He watched her a moment, just inside the doorway, but when he caught her eye, he simply shook his head. She sighed, not disagreeably, and began to unwind the braid. Griffin approached, caught her hand, and completed the task himself. He sifted the silky threads of her hair with his fingers, each strand made more like molten copper by the leaping, twisting flames behind them.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. He bent his head, found the curve of her neck and shoulder that she offered up, and kissed her. He touched his mouth to the corner of hers, then her cheek, and finally her temple before he straightened. Disengaging his fingers from her hair was done most reluctantly. He took up the chair opposite her. Her smile was soft, her eyes heavy-lidded. He would have abandoned his meal altogether if she had not broken off the heel of the bread loaf and offered it to him. Her hand grazed his; the touch was light but deliberate.
“He’s asleep?” she asked.
“Mmm. Soundly this time.”
“Good.” Olivia drizzled a bit of honey on her bread. “I took it for granted that he understood what he had become to us. I suppose some things need to be said. He was delighted to learn he was your second. You showed a deft touch to place such a meaning on it. Battles. Duels. He understands all about those.”
“He’s never had a father. I suppose there is a great deal for him to learn in that regard.”
“And you? What you said about Nat being your blood, have you come to know that it’s true?”
“What I’ve come to know is that it doesn’t matter. He’s my son if I want him to be. You opened my eyes to that. I do want him to be, Olivia.”
“That’s all right, then,” she said, just as Nat had. “You’ve a heart big enough for the both of us.”
Griffin gave her a most significant look. “And more besides.”
Olivia was having none of it. She pointed her spoon at him. “Your soup will grow cold. One suspects your ardor will not.”
He laughed. “One would be right.” He tapped her spoon with his own and encouraged her to eat as well. It had not escaped his notice that she’d eaten very little throughout the day. Every time he sought her out she was engaged in conversation with one, two, or all three of his sisters. He rescued her as often as possible, steering her toward Restell’s wife or even the clutch that surrounded Lady Rivendale, but it seemed that Jenny, Kate, and Juliet invariably managed to separate her from others, just as if they were culling a lamb from the fold. It was little wonder that Olivia had no real appetite for their wedding feast and made only a pretense of eating what was placed before her.
“My sisters did not press you overmuch, I hope,” he said.
“Press me? No. They were telling stories about you.”
He almost believed her, then he saw the corner of her mouth curl ever so slightly. “No, they weren’t. They were asking for every detail of our meeting, courtship, and engagement. Did I not predict they would?”
“I was not entirely comfortable lying to them.”
“It’s not your strong suit, I agree, but the truth will not serve.”
“Then I suppose it was well done by you to protect my identity all these many months.”
“Why, that is almost in the way of thanks, Miss Shepard.” He chuckled when she primly pursed her lips at him. “You realize there were very few guests who know the truth. Mr. Gardner, perhaps his wife. Lady Rivendale. Your brother. Your four gentlemen protectors. We know we can depend upon their discretion.”
She nodded. It was enough that she knew now Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Rollins were one and the same. She was not certain that she believed he died by his own hand, but it was the only story that could be had from his friends. Neither Restell Gardner nor Griffin pressed to discover a different truth, and in that way her protectors were also shielded.
“As for your father,” Griffin said, “he will never breathe a word of it.”
“That’s because he knows the ton sanctions this marriage.”
It was because Sir Hadrien knew his life would be worth nothing if he spoke in less than favorable accents to anyone about his daughter, but if Olivia believed what she’d said, Griffin decided he could leave it alone. “Lady Rivendale lent our ceremony considerable consequence.”
“It was kind of her to accept our invitation.” Olivia chewed on a piece of bread. “You did not allow for much notice or preparation.”
He shrugged. “I was afraid you would change your mind. You accepted my proposal under unusual conditions. It seemed best to go forward quickly.”
“Unusual conditions.” As she recalled, her father, Mrs. Christie, and Johnny Crocker had been loudly protesting their confinement while blaming one another for the cause of it. Innocence had probably never been claimed by such caterwauling. “Yes, that describes it nicely.”
“I thought so. Neville Burton has taken himself off to the continent.”
Olivia’s head snapped up. “He has?”
“Some encouragement was necessary, but apparently he believed he’d pressed his luck as far as he could when Alastair’s aim went wide.”
“The others?”
