Chapter Seven #2
“You are uninjured?” she asked her brother.
Alastair kept his head down, the weight of it supported by his hands. He nodded, though it was an effort to do so.
“You look as if you might be ill. Shall I fetch a pail?”
Alastair merely grunted softly.
“That is an Aubusson rug beneath your feet, Alastair.” She did not mention that she had reason to know because she’d been sick on the very edge of that rug. “His lordship is likely to have some affection for the thing. We already know he has none for you.”
“I’m all of a piece,” he said.
“Then you will do me the favor of sitting up. If there is an explanation, I should like to see your face as you make it.”
Alastair straightened. He jerked his chin in Breckenridge’s direction. “Apply to him for an explanation.”
The corners of Olivia’s mouth sagged with disappointment. “Would you embarrass yourself further, Alastair? Would you embarrass me? I am entitled to hear something from you, am I not? You might begin, for example, with why his lordship had you by the throat.”
“It is obvious by now, is it not? I did not want to see you again. I was trying to avoid just this end.”
Griffin was more than a little surprised by Alastair Cole’s capitulation.
For all that he made a querulous offering, it was nonetheless a confession.
Of course, Griffin thought, he may have well given in as easily beneath Olivia’s take-no-prisoners gaze.
He folded his arms over his chest and waited for her next volley, prepared to enjoy himself at Alastair’s expense. Instead, Olivia lobbed it at him.
“You are too smug by half, my lord. It is not in the least attractive.”
“So I have been given to understand.” He made no attempt to temper the smile she’d correctly observed as smug. “It is perhaps unfortunate in this instance that I am not a vain man.”
Olivia’s mouth flattened in disapproval, but she returned her attention to her brother. “Where have you been, Alastair?”
“You must know that I went to see our father. Didn’t Lord Breckenridge show you my note?”
“I read it. You didn’t mention Sir Hadrien. I think you meant for me to make that assumption.”
“I wrote that I was going to apply for an advance on my allowance. Pray, to what other person might I have gone?”
“Your mother, I imagine, though I did not consider it at the time.”
Twin coins of color appeared in Alastair’s cheeks. “No. She would not have been sympathetic.”
“Was Father?”
Alastair’s eyes darted away, then slowly returned to Olivia’s. He lifted his chin slightly. “No,” he said. “Under the circumstances, he was not at all inclined to help me.”
Olivia closed her eyes, momentarily light-headed with the fullness of the difficulty facing her.
She reminded herself that nothing had truly changed.
Hadn’t she been facing this very thing before his arrival?
She had tried so hard not to hope that he might relieve her of the burden, but her disappointment was so profound that she realized some part of her had dared to imagine a different outcome.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Griffin stirring on the edge of the desk as if he was about to make a move to assist her.
To prevent him from coming to her aid, she retreated a few steps until the back of her knees came in contact with a chair, then she sat.
Alastair’s face was in full profile, every one of his features drawn down at the edges.
If he noticed her distress, he was too full of self-pity to lend support.
“It is not unexpected,” she said quietly. “You must have known that Sir Hadrien was unlikely to be persuaded.”
He shrugged. “There was nothing for it but to ask.”
“Of course. It was the simplest solution.” She continued to regard his wretched profile and willed her heart neither to soften nor break. “You have been gone a very long time, Alastair. Did Father invite you to stay?”
“He did. Mother also.”
“I see.”
Alastair’s head swiveled sideways. “I didn’t, Olivia. I couldn’t. Two days, that was all I stayed. I journeyed back to London that quickly.”
“But not as far as Putnam Lane,” she said. “Where did you go? Where did his lordship find you?”
Alastair’s gaze slipped away again. He said nothing.
“Where did he find you?” she repeated. Because her brother could not, or would not, answer, she turned to Griffin. “My lord?”
“Jericho Mews,” Griffin said quietly.
Olivia thought it was fortunate that she’d chosen to sit. She pressed her palms to her midriff. It was as if she’d been pummeled. The ache was that real. “You returned home?” she asked her brother. “Is that true?”
“Only now and again. The rest of the time I stayed…”
When Alastair’s voice trailed off, Olivia looked again to Griffin for an answer.
“With his mistress. It is what made him difficult to locate.”
Olivia nodded, swallowed. “I didn’t realize you’d been looking for him. How long? From the beginning?”
Griffin did not answer immediately. He considered lying, but decided that she deserved to know the truth. If she was courageous enough to ask the question, then only one answer served. “Since your second evening at the faro table.”
“My second evening? I don’t under—” Then she did. Griffin’s search was not prompted by her dealing faro. He was moved to look for her brother because of the kiss they’d shared that same night. “I think you flatter yourself overmuch, my lord. Nothing would have ever come of it.”
Griffin’s half-smile teased with its mockery. “I do not flatter myself that I am anything save determined. You underestimate me, Miss Cole.”
Alastair’s eyes darted from Olivia to Breckenridge and could make no sense of what passed between them. Clearly, it was a matter to which neither wanted to make him privy. He latched on to the part he could comprehend. “You were dealing faro, Olivia? You?”
Still regarding Griffin, Olivia answered Alastair’s query absently, “A game or two, now and again.”
“Now and again?” Alastair snapped to attention, wearing indignation like a regimental uniform. He jutted his chin in Breckenridge’s direction. “You permitted my sister to stand at the gaming table and deal faro?”
Griffin shrugged as if the matter were of no consequence. “It was faro or vingt-et-un. I determined that faro was the better choice.”
Alastair shot to his feet and took a step forward before Breckenridge’s arched eyebrow stopped him in his tracks.
“You wish to say something?” asked Griffin. “Issue a challenge, perhaps?”
“I…um, I…No, that is…no.”
Olivia pressed the fingertips of her right hand to her temple and massaged the ache that was building there. “Sit down, Alastair,” she said quietly. “Be glad of his lordship’s perverse sense of humor, else you would find yourself counting off ten paces at dawn.”
Without conscious intent, Alastair’s hand went to his throat. He sat. The smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose were more pronounced against the paleness of his complexion. “You should not have been dealing faro,” he said. “What Father says about you—”
Pained, Olivia cut him off. “Perhaps not. But you were not here to make your argument, were you?”
Griffin was careful not to show the least expression as Alastair’s neck seemed to shrink inside the stiff points of his collar.
It was entirely possible that Olivia’s brother would seek refuge inside his frock coat like a turtle ducking into its shell.
He cast his glance in Olivia’s direction, saw her stricken countenance, and followed the direction of her gaze to Alastair’s naked right hand.
Olivia’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, thick with disappointment and heavy with the ache of unshed tears. “Oh, Alastair. What have you done with the ring?”
He was immediately defensive and not a little petulant. “Done? Why should you think I have done anything?”
Olivia merely stared at him.
“Stolen,” he said, deflating slightly. “It was stolen from me.”
Olivia found it was possible to feel sorry for her brother. She asked Griffin, “Might I have some moments alone with Alastair, my lord?”
Griffin looked from one to the other, hesitating only briefly before he nodded. “Of course. I will wait outside.”
Olivia had not imagined he would give over his study to them, but that she and Alastair would make their way to her room. Her lips parted in advance of her protest, but his rather kind, compassionate smile kept her silent. That, too, was unexpected.
When he was gone, she stood and moved once more to the foot of the chaise. Alastair, as a matter of course, made room for her beside him. “Did you mean to simply leave me here?” Alastair was long in replying, which she supposed was its own sort of answer. “I see.”
He shook his head. “No. You shouldn’t think it was ever my intention, Olivia.
Not at the outset.” He darted her a sideways look.
“But after Father refused me, and as the days passed with no turn of fortune that would have helped me make good on my losses, I reasoned my way into believing you were better served in Breckenridge’s care than in mine.
I have not done well by you, sister. I do not imagine that will change. ”
“How can you say that? You have been my savior, Alastair. You rescued me.”
“You must stop saying that. You cannot know how I wish it were true, but you have always been willing to give me too much credit, and I have been too willing to accept it.” He stopped her protest by laying one hand over hers and turning in to her.
“I am not yet the man you would like to believe I am. That is why I am invariably a disappointment to you. No, do not say it isn’t so.
Hear me out, Olivia. I know differently because I am a disappointment to myself as well.
“I have not had much success at managing my obligations since I left university. London presents one temptation after another, and you have seen for yourself that I am ever drawn to take another bite of the apple.”