“You don’t know anything, except that you think you know it all. Olivia lies, Breckenridge. She always has. Embellishment. Exaggeration. Those are but the small ways she creates and re-creates her tales. Fancies. Diversions. One might name them such if one is of a mind to be kind…or forgiving. I am no longer of such a mind and have not been so for years. She is jealous of my wife, of my son. Even as a young girl she tried to turn my wife against me.”
Sir Hadrien drew himself up and gave Griffin a considering look. “She reads people. Even someone like you who is remarkably good at schooling your features, Olivia is able to see something more. Have you never wondered why she is so good as a dealer? It is not only her expert handling of the cards. She watches the players, makes a game of supposing what they will do. She preys on them, not in an obvious way—not usually. I would venture to say that she’s preyed on you, saw something that would make you sympathetic to some of her most virulent lies, and those are the ones she told to bring you around.”
He paused, eyes narrowed. “I’ll wager she crawled into your bed first.”
Griffin lowered the pistol. “What did Mrs. Christie ask you to do?”
Sir Hadrien blinked, stared. A deep flush stole over his sharp countenance as he realized he was being dismissed. “That vile woman. She wants the ring, of course. She’d prefer the ringandmarriage to my son, but as I would never give my blessing to the latter, and as Alastair cannot be compelled to enter into that arrangement, she seems to be willing to settle for the ring.”
Griffin shook his head slowly. “There is more to it than that. The ring is valuable, to be sure, easily four or five times the debt that was owed me, but for her to risk so much to have it back seems out of character.”
“How can you know?” Sir Hadrien asked flatly. “She has no character. No scruples. No morals.” He thrust his chin forward, challenging. “Your association with women like her can be all that explains it. Mrs. Christie. My daughter. I did not know your wife, but she must have been so inclined. I understand that she presented you with a bastard before she died.”
“There is nothing that Mrs. Christie likes less than leaving London,” Griffin said just as if Sir Hadrien had never spoken. “A journey to Coleridge Park is a most unusual step for her when she might simply have written.”
“A letter as evidence that she is holding my son for ransom? She is too clever for that.”
Griffin conceded the point. “Still, she might have found another way to lure you into town. That she went to you speaks of some urgency on her part. Did she appear to be under duress?”
“She appeared to be quite mad.”
Griffin realized Sir Hadrien would apply that description to anyone opposing him. He was incapable of seeing beyond his own nose. “How much time has she allowed for you to get the ring back?”
“She didn’t say, although I had the impression that once I came to town she expected the thing to be done quickly.”
“And yet you never once offered to pay Alastair’s debt. Your reputation for being close-fisted is well deserved, it seems.”
“The ring belongs to me,” he said stubbornly. “To my family. I shouldn’t have to pay for what is mine.”
“That is between you and your conscience, in the event you have one, though it occurs to me that Alastair would have been better served if Mrs. Christie had negotiated with your wife.” Griffin used the pistol to point toward a three-story brownstone town house with a wide entrance flanked by stone lions. “Ah, here we are. Before we go, let me explain the rules of engagement. You will follow my lead and do precisely as I say. The moment I determine you are a hindrance, I will shoot you. Whether or not I kill you depends on my mood of the moment. At the moment, I am feeling peckish, and that is not in any way good for you.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Go on. I will follow directly.”
Cautious of the primed weapon in his hand and the pistol at his back, Griffin was slower to leave the carriage. Sir Hadrien was already lifting the knocker when Griffin came abreast of him.
The housekeeper once again made noises about Mrs. Christie being gone from the residence. Griffin and Sir Hadrien were still ignoring her protests as they mounted the stairs. Once they reached the top, they followed the sound of another voice, this one issuing orders in tones both impatient and frustrated.
“You are leaving town again, Mrs. Christie?” asked Griffin. There were trunks and valises set out in the bedroom, and it was clear from the activity that they were being packed, not the opposite. “So soon? I was certain you’d only just arrived.”
Alys’s maid appeared from the dressing room with an armload of gowns and came to an abrupt halt when she saw the visitors. Alarmed, she looked to her mistress for direction.
Mrs. Christie snapped, “Those belong in the armoire, Linsley. They can be pressed later. Go! The dressing room.” Her head swung around in Griffin’s direction. “You mistake the matter, Breckenridge, as you are prone to do. I am coming, not going.” Her gaze swiveled to Sir Hadrien, then back to Griffin. “This is still my home, and you have no right to assume you are welcome, let alone bring guests.”
Griffin revealed the pistol that had been partially hidden against his thigh. He held it up without menace, merely to show he had it. “Have done, Alys. I see what is toward. Your pretense that it is otherwise is insulting. Send your maid out.” He nudged Sir Hadrien forward enough to conceal the pistol as Mrs. Christie called to Linsley and ordered her out of the dressing room and then out of the bedroom altogether. He tapped the heel of his boot against the door and closed it behind her, then stepped away from Sir Hadrien so the pistol was clearly visible once more.
“Where is she?”
Alys Christie stepped behind one of the open trunks. Her hands played nervously against the lid. When she realized it, she forced herself to hold them still. She appealed to Sir Hadrien. “Do you mean to stand by and do nothing? It will not go well for you, you know.”
Sir Hadrien recalled Griffin’s clear directives and offered no reply.
“Where is she?” Griffin asked again. “Pray, do not dissemble. I promise I will not kill you, Mrs. Christie, but Iwillmake you ugly. Give that a moment to settle in your mind before you answer.”
She stared at him, her features sagging and her complexion going to ash. “By God, but you would do it.”
“Most assuredly. Your answer.”
“Johnny Crocker has her, has both of them.” She pressed her hands together, imploring Griffin when she saw rage darken his eyes to black. “I swear I didn’t know that he planned to abduct Olivia. I had no part in it. I only found out an hour ago, by messenger, what he’d done. It’s about you, Breckenridge. He wants to ruin you. She is a means to that end, nothing else. I knew you’d come as soon as you learned of it, knew what you’d think, what you’d do. Why do you suppose I was leaving?”
Griffin let her wind down, made certain she did not intend to say more, then coldly reminded her, “I found my wife. Do you think there is anywhere you could go that I wouldn’t find you?” He watched her, saw that she knew better than to answer, and continued. “And do not suppose for a moment that I believe you are blameless here. I know what Crocker is to you and you to him. The desire to ruin me did not necessarily begin with him. Now, does he have them at the hell?”
