thanks were in order also to the proprietor of the house. Mrs. Tittle obviously saw advantages to creating the illusion of a fine lady’s boudoir for her patrons rather than reminding them in every way that they were naught but among whores.
Olivia allowed that it was probably a good strategy.
She closed her eyes and rested the damp twist of hair that she’d made at the back of her head against the tub’s lip. The water cooled, but even then she was reluctant to leave her bath. It was not until gooseflesh appeared on her arms that she made to stand.
Towels had been placed for her on a footstool at the side of the tub. She chose one to wrap around her hair and the other to dry herself with. She shivered, feeling the cold in earnest now and quickly pulled her nightshift over her head. Her robe added another layer of welcomed warmth. She padded barefoot into her bedchamber and found her slippers, stood in front of the fire for a few moments, then began to gently rub her hair dry.
“I have your dinner, Miss Cole.”
The voice from the other side of the door startled her. She hadn’t heard a knock, and Breckenridge’s staff was scrupulous about knocking. An ember popped loudly in the fireplace, forcing her to step back. “A moment,” she called, quickly plaiting her hair. “I just need a moment to—”
Olivia froze, her fingers still wound in the tail of her braid, as the door was pushed open. The entry of anyone into the room should have been preceded by a tray. The absence of one was the first thing she noticed.
The unfamiliarity of the face was the next detail to have impact.
In moments the whole of it registered. The intruder was elegantly attired in evening clothes, not the livery the footmen wore when they were at post in the gaming rooms. The gentleman’s expression was not one of surprise at making the discovery of her presence, but rather satisfaction that he had arrived at this end expecting it. And finally there was the step he took into the room, a step both assured and deliberate. Here was a man whose arrogance did not allow him to conceive that his entry would be unwelcome.
Olivia understood that he presented every sort of danger to her because of it.
Unable to move, she watched him close the door. He stood with his back to it, his hands disappearing behind him as he fiddled with the knob. She frowned. “What are you—”
The voice she’d found was silenced when he brought his fists to the forefront and turned them over, unfolding them slowly. The right one held a key.
Olivia’s hands dropped to her side. The towel that had been folded around her neck fell to the floor. She didn’t know why she did it, but she found herself stooping to pick it up. Perhaps it was because she needed something to clutch, she thought, just as Lord Breckenridge had pointed out. She straightened and twisted the towel in her hands.
“You should leave,” she said. And as if it would make any difference to him, she added, “If you leave now no one has to know you were here.” Her eyes darted to the bell cord that would bring Foster or someone else from the servants’ hall to her room if she could reach it.
The gentleman followed her glance, understood its import, and merely shook his head. He unbuttoned his frock coat and slipped the key into a crescent pocket in his waistcoat. “I suspect that who knows I am here is more your concern than mine.”
He had a sweet, almost shy smile that Olivia found perfectly incongruous to the import of his words and the intention she could see in his eyes. He was of an age with her and handsome enough that young ladies of little experience were probably desirous of his attention. Whether his pockets were deep enough to attract the notice of their mothers and make him a truly desirable connection was not immediately apparent to Olivia. The cut and detail of his clothing suggested a living that was more than sufficient to set a standard in fashion, but she recalled that Alastair often went about similarly turned out, even as she was struggling to settle their account with the greengrocer.
“Please leave,” she said.
“You say it prettily.” He smiled. “Say it again.”
Olivia inched away as he approached. She felt the coal scuttle pressing against her leg and realized she could not go farther in that direction. She wondered if she could speak the words he wanted loudly enough to be heard above the noise below them. He’d apparently thought the same and dismissed it because he was shaking his head.
“You haven’t asked what I want,” he said pleasantly.
Olivia didn’t answer. To say that she already knew was to give something of herself away. He did not deserve even so little as that from her.
He beckoned her with a finger. “Come. Come closer. Would you make me pursue you into the corner?”
His question reminded her of the direction in which she was going. She changed course and sidled toward the bed. He could make what he liked of it but there was some avenue of escape by choosing that heading.
Olivia continued to twist the towel between her fingers.
“So you are for the bed after all,” he said, noting her move to the side. “That is agreeable.”
“You must leave.” Olivia’s voice was firmer now. “Lord Breckenridge will—”
“Not mind,” he said.
It was his mistake to suppose that she believed him, and Olivia did nothing to correct his assumption. She was judging the distance remaining between them instead. She required something a bit shorter than what existed now. With that in mind, she held her ground when he took one more step toward her.
Like a mongoose to his cobra, Olivia struck with feral speed. With a flick of her wrist she snapped the damp towel at his head, catching him at the corner of his eye. He roared in pain and clamped one hand over the injured eye and used his other hand to flail at her. Olivia reared back, avoiding his half-blind groping, and twisted the towel in midair. She snapped it again, this time at the bulge in his trousers that he had taken no pains to hide.
This second application of the linen made him yowl. It also angered him beyond reason. Olivia had a glimpse of his red and watering eye as he dropped his hand away from it and lunged for her. She threw herself sideways across the bed. The flanking tables were knocked about, but only one teetered enough to fall. Unfortunately, it was the one that held the lighted candelabra. Two of the candles were extinguished as they fell, but the third landed on the bed where the flame immediately began licking at a lace pillow sham.
Neither Olivia nor her attacker noticed.
Still holding the towel, Olivia came to her feet on the opposite side of the bed. She feinted toward the door and when he did the same, she ran to the window. She had just time enough to throw it open and make a cry for help before she was caught by the waist and roughly hauled back inside. The back of her head collided hard with the sash and for a moment her vision was filled with bright light.
Griffin’s glance was drawn to the ceiling of the card room by a distinctive thud. He shook his head, permitting himself a moment to wonder what Olivia was about before returning his attention to the play at the table. He’d made it a rule not to join any games in his own establishment. Suspicion of his play would invariably become a factor if he won and his pockets would suffer if he did not. The better course was to oversee the games and make certain they were fairly played. He had no desire for his hell to secure a reputation for supporting cardsharps and
