She accepted the handkerchief he held out to her but retained her possession of Alastair’s marker. Although she’d memorized the contents, she was not eager to part with it.
Olivia pressed the handkerchief against her mouth, blotted her lips, then offered it back. The gesture was refused.
“You may keep it,” Griffin said.
When Olivia glanced up a second time, she saw he had already removed his frock coat and was carefully unbuttoning his ruined waistcoat. Once he’d shrugged out of it, he held it by the collar between his thumb and forefinger and carried it to the door. He released the waistcoat, allowing it to fall in a heap on the floor, then rang for assistance.
Olivia’s embarrassment grew as she watched Breckenridge remove his stained chitterling and discard it on top of the waistcoat. She found a soupçon of comfort in the fact that she had missed his boots and trousers. He might very well have stripped to his linen and stockings if she had not.
“You should not have insisted that I eat,” she said, her tone more defensive than accusatory.
“You neglected to mention that you are unwell.”
“I amnotunwell.”
Griffin cast a dubious glance in her direction. “Then it was your intention to serve me breakfast, I take it.”
She flushed. “Do not be ridiculous.” Leaning forward, Olivia placed the overturned cover carefully on the floor. It tipped a bit to one side but its contents were not lost. She looked away and sat up slowly so that she would not be sick again. “It gives me no pleasure to admit it, but the room simply tilted on its axis and I had no bearings. That is what made me ill.”
“Perhaps.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“On the contrary. As an explanation, though, it begs the question of what caused the room to tilt. I could advance my theory, but I will wait to hear what my physician thinks.”
“Physician?” It required considerable effort for Olivia to remain seated. “I do not think a physician is at all necessary.”
“Then it is a good thing you have no say in the matter.” Griffin gave her his back as he opened the door for the approach of his valet. “Mason. Good man.” He stepped aside to permit his manservant’s entry. “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a—” Griffin was not certain how he wanted to describe it, so he merely pointed to the discarded items of clothing and allowed Mason a moment to make his own assessment.
“I see, sir. I’ll take care of it.” He made a sweep of the room with a glance that missed nothing, barely resting on either his lordship’s guest or the bits of vomitus on the Aubusson rug near her feet. The overturned dish cover gave him brief pause, then he quickly moved to see that all else was in order. “I’ll send one or two of the lads to make short work of the rest.” Stepping closer to Breckenridge, he made a discreet inquiry. “Is the lady still unwell?”
“All evidence to the contrary, she says she was never unwell in the first place.” Unlike his valet, Griffin did not set his voice at a pitch that could not be overheard. “She says the room tilted.”
“Foxed, then,” Mason said without inflection.
“I had not considered that.” Behind him, Griffin heard Olivia’s sharp intake of breath. He smiled, but it was for Mason alone. “Send for Pettibone anyway and have someone prepare a room for our guest. It is a certainty that she will be with us for at least a few days, possibly as long as a fortnight.”
Mason’s rounded features showed the first hint of discomfort. “I feel I must remind you that there are no females among the staff here. You said you didn’t want—”
“Yes, yes. I recall what I said. God’s truth, but this is an inconvenience I have no liking for.” He glanced back at Olivia and asked somewhat impatiently, “Do you require your maid?”
Surprised in equal parts by his question and his tone, Olivia’s lips parted around an indrawn breath even as her chin came up. Neither action served to provide an answer.
Griffin plowed a hand through his hair, deepening the furrows. “It’s a certainty that she will require clothes and sundries. You may as well arrange for her maid to be brought here along with whatever—”
Now Olivia did come to her feet. “No!”
Although it was Griffin’s tendency to arch one dark eyebrow, the effect of Olivia’s outburst was to cause him to raise both. If she continued in such a manner the effort required to restrain himself would likely exhaust him. His look pinned her back, and while she did not sink into the chair she’d vacated, neither did she step away from it or voice a second protest. Watching her still, he spoke to his valet. “The physician only for now. I will let you know about the other later.”
“Very good, my lord.” Mason stooped to pick up the clothing and backed out of the room, leaving a lingering impression that he was glad to do so.
Griffin waited until Mason’s steps receded before he advanced on Olivia. He pointed to the chair at her back. “Sit.” While his voice made it clear he would brook no argument, he noticed that she was slow in complying. He chose to believe it was the last vestige of her illness that made her so. The thought that she would prove to be difficult at every turn was not one he wanted to entertain.
“I do not want you to bring my maid here,” Olivia said, staring at her hands.
“No one has ever accused me of being a slow top. I gathered that was what you meant when you saidno.”
Olivia did not have to look up to know that he was still out of patience with her. “She would not manage herself well in your establishment.”
