“So I am yours.”
“If you like.”
Olivia did not reply. She fingered the card he’d flicked away earlier and returned it to the proper stack. “Did you know his ring was stolen before I asked him about it?”
“Yes. He mentioned it on the way here.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I suspect it was not an entire untruth.”
Her eyes darted to his face. “You are generally more forthright.”
“I think it is safe to assume he lost it in a card game, most likely a crooked one, if my sources are to be credited.” Before she asked about his sources, he told her. “Misters Fairley and Varah. You will remember them, I think.”
“Indeed. So they assist in matters other than the removal of women from their homes. How enterprising they are.”
“On occasion. They observed your brother on successive nights at Crocker’s club, deep in his cups and light in his pockets. I did not know then that he was in London, so their intelligence was appreciated. Do you recall that I told you about Crocker? He operates one of the lowest circles of Dante’s hell. It was most unwise of Alastair to set any money down there, particularly unwise that it should have been at faro. Crocker’s dealer uses a box.”
She had yet another reason to shake her head sadly at Alastair’s judgment. “A good player knows when a box has been rigged.”
“Perhaps. I am quite certain you would. I’ve watched you track every card played, so I know you are entirely capable of seeing the deception, but your brother was already in desperate straits and unlikely to have been watching much beyond his own dwindling reserves.”
Olivia slowly turned over three cards and made her play while her mind was otherwise engaged. “If Alastair was desperate, it wasn’t because he wanted to honor the debt he owed you. He already had determined that he would not return for me.”
Griffin could not fault her conclusion. “That seems to be the hard truth,” he said quietly.
She was oddly grateful that he did not pretend it was otherwise.
“Your eight of spades plays on the nine of hearts.”
“What?”
He pointed out the move she was going to miss if she turned the cards again.
“Oh. Thank you.” She made the play, then continued as if there had been no interruption. “How did Alastair take the ring back from you? You told me you’d put it in your desk. That little drawer where you drew out his marker, it would be a secret from most people, wouldn’t it?”
Griffin rose and stabbed at the fire, then added more coals. “I have always wondered that you did not ask. It caused me to consider that you already knew.” When her head came up sharply, he was glad of it. For a moment the glazed look of defeat vanished from her eyes as she prepared to take umbrage with his assumption. He put up one hand to forestall her. “It was a reasonable conclusion, and you know it. Your brother’s marker was so outrageous that what was I to think except that you were party to his suggestion?”
It was difficult to remain offended when she could not fault his logic. “You might have asked,” she said mildly. “Though I don’t suppose you would have had cause to believe me.”
“It did not seem so at the time.” Griffin returned to his perch on the arm of the chair. Before he settled completely, he reached across the table and made a play for her that she was in danger of missing.
“That is annoying,” she said.
“Yes, I know.” He was unrepentant. “My sisters have said the same when they are at cards. I cannot help myself.” When he leaned forward again, she lightly slapped his hand away. He grinned, mostly because she did not look at all abashed. He sat back, folded his arms, and was largely content watching her.
“You have not answered my question,” she reminded him after a time. “The ring. How did Alastair take it from you?”
“He didn’t. Not precisely. He had an accomplice.”
“An accomplice? One of your own staff?” Even as she put the question to him, she knew the answer lay elsewhere. He had the loyalty of everyone who worked for him, and more than one servant had been moved to remark that he was a generous employer. Olivia could not conceive that Alastair had been able to persuade one among them to come to his aid. But if not a servant, then who?
Watching her, Griffin knew the precise moment Olivia hit upon the answer. Her eyes widened beneath raised eyebrows; her hands ceased to turn the cards. She stared at him, looking to him for confirmation of her thoughts before she gave them voice. He nodded once.
“Mrs. Christie?” She breathed the name more than said it and, conscious of insult, still posed it as a question.
“Certainly, Mrs. Christie.”
