dampened their enthusiasm for questions but not for gaming.
Such comments that his absence aroused were met by assurances that he would soon return to tables.
Griffin did not say whether that was likely or not, but he appreciated the footman’s attention to this detail.
He requested a pot of tea for Olivia and a whiskey for himself before he dismissed the servant. When he turned back to Olivia, he found that she was watching him. There was a certain wariness in her eyes that made him question himself.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Do you think I mean to?”
Olivia didn’t respond.
Griffin’s lower lip thrust forward as he released a puff of air. “I see,” he said, taking her silence as answer. “I did not realize I had given you cause to think so ill of me.”
Olivia’s voice was little more than a whisper. The back of her throat ached with the effects of the smoke and repressed tears. “He told me you knew,” she said. “That you knew he was there…in my room. I didn’t believe him…but you’re acting as if—”
“As if I don’t understand,” he said, interrupting her. “Except I am no actor. I don’t understand. Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you comprehend my confusion.”
Under the covers, Olivia drew her knees up as she sought to contain her body heat. That her posture was also defensive was a point she did not care to contemplate. “He is one of your guests. A gamer.”
“Describe him.”
She closed her eyes. “A bit taller than I am. A year, perhaps two, on either side of my own twenty-four years. Fastidious in his dress. Pale yellow hair. A sweet, almost shy smile. Blue eyes. They were…cold.” She shivered slightly and her eyes flew open.
Breckenridge was watching her closely. She avoided his gaze and stared at a point past his shoulder.
“He was slight of build, but strong. Athletic, I think, one would say. Perhaps someone who pursues gentlemanly activities like sparring or fencing.”
“He might be any of a great many gentlemen who come here of an evening. Is there nothing else? Something that distinguishes him?”
“Something like a scar, you mean?” Olivia wished she might pull the covers over her head as soon as the words left her mouth. She may as well have added: Like yours?
Griffin drew a forefinger along the length of his scar. One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Does he?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He let his hand fall. “More’s the pity.”
His ease with this conversation gave Olivia pause. “You don’t believe me,” she said. “You don’t believe that someone came to my room.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Aren’t you thinking it?”
He shrugged as if what he was thinking was unimportant. “What I know is that no one was in your room when I arrived, and no gentleman pushed past me to get to the door.”
“Then he escaped through the window.”
“Without you seeing him?”
“I was occupied.”
“Of course you were. Putting out the fire. I’ve not forgotten.” He sat back in his chair; his head tilted to one side so he could catch her eye again. This time he was able to hold it. “How did it start exactly?”
“Does it matter? You are not doubting there was a fire, are you?”
“It’s no good trying to be defiant. You haven’t the strength for it.” He reached for the folded blanket at the foot of the bed and snapped it open over her. “There. Better? You are not yet warm enough, I think. Should I add a hot brick or two?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me about the fire,” he said again. “What happened?”
“I’m not certain. I didn’t see it begin. I suppose it was when the table toppled.”
Griffin remembered the thud he’d heard. Had it been that? “Go on. How did it fall?”
“I must have knocked it over when I threw myself across the bed.” She observed his raised eyebrow.
“To get away from him. He was backing me into a corner. I could think of nothing else to do. I thought if I could get to the window, I could make my own escape. It’s odd that I didn’t think he might take the same route out. ”
“Yes,” he said. “Odd.”
“In the morning—when there’s light—you’ll be able to see that I’m telling the truth. You’ll see where he dropped to the roof below and then to the yard.”
Griffin thought of the mattress hitting the roof, then the ground.
There wasn’t likely to be a sign left of Olivia’s gentleman.
He could not be encouraging, but he offered, “I’ll look at first light.
” She seemed satisfied with that, closing her eyes briefly.
“Wick said there was someone,” he told her.
“A gentleman villain, I believe, were the words he used, so you see, Olivia, I don’t discount what you’re telling me. I’m simply trying to make sense of it.”
She felt the prick of tears and blinked rapidly. “He had a key,” she said. “He showed it to me. How did he come by a key to my room?”
The same question occurred to Griffin, and he had no answer at the ready. “Did you think I’d given it to him?”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all.” She hesitated and answered truthfully, “Not then.”
“But later,” he prompted her gently. “But later you did.”
“Only when I thought you—”
He didn’t allow her to finish. “When you thought I was merely acting as if I didn’t understand. Damned by my ignorance, I suppose. Tell me, what do you think now?”
“The same as I did in the beginning: that you didn’t invite him to attend me, nor even turn your back so that he might do it with your tacit approval.”
“That’s right.” Leaning forward, Griffin rested his forearms just above his bent knees. His regard was steady, unflinching. “Will you know him?”
Olivia nodded. “If I see him, yes. But I do not wish to see him, my lord. In fact, I wish I might never see him again.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You cannot possibly understand.”
“Perhaps not,” he allowed. “But if it occurs that your paths cross, you must come to me.”
She said nothing.
“Olivia. I will have your promise.”
“And if I give it? What do you mean to do?”
This time it was Griffin who made no reply.
“There is nothing for you to do,” she said.
“I am not your responsibility. In truth, I am little better than your prisoner. You are in no position to defend my honor.” She shifted, sliding an arm under her pillow to lift her head a few inches.
“I would have your promise, though. I would have you swear not to tell my brother.”
“He has the right to defend your honor.”
“That is supposing I have any, which I do not.”
Griffin wondered what he might say to that rather singular announcement. He settled on, “You judge yourself too harshly, I think.”
“You know little enough about me to stand on that opinion. Promise me that you will not speak of this to Alastair. You have seen for yourself that he may be provoked to act recklessly.”
“It seems a cowardly tact. He’d have reason to challenge me for failing to protect you.”
“He’d think he had reason. I think he does not. What happened, happened to me. It is my story to tell, no one else’s. I beg you to honor that.”
Griffin plowed his fingers through his hair as he considered what she wanted. “You are not entirely persuasive, but you are persistent. I collect I will have no peace on the matter.”
“You will deserve none.”
Needing to think, and requiring some movement to facilitate that process, Griffin pushed to his feet.
His action was abrupt—and in retrospect, threatening—and he glimpsed wariness in Olivia’s eyes as he towered over her.
He stepped back, nudging the chair out of the way.
“Pardon me. It was not my intent to give you fear of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
He turned before she could see the small smile that kicked up one corner of his mouth and did not argue the point. She deserved a measure of pride when so much had already been taken from her. He added wood at the fire and waited until it was a proper blaze before he addressed her again.
“You have my word, Miss Cole. I won’t speak of this night’s work to your brother.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t know that my decision deserves thanks. You might regret wresting that promise from me.”
“It is difficult to imagine. After all, I can tell him myself if I judge it is the proper thing to do.”
Griffin conceded her point, although he did not make too much of it.
The tea and whiskey arrived, drawing his attention until it was served and the footman had departed.
Olivia, he noted, was looking more the thing now that she was sitting up in bed.
The footman had arranged a veritable throne of pillows for her warmth and comfort, and she fostered the impression of royal privilege with the grave dignity of her expression, in spite of the fact that her face and throat were still streaked with soot and his nightshirt was likely to swallow her whole.
Olivia held her cup and saucer carefully in one hand as she raised the other to allow her sleeve to slide down her arm.
After transferring the cup, she did the same with the other arm.
A bit of tea sloshed onto the saucer when Griffin suddenly appeared on the periphery of her vision and sat on the edge of the bed.
Before she knew what he was about, he’d set his drink aside and was neatly rolling up the sleeves of the nightshirt.
“Better?” he asked, retrieving his drink.