Chapter Five #2
Olivia knew him to be far quieter in the morning.
If he rose before Mason arrived, which he did more often than not, she heard him throw open the window to his study and call down to the street urchins that had gathered below to fetch him a paper.
He tossed coins for the purchase and later, once he had the Gazette in hand, he tossed a few extra for their trouble.
She suspected more than one family had a bit of meat for their stew because of Breckenridge’s charity.
After the completion of this ritual, she heard very little until a footman delivered his breakfast and Mason came to assist with the routines of preparing for the day.
By then it was almost always the beginning of the afternoon.
He often left then, though Olivia could only suppose where he went.
The case that was frequently secured under his arm made her think he was depositing the hell’s income, though going it alone seemed fraught with risk.
If the weather was clear and not too cold, he walked.
Sometimes Foster or Truss would leave the hell to wave a hack to the doorstep.
She had never seen him take a carriage, although she knew from Beetle that he had one at his disposal.
“A most splendid equipage,” the kitchen lad had named it, and Olivia was inclined to believe him.
As often as she was discomfited by the knowledge that she spent each day and night almost entirely in Breckenridge’s suite, she also knew that she would miss this view of Putnam Lane and her proximity to his lordship’s study once she was removed from it.
Wanting to embrace the view now, Olivia turned to glance out the window again.
None of the street children had arrived to mark their territory at the front of the hell.
It seemed they knew better than to come upon the place too soon of a morning and risk waking Breckenridge earlier than was his habit.
No doubt there were unpleasant consequences to be had for that.
Olivia did not know what they were, but the time had come to find out.
Griffin threw a forearm across his eyes and groaned softly as the series of sharp raps at the doors penetrated his consciousness.
It seemed to him that he had fallen asleep only a few short hours ago.
With his free hand he groped for the watch he’d placed on the floor beside the chaise.
He flicked his wrist to swing the gold chain so the watch landed in his palm.
There was nothing wrong with the timekeeper in his head, he realized.
He had fallen asleep only a few short hours ago.
Mason would have already let himself in, so Griffin knew it was not his valet on the other side of the door. Similarly, any of his staff believing they had a message so urgent that they must wake him would also have entered by now. Griffin was very much afraid that he knew who was demanding entry.
He sat up and rolled his neck from side to side. His robe was lying at the foot of the chaise. He shrugged into it as he stood and loosely fastened the belt while he crossed the room.
Olivia Cole was indeed on the other side of the door. He made a brief study of her rather defiant posture, standing as she was with her fist raised at the level of her angled chin, and decided that not even she could manage to hold the high ground wearing a muslin day dress the color of a blush.
“You did not bring coffee.” He closed the door in her face.
Olivia blinked. She let her fist drop to her side and for a moment did nothing save for stare at the door.
You did not bring coffee. That curt observation might easily be construed as an invitation, at least to her way of thinking.
He could have ordered her away, and he hadn’t done so.
That meant she might gain admission if she traded in the correct currency.
The second time she announced herself at the door she was brusquely given permission to enter.
“It took you considerable time to return,” Griffin said. He pointed to the space beside him on the chaise and indicated she should set the tray there. One eyebrow lifted when he saw she’d only brought a single cup and saucer. “You don’t care for coffee?”
“It seemed presumptuous of me to assume you meant for me to join you.”
He snorted. “You would do well not to speak of presumption when you’ve taken the liberty to wake me at this unholy hour.”
Olivia accepted the chastisement without comment.
She watched him pour the coffee, add cream but ignore the sugar, then lift the cup to his lips.
He paused, breathing in the fragrance of the brew before he sipped.
There was something oddly intimate about witnessing his unguarded pleasure.
She found herself discomfited and looked away.
“The kitchen staff must have been surprised to see you,” he said idly between sips. “Please. Sit. I have no wish to advance this crick in my neck by staring up at you.”
Olivia glanced around and chose the chair closest to the fireplace.
She looked at him for permission to turn it in his direction.
At his slight nod, she used her knee against the arm to nudge it around before she perched on the edge of the cushion.
To keep her hands from fidgeting in the folds of her dress, she clasped them together in her lap.
She did not fail to notice that Breckenridge hadn’t taken advantage of her absence to dress.
Extending him the benefit of the doubt, she supposed he couldn’t have been certain that she would return.
Perhaps he had even tried to go back to sleep.
He was still wearing his nightshirt, robe, and leather slippers.
His chestnut hair was disheveled, his eyes heavily lidded, and there was a pillow crease in his right cheek that was a near perfect match to the scar in his left.
She tried to imagine the circumstances in which she would not find him to be inordinately beautiful, and could not.
“I hope you do not mean for me to carry the conversation,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “My opening gambit was to ask you about your foray to the kitchen. You have yet to answer.”
Olivia squeezed her hands together. “The kitchen. Yes. I remember. Actually, no one was there when I arrived. I supposed Cook had returned to bed after preparing my breakfast, and I was reminded how much my presence disrupts the routine you’ve established here.
It’s why I’ve come actually. I believe I can put that to rights. ”
“I cannot permit you to leave.”
“You are too suspicious. I was not going to suggest it.”
He was suspicious, but also more than a little intrigued. “Go on, though I should tell you that while your coffee is as excellent as any served in the clubs, I am not in favor of you regularly going to the kitchen.”
“Then you would not permit me to work there.”
“Good Lord, no.”
“I confess that is a relief.” She’d had her fill of kitchens and as a rule avoided the one in her own home unless called there by Mrs. Beck to settle a dispute. “My excellent coffee aside, it’s not the kitchen where I can be most useful to you.”
“Really?”
“Do not mistake my meaning, Lord Breckenridge. You would not find me an agreeable companion in bed, either.”
“You are too straightforward in your speech, I think, but don’t assume you know the bent of my mind, Miss Cole. I recently relieved myself of a mistress. I am not looking for another.”
She flushed. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to—”
He waved aside her apology. “In what way useful, then?”
“It would be better if I might demonstrate.”
“By all means.”
Olivia stood. Her eyes darted about the room in search of a particular item she’d seen in his study.
It seemed it either had been buried under something else or actually put away.
It was difficult to believe the latter, so she began a more thorough search, carefully picking her way among the stacks of ledgers and papers and occasionally turning something over to examine what lay beneath.
Wary, Griffin followed her movements over the rim of his cup as he drank his coffee. “Has the demonstration begun?” In response to her slightly annoyed, over-the-shoulder glance, Griffin shrugged. “It is a perfectly sensible question.”
He chose a triangle of buttered toast from the tray she’d brought and bit into it.
There was no good reason that this piece of toast should taste better than what Cook prepared of a morning, yet it was undeniably true.
Griffin brushed a crumb from the lapel of his velvet robe and chose another triangle.
“Perhaps if you were to tell me what you are looking for,” he said. “I can freely admit you are making me uneasy with your poking around.”
It was when she turned to respond that she spied the object of her search on the floor just under the head of the chaise. “Of course,” she said, more to herself than him. “You were playing with them. I did not think of that.”
She skirted a table and dropped to her knees beside the chaise, ignoring the exaggerated lift of his dark eyebrows. Careful not to brush his leg as she patted the floor just behind him, her fingers finally curled around the deck of cards. Smiling beatifically, she held them up.
Griffin felt his insides twist. He found the radiance of her expression was actually difficult to look upon.
Ignoring most of what he saw and all of what he felt, he offered a wry observation, “Triumph such as you are now wont to show is generally reserved for coming upon the source of the Nile or being carried on a litter into the city you’ve just conquered. ”
He saw her smile falter and was both regretful and glad of it. “Card tricks?” he asked. “Is that what you mean to show me?”
Still stinging from his comment, Olivia made to rise with a measure of dignity. “Perhaps later. When you might be more inclined to appreciate them.” She pointed to the nearby table. “May I?”