No, she wouldn’t do that. She smiled at him, warmed by his confidence, and set herself once again to the task at hand. Still, she could not resist adding, “I’m much more likely to throttle you.”
Griffin was glad he was only reaching for his whiskey, not drinking it. Surely he would have choked. As it was, a bit of the liquid sloshed over the edge of the crystal tumbler. “I cannot know whether to be alarmed that you mention it or relieved that you can find some humor in it.”
“As it’s been more than a fortnight since I attacked you, relief strikes me as a better response.” She quickly added the numbers in the last column, checked to see that all was balanced, and pushed the book away. She returned the quill to its stand and stoppered the inkwell, then sat comfortably back in the leather chair. “Have you slept with one eye open?”
“No.” Griffin sipped his whiskey. “I have not so much as peeked.” He often fell to sleep after she did, but that was simply his way, not a precaution. She’d shared his bed the evening after he had given chase to the gentleman villain and slept as deeply and trustingly as an infant. He could not help but be encouraged by that. Nothing seemed as likely to push her toward a nightmare as sighting her attacker in the park.
He’d finally come to know the whole of how she’d defended herself against the villain. It had required some prodding on his part, a bit of insistence, but Olivia gave him all of it in the end, filling in those details that she’d left out on the first telling. Griffin had had to wrestle with his own rage, most of it rooted in what he remembered as his own helplessness. He hadn’t been able to put her out of harm’s way, and when it found her, he was the one who couldn’t reach her. Nothing about that set well, but he’d held it in check because his anger served neither of them. He’d applied himself instead to appreciating her courage and cleverness and waited until he was alone to give in to the other.
He’d even snapped a few damp towels, finding them as viciously effective as she described.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked. “Sherry?”
Olivia shook her head. “You expected Mr. Gardner would arrive today, didn’t you?”
He had, but he hadn’t realized she’d known. “Prickly, was I?”
Prickly was inadequate to describe the flashes of impatience she saw in him earlier. Never one to suffer fools for long, this evening they were not even given an audience. He did not move among his guests so much as prowl, and she saw him seek the view from the window in the card room on several occasions. “Yes,” she said, tempering her smile. “Prickly.”
He blew out a short breath, set his tumbler aside, and idly unwound the length of linen stock from his hand. “I calculated that enough time had passed for Gardner to make the journey to Bath and back again, though to be strictly honest, it’s not the impending arrival of my wife that concerns me overmuch, but your departure.” He regarded her carefully set expression. “I suspect you knew that, didn’t you?”
Realizing that her effort to conceal it from him had been for naught, Olivia sighed. “It occurred, yes. You will not insist that I remain, will you?”
“Would you listen?” Tossing the stock to the foot of the chaise, he held up one hand, palm out. “Don’t tell me. It is better if I can permit myself to believe that you would. In exchange for that kindness, I will not ask it of you.”
Olivia gathered her hair at her nape and drew it forward over her shoulder. She combed it with her fingers. “The villain will not find me at Jericho Mews. He knows less than nothing about me.”
Griffin was not convinced of that, but he did not share his doubts with her. It seemed to him that by trailing after her when she left the hell, the gentleman villain must have learned something. “You will not be gone long. Elaine cannot remain here underfoot, nor do I believe she will want to. It is necessary only that she understand my intentions.”
“Do those include parading her in front of the ton?”
“Parade? I will escort her. Once will be sufficient to prove that she is still among the living. I have no wish to shame her.”
“Then be careful that you do not,” Olivia said quietly. “You mean to divorce her. There will be censure enough in that.”
“I assure you, the censure of the ton will not bruise her in the least.”
Olivia’s smile was gently chiding. “I was thinking of you.”
He arched an eyebrow and regarded her curiously. “Have I given you cause to think I care for the good opinion of the ton?”
“Many times, but the one that is most relevant to this discussion is the length and breadth of your search for Lady Breckenridge. It is more than a matter of pride, though that would be reason enough for what you’ve done. It is also about your good name. That you operate this establishment is something that can be, and is, tolerated in some fashion. Society accepts a rascal now and again and is the better for it. A murderer is not a rascal, and the suspicion that you murdered your wife will always attach itself to your name unless you prove differently.”
Griffin approached the desk and drew Olivia to her feet. He lifted her chin with the cup of his hand. “I prefer to believe I don’t give a damn.”
She nodded, met his gaze. “I know,” she whispered. “It is the same for me.”
Olivia returned to her brother’s house in Jericho Mews the following morning. She didn’t have to explain why she was choosing to leave just then. Griffin anticipated her departure the moment he’d confirmed that his wife’s arrival was imminent. For his own sake as much as hers, he did not accompany her. Foster and Drummond, accompanied by the lads, made the short journey from Putnam Lane to respectability in a hansom cab that Griffin hired for her.
Mrs. Beck was glad to see her and even wept a little. This show of emotion embarrassed the housekeeper enough that she did nothing to stop Olivia’s entourage from trudging through the house in muddy shoes, trunks thumping in their wake.
When the time came for them to leave, they were not easily dismissed. Foster and Drummond pushed the boys forward a few steps but barely budged themselves. Olivia held Griffin responsible for that. Their discomfort at going without her was palpable. They easily looked up and down the street a half dozen times in search of the gentleman villain before they were satisfied he had not dared to follow them.
Olivia stood outside her home until the cab disappeared. Only then was she able to go to her room and begin unpacking. She brought everything Griffin gave her, not because she thought she would be gone so long, but because she did not want Lady Breckenridge to stumble upon her altered castoffs. No woman would appreciate that.
Alastair was not entirely welcoming, but neither did he turn her out. He required some time to accustom himself to the idea of her return, no matter how brief it was supposed to be. To make amends for his initial lack of warmth, he offered to hire a maid for her since he’d released Molly Dillon from the staff. Olivia thanked him for his generosity and politely refused it.
“I would rather that Father does not learn you are living here again,” he said as they dined that evening.
