The Price of Desire. Jo GoodmanЧитать онлайн книгу.
wish to be in the category of exceptions.”
Griffin gave in easily, but only because the fire was in want of tending and he’d already witnessed the flicker of her tongue along her lip. He rose and crossed to the fireplace where he poked at the coals, then added more from the scuttle. He stood there wondering what he might reasonably expect from Olivia Cole while she cleaned her plate and tipped her cup to swallow the last mouthful of cocoa.
“Will you take tea with me?” he asked when he returned to remove the tray.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
He did not insist. “Very well. You may remain there. It is a comfortable chair, is it not?”
It was, but the soft leather also held the faint scent of him. There was nothing comfortable about that. “I think I would prefer a turn about the room.”
“As you wish.” He set the tray on a side table and poured himself a cup while Olivia picked her way among the detritus that was the evidence of his work. “The servants dust and polish only. I don’t allow them to move anything.”
It was unnerving the way he seemed to respond to her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. “It seemed that might be the case. There is some method, I expect, to your placement of papers and journals and accounts.”
“I begin a new pile and never move it.”
“I suppose that system has merit.”
“Do not tempt fate by shifting even so much as the quills on my desk. The one servant who disobeyed me was summarily discharged.”
“Then I beg of you, make me your servant.”
Her quick response reminded Griffin that Alastair had written that she was both clever and resourceful. She had given him ample proof of the former. He decided to accept her brother’s word on the latter.
He added a dram of whiskey to his tea before settling in the leather chair she’d given up. Observing her interest in the wall of books, he said idly, “In truth, I haven’t determined what use I might make of you, but you can be confident it will not be as my servant. I am a generous employer, still, you would have to give over the rest of your life to service if there were to be a prayer of repaying your brother’s debt.”
Olivia was not unaffected by his words. She adjusted the shawl about her shoulders to retain some semblance of warmth. “You have not told me where Alastair is.”
“You have not asked.”
She thought she could wait him out, but he was sipping contentedly from his toddy and appeared in no wise ready to offer information. “Where is my brother?”
“I haven’t a notion.”
“He’s not here?”
“I know everyone who is under my roof; if he was one, I would have a notion, wouldn’t I?”
Olivia frowned. “Then you don’t mean to exchange me for my brother?”
“Is that what you thought? I hadn’t realized. You’re here because your brother expressly said you should be. You don’t believe me? Come. Read this for yourself.”
Griffin set his cup down and opened the hidden cubby in his desk where he’d secreted Alastair Cole’s ring. What he drew out was not that piece of exquisite jewelry, but a slip of neatly creased tri-folded paper. He held it out to Olivia. Hesitation was evident in every one of her steps. “You don’t look particularly eager to read it. I can find no fault with that. Would you rather I summarize?”
Shaking her head, Olivia took the last few steps to the desk and removed the paper from his hand. To afford herself some small privacy, in spite of the fact that he knew the contents very well, she gave him her back as she read.
Dear Breckenridge,
I pray that you will understand that I could not abandon the ring. It is an heirloom entrusted to my care. When I learned that you were not wearing it, I knew what I must do. If there is to be the slightest hope that my allowance will be advanced, I must make the request in person, and I cannot do that without the ring in my possession.
In place of the ring, I suggest you seek out Olivia at my Jericho Mews residence. While the ring’s value can be measured, Olivia’s cannot. She is vastly clever and resourceful, a gem rarer than the one I bear once again on my finger. Take her to your hell, but show her more care than the disdain you showed for my bauble. She will reward you in ways you cannot imagine. You have my word that I will come for her with every shilling owed.
Your servant,
Alastair Clark Cole, Esq.
It was on Olivia’s second reading of her brother’s missive that her hands began to tremble. She dropped the paper, and when she stood up from retrieving it, she felt peculiarly light-headed. The floor listed, then the wall of books shifted in a like manner. The volumes lying on their sides suddenly stood upright. The mirror tilted at an angle that should have sent it crashing to the floor. The logs in the fireplace were vertical while the flames flickered on the horizontal.
The perspective that guided her steps, controlled her balance, and made it possible for her to know up from down failed her in every conceivable way.
Griffin acted quickly, reaching her side in time to prevent her from hitting the floor in the event she fainted. True to her word, though, Olivia Cole did not faint.
She surrendered the most recent contents of her stomach instead.
Chapter Two
Embarrassment flushed Olivia’s cheeks. She stared at the mess she’d made, some of it on the black wool waistcoat of his lordship, and thought she might be sick again. Apparently Breckenridge thought so too, because he quickly pushed her back into a chair, grabbed the silver dome used earlier to cover her plate of baked eggs and toast, and, turning it over, pressed it into her lap like a bowl.
She clutched it against her midriff, lowered her head, and was sick a second time. Breckenridge did not leave her side, though she wondered how he was able to stand there. Perhaps he’d closed his eyes. She risked a glance upward and saw that, no, he hadn’t. His concern seemed genuine, then she remembered she was worth £1,000 pounds to him, more in fact if he expected to collect interest. Olivia had a suspicion that he did.
She accepted the handkerchief he held out to her but retained her possession of Alastair’s marker. Although she’d memorized the contents, she was not eager to part with it.
Olivia pressed the handkerchief against her mouth, blotted her lips, then offered it back. The gesture was refused.
“You may keep it,” Griffin said.
When Olivia glanced up a second time, she saw he had already removed his frock coat and was carefully unbuttoning his ruined waistcoat. Once he’d shrugged out of it, he held it by the collar between his thumb and forefinger and carried it to the door. He released the waistcoat, allowing it to fall in a heap on the floor, then rang for assistance.
Olivia’s embarrassment grew as she watched Breckenridge remove his stained chitterling and discard it on top of the waistcoat. She found a soupçon of comfort in the fact that she had missed his boots and trousers. He might very well have stripped to his linen and stockings if she had not.
“You should not have insisted that I eat,” she said, her tone more defensive than accusatory.
“You neglected to mention that you are unwell.”
“I am not unwell.”
Griffin cast a dubious glance in her direction. “Then it was your intention to serve me breakfast, I take it.”
She flushed. “Do not be ridiculous.” Leaning forward, Olivia placed the overturned cover carefully on the floor. It tipped a bit to one side but its contents were not lost. She looked away and sat up slowly so that she would not be sick again. “It gives me