Chapter Six #5
“He played fairly and so did I.”
“Good. There’d have been a row otherwise. He has his own establishment and wouldn’t mind acquiring mine, not that I’d let him. I’ve heard Mrs. Christie’s name coupled with his.”
Olivia hardly knew what to say to that, so she offered nothing.
Griffin regarded her a long moment. “You don’t know Crocker, do you?”
She sighed. “You are considerably troubled by this notion that I am known to others or that they are known to me. I hardly recognize my own reflection, so why you think anyone saw through this painted face to my own makes no sense. It is far more likely that in the case of the foxed gentleman, he saw nothing more than was presented to him and was trying to put a name to a whore he once enjoyed.”
Griffin laid his arm across the back of the wing chair. “Have you been such a whore, Olivia?”
The directness of his question startled her to silence.
He posed it with a matter-of-factness that he might have used to inquire if she had ever been to the theatre or if her preference was for scones over honey cakes.
“I suppose I deserve to have the question put to me,” she said quietly.
“I have given you reason enough to suspect it.” She drew in a short breath and released it slowly.
“As you doubt everyone, I don’t know that it makes the least difference what I tell you, but no, I have not been a whore. ”
“Are there those who would say differently?”
She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Aren’t there always?”
Griffin had reason to know the truth of it. “If Alastair hadn’t offered you as his marker, what would you have done?”
“You mean how would I have paid the staff, the creditors, and managed the house in his absence?”
“That is precisely what I mean.”
“I don’t know. That’s as honest an answer as I can give you.
I’ve thought about it often enough, but I can’t say that I ever arrived at a satisfactory solution.
You must have realized it. I can pretend that you are keeping me here, yet we both know I need to be kept. I haven’t tried to bolt, have I?”
“I’d bring you back,” he said.
“You would, and I’d let you.” The admission shamed her. She looked away, annoyed by the tears that surfaced with so little to provoke them. She made a quick swipe at her eyes and bit down hard on the inside of her lower lip. Pain was a balm for thornier emotions.
Olivia didn’t know when Breckenridge had come to stand in front of her, but he was suddenly there. Quiet. Attentive. Waiting. She glanced up, blinked, and forced composure into what could easily have been a watery smile. An arched eyebrow served as a question.
Griffin leaned forward, slipped his palms under Olivia’s elbows, and lifted. She came to her feet easily, without resistance, and stood inches from him, her head still raised but her smile faltering at the edges.
“We are of a kind, you and I,” Griffin said quietly. “I think you know it’s true.”
Then he bent his head and laid his mouth over hers.
There was very little pressure in the kiss, just a touch, a tender brush.
Sweetness and solace. He offered only as much as he thought she could accept and was uncertain from the beginning if she could accept any of it.
Her lips trembled under his, and her breath came lightly, then not at all.
His hands slid from her elbows to the small of her back.
He resisted the urge to pull her closer and let her find her own way into the shelter of his embrace.
She edged closer, her mouth parting. He changed the slant of his mouth, licked her lower lip with the damp edge of his tongue.
The breath she’d been holding was released on the faintest of sighs.
He caught the scent of lavender on her skin and the taste of mint on her mouth.
The fragrance made him think peculiarly of innocence—the taste of things fresh and unsullied.
He deserved neither, he thought, and took a measure of comfort that neither were being offered to him.
His imagination supported what he craved, but the reality was merely lavender and mint.
Olivia raised her hands, then let them fall back to her side.
She hadn’t quite known what she wanted to do with them.
Touching him, her fingers on his shoulders, at the back of his neck, drifting into the curling ends of his dark hair, all of it seemed too much, or possibly it was that it wouldn’t have been enough.
His kiss made her remember emptiness and longing. It made her think of what she could have in the moment but would always be denied in the forever. In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, the kiss stirred her.
Warmth became heat; desire displaced comfort. She wondered why she was no longer afraid, why standing in the circle of his arms should make her abandon good sense and caution.
He smelled faintly of tobacco and tasted of brandy.
She thought of things certain and solid.
He held her loosely, but she could have leaned back against the clasp of his hands and he would not have let her fall.
It was the very security of the embrace that allowed her to soar, to feel what was unimaginable only minutes ago.
She did not deserve it, she thought, and took a measure of comfort that she had not asked for it, that he could not know what he’d given her. Her imagination supported what she craved, but reality was tobacco and brandy and a pair of hands at the curve of her back.
The kiss deepened, held.
Then it was over.
They drew up simultaneously. He lifted his head; she lowered hers. Still feeling the stamp of the kiss on their lips, they stared at each other.
Griffin spoke first, his voice thick and husky. “That was unexpected.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve wanted to…from the first.”
Olivia was not prepared to be quite so honest. She simply nodded and let him make of it what he would.
Griffin blew out a breath, ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you—”
She didn’t allow him to finish. “It shouldn’t happen again.”
“Are you certain?”
She wasn’t, but Olivia didn’t think she could show weakness. “Yes. You’re married.”
He didn’t react. “Did you think I’d forgotten?”
“I think perhaps it is of no consequence to you.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.” He breathed in deeply, released it slowly. Resigned, he said, “But I comprehend that you have no reason to believe me.”
Olivia waited, but he offered no explanation to persuade her differently. She admired him for that, because what explanation could there be that would suffice? “Excuse me,” she said, ducking quickly around him. “I need to return to the faro table.”
Griffin caught her scent again as she brushed past him. Closing his eyes, he let her go.