She lifted her head but made no attempt to stand. Her frown caused a thin black crease to form between her eyebrows. “Is he…? He was moving when…” She craned her neck, trying to look around and over the frame of the empty bed. “I thought he would help, but he never…”
Griffin registered Olivia’s confusion but not the reason for it. His dark eyes caught hers, held them. “He? Do you mean Truss?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. The other. Lying on the floor.”
“What are you talking about?” It was then that he remembered something Wick had said:gentleman villain.“Whoare you talking about?”
“I don’t know. That is, I don’t know his name.”
Griffin did not try to make sense of what she was saying. There were other matters that required his attention first, not the least of which was Olivia’s own condition. Her teeth clicked in the pauses between words and her body had begun to tremble violently as though she might actually shake off the cold. Her damp shift clung to her like a second skin, one that was not a whit warmer than the first. It was no surprise that she remained curled like a hedgehog in the one place in the room that offered a modicum of heat.
Griffin opened up the armoire, saw nothing that would serve, and removed his frock coat instead. He drew it tightly across Olivia’s shoulders before grasping her wrists and lifting her to her feet. There was some slight resistance on her part, but he had no patience for learning the cause of it. When he saw she was unsteady at a stand, he simply lifted her.
“Put your arms around my neck,” Griffin told her. “And stop squirming. I’m not going to—” He stopped because he realized her spastic movements weren’t in aid of getting away from him. She was simply shivering that hard. “I’m taking her to my room, Truss. If Wick and Mason were successful in getting everyone out of the house, tell the staff to herd them back in. Serve them all drinks at my expense. That should engage them again. I saw Priestly at the tables. An explanation to him will be enough to calm the waters. He will see to it.”
“How shall I phrase it, my lord?”
“Carefully.” Depending upon Truss to show proper discretion, Griffin exited the room.
The lack of a maid frustrated Griffin’s efforts to attend Olivia. He considered and dismissed the idea of requesting one of his female guests to assist him. The fewer people who knew that she’d come close to burning his establishment to the ground, the better. He did not yet know the cause of it, so allowing someone else to put their own construction upon events did not strike him as a wise decision.
After setting Olivia down on his bed, he gave her one of his nightshirts and went in search of towels. When he returned with an armful she was still sitting on the edge of the bed, heels hooked on the frame, trying to find the opening of the shirt.
Griffin set most of the towels near the fireplace to warm them and carried two to the bed. He used one to briskly dry her damp hair and the other to rub some heat into her feet and calves. His movements were impersonal but his manner was not without sympathy. He told her what he was going to do before he did it, offering her every opportunity to help herself.
Olivia let him remove his frock coat from her shoulders then draw his nightshirt down over her head. She reached under the fabric and tugged on her own nightgown, shimmying out of it as it was replaced by the infinitely warmer linen. When he pulled back the bedcovers she crawled under them without any urging.
Griffin put his frock coat back on. It smelled of smoke now, he noted. He picked up the towels and her ruined shift and tossed all of it into his dressing room for Mason to deal with. The towels that had been warmed by the fire he rolled into linen logs and tucked them under the covers next to Olivia’s body. She thanked him as she turned her cheek into the one he placed beside her pillow.
Griffin rang for a servant before he drew a chair to the bedside and sat down. Warm, healthy color was just beginning to return to Olivia’s cheeks by the time his summons was answered. He asked for a report regarding the well-being of his patrons and was satisfied to learn that the excitement of the moment had subsided. The generous application of alcohol had dampened their enthusiasm for questions but not for gaming. Such comments that his absence aroused were met by assurances that he would soon return to tables. Griffin did not say whether that was likely or not, but he appreciated the footman’s attention to this detail.
He requested a pot of tea for Olivia and a whiskey for himself before he dismissed the servant. When he turned back to Olivia, he found that she was watching him. There was a certain wariness in her eyes that made him question himself.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Do you think I mean to?”
Olivia didn’t respond.
Griffin’s lower lip thrust forward as he released a puff of air. “I see,” he said, taking her silence as answer. “I did not realize I had given you cause to think so ill of me.”
Olivia’s voice was little more than a whisper. The back of her throat ached with the effects of the smoke and repressed tears. “He told me you knew,” she said. “That you knew he was there…in my room. I didn’t believe him…but you’re acting as if—”
“As if I don’t understand,” he said, interrupting her. “Except I am no actor. Idon’tunderstand. Who ishe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you comprehend my confusion.”
Under the covers, Olivia drew her knees up as she sought to contain her body heat. That her posture was also defensive was a point she did not care to contemplate. “He is one of your guests. A gamer.”
“Describe him.”
She closed her eyes. “A bit taller than I am. A year, perhaps two, on either side of my own twenty-four years. Fastidious in his dress. Pale yellow hair. A sweet, almost shy smile. Blue eyes. They were…cold.” She shivered slightly and her eyes flew open. Breckenridge was watching her closely. She avoided his gaze and stared at a point past his shoulder. “He was slight of build, but strong. Athletic, I think, one would say. Perhaps someone who pursues gentlemanly activities like sparring or fencing.”
“He might be any of a great many gentlemen who come here of an evening. Is there nothing else? Something that distinguishes him?”
