“Did. I did. Heard wha’ you tol’ me. Thought about it. Thought I should give it back. Make things right. I ’spect things haven’t always been right for you.” He lightly bumped her shoulder with his own. “You really are there, aren’t you? Wondered. Talk to myself sometimes, s’I wasn’t sure.”
“I’m here.” She nudged him back. “Truly.”
“How’d it happen?”
Olivia told him about the attack in the park. “Mr. Mason would not have let anything happen to me if he could have prevented it. Nat, too, I imagine. I have to hope neither was seriously injured, that the gentleman villain wanted me too badly to do more than push them out of the way.”
“Ain’t a gentleman, now, is he?”
“No.” Deciding that sparing Alastair the details served neither of them, she described her first encounter with the villain. Beside her, she felt Alastair’s position shift and realized he’d drawn his knees up and was resting his head on them. “Are you feeling sorry for yourself, Alastair? I hope not, because I need you to help me to think our way out of this.”
“You might have been killed,” he said quietly.
“I might have been raped,” she said. “Either or both can still happen, Alastair. I require you sober, not maudlin.”
“S’right.” He lifted his head, stared into the darkness. “Thinkin’ now.”
Olivia slipped her arm in his. “Good. Now tell me about this cellar.”
Mason was unable to hold Nat back once they reached the hell’s entrance hall. The boy dropped his parcels, bolted up the stairs, and was turning into the hall by the time Mason reached the bottom step. His ascent was much slower than was his wont. It was not only his shoulder that had suffered an injury but his ankle as well. He used the banister to support himself as he limped along.
Truss appeared, asked what was toward, and offered Mason help mounting the stairs. They were met just as they reached the top by Griffin, then in short order, by Nat and Sir Hadrien.
Griffin’s face was tight. The scar shone whitely as a muscle jumped in his cheek. He looked Mason over, appraised his injuries as being painful nuisances, and assisted Truss with moving the valet to his study. By the time they had him settled on the chaise, Griffin had the whole of the story from him. Remarkably, except for the fact that it was more easily understood, it was almost the same account he’d had from Nat.
“Did no one give chase?” Griffin asked.
“I wouldn’t let the boy go, my lord.” Mason hung his head. “And I could not.”
“I don’t mean the two of you. There were others in the park, weren’t there? Passersby on the street?” He gave his valet no warning, supposing it was better that way, and fixed his hands in a position to wrench the shoulder back into place. “Not a single Good Samaritan?”
Mason bellowed as Griffin set his joint. Beads of sweat appeared in the crease of his brow and along his upper lip. He sucked in a breath so hard that it whistled between his teeth. When his eyes could properly focus, he saw Nat standing at the foot of the chaise, his eyes nearly liquid with alarm. “Sainted mother, but you scared the boy.”
Griffin glanced at Nat, held out his hand. “Come. Sit here beside Mr. Mason. Don’t allow him to so much as twitch. We have wounded on the field, and you must see to your men.” He saw a bit of pink color return to Nat’s ashen complexion as the boy nodded manfully and exchanged places with him at Mason’s side. “Truss, send someone to fetch Pettibone.”
Sir Hadrien stepped out of the doorway to let the butler pass. “What of the carriage?” he demanded, pressing his hands together. “What of its direction?”
Turning to look over his shoulder, Griffin gave him a quelling glance. “Your concern is misplaced, sir. Our interview is at an end.” He turned back to Mason. “Was it the villain, do you think?”
“Seemed as if it might be. I had a glimpse of blond hair. The size of him was what Miss Cole described before. Who else wants to hurt her?”
“A very good question.” Griffin turned again to regard Sir Hadrien. “What do you think, sir? Who wants to hurt your daughter?”
The less than subtle questioning caused Sir Hadrien to bristle. “You are wrong, Breckenridge, and would do well to hold yourself in check. I have been with you, haven’t I?”
Griffin caught himself before laying more blame. It was true enough that Sir Hadrien had been with him, but it was also true that Olivia had told her father she would be gone from the hell this afternoon. Griffin could think of no one else who knew about the change in Olivia’s routine. The villain could have been watching, waiting for such an opportunity, but it was equally possible he had information to make abducting Olivia easier. From the description of events, it seemed the carriage had been lying in wait.
Griffin moved away from the chaise to stand in front of the bookshelves. He ran his finger along the books at eye level, stopped at Smith’sAn Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations,and removed it. Having more than a little respect for Smith’s work, Griffin placed it on the chair behind him. The next three books he removed were not given so much care. They were allowed to thud to the floor while he reached for the object of his search.
He carried the burnished mahogany case to his desk and opened it. Sir Hadrien had moved closer and stood in a position to see the pair of pistols lying against the dark blue velvet lining. Griffin ignored the disapproving noises coming from Sir Hadrien under the guise of throat clearing and examined each pistol in turn.
Both pistols were polished and primed. Griffin was glad now of his regular practice with them. They felt comfortable in his hand.
Griffin chose one pistol to secret under his frock coat at the small of his back. It fit snugly but did not limit his movement. Holding the other pistol aimed at the floor, he arched an eyebrow at Sir Hadrien. “Shall we? As I intend to take advantage of your waiting carriage, I do not mind sharing the space…overmuch.”
Sir Hadrien frowned. “Very well,” he said finally. “Naturally I will go, and I should have thought of lending my carriage at the outset.”
“Good.” He turned to Mason, who was struggling to rise. “Stay where you are. Nat, do not fail me.”
