“Lord Stanbury is arriving at ten o’clock this morning so we can go down to the docks and make inquiries.”
“Oh, he is, is he?” Sarah replied in a deceptively innocent tone. As though they both weren’t aware of what he and Della were planning on doing—besides pretending to be engaged to thwart single ladies in search of an eligible gentleman as well as trying to find Sarah’s husband. Those tasks should have been enough, but then Della had to find it impossible to resist her own reaction to him.
She shook her head at her own foolishness. Even though that foolishness was, she also had to admit, going to be entirely and absolutely pleasurable.
She just knew he was going to be an excellent bed partner.
“Della?” Sarah’s tone made it clear it wasn’t the first time her friend had said her name.
“Sorry, what?” She put a bright smile on her face as she looked at Sarah.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “I was asking if you would mind if I took Nora and Emily and some of the girls with me to the zoo. We started talking about animals at the society yesterday, and I thought it’d be a good opportunity to take them out. They’ll learn something in spite of themselves.”
“Oh yes, absolutely.” A thought struck her mind. “And you should take Becky, she can help.” And that would mean that Della and Lord Stanbury would be unchaperoned, but that was what Della wanted, wasn’t it?
Honestly, it was remarkable more women hadn’t just gone and gotten ruined since it made life so much easier—not having to have a maid tagging along with you wherever you went, not worrying if you were seen alone with a man.
In exchange, you were ostracized from your parents and regarded with suspicion by every member of Society you might meet. So perhaps not entirely easier, but certainly easier to manage.
“Mmm-hmm,” Sarah said, her tone indicating she knew precisely why Della had suggested Becky be included. “We’ll be gone all day,” she said pointedly, “so you’ll have the upper floor to yourself.”
Oh. Well, then.
Della reached across the table to clasp Sarah’s hand. “You truly are an excellent friend, aren’t you?”
Sarah squeezed her fingers, a knowing smile on her face. “I am. But you are just as excellent since you’re trying to find Henry for me. I never could have done it by myself.”
“It’s the least I can do. Especially since you’re clearing out the house,” Della added with a wicked grin.
Sarah laughed and shook her head.
“Good morning.”
It was her opening the door again. Griffith stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself.
“Don’t you have someone who can do that for you?” he asked.
“Do what?” she replied.
He gestured to the closed door. “Open the door to visitors? What if there is some ne’er-do-well who decides to pay a call?”
She snorted, making him feel entirely nonplussed. Per the usual, he had to admit.
“A ne’er-do-well? I have to remember that one for Sarah.”
“You haven’t answered the question,” he said. “I am concerned for your safety.”
She patted him on the arm. “Thank you for your worry, my lord. I am just fine. I can open and shut doors all by myself.”
“That is not the issue, and you know it.”
She exhaled in an exaggerated way, sending strands of hair flying up into her face. “I cannot imagine anyone more ne’er-do-well than you, my lord. Unless you’re suggesting I refuse you entry?”
“At least let me get you some sort of protection,” he grumbled.
She looked taken aback. “What kind of protection? A pistol?”
“Of course not,” he said quickly. “You’d likely shoot your own foot as an intruder. I meant that I could hire some of my crew to stand guard here. It will take them all a while to find new assignments, and I might as well try to make use of them so they can earn something while they wait.”
“Ah, so you are pretending to be worried about my safety so you can disguise your altruism toward your crew. Well done, my lord,” she said.
“That’s—never mind. Yes. That is what I am doing, you annoying woman.”
She gave him a bright smile. “Well, now that that is settled, shall we head to the docks?”
Griffith glanced around the hallway. “Don’t you need that girl to come with you?”
Della grinned wickedly back at him. “No, she is with Sarah and the girls. I do not need a chaperone when I am with my beloved betrothed, Lord Hugely Handsome.”
Griffith leaned his head back in laughter. “Well, then, Lady Stubborn, let us go make our inquiries.”
“Took you long enough,” she grumbled, but with a humorous note in her voice.
“Wattings,” Griffith repeated. “Henry Wattings. About five feet ten inches, broad in the chest. A black man who might have been looking for work as an able seaman.”
The man paused in winding the rope around his elbow, and Della had a moment of hope, only to be dashed when he shook his head. “Nope, don’t recall anybody like that. We’ve got plenty of sailors about, but nobody matching that description.”
“It would have been about three years ago,” Della added.
The man grunted, then spat on the ground. “Yer gentleman said that already.”
Della opened her mouth to snap back at him, only to remain quiet as Lord Stanbury put a hand on her arm as though cautioning her. He wasn’t wrong, even though she wanted to shake him off.
“The Holdfast Arms is where most of the black sailors drink when ashore,” the man said. “You’d be best asking there for your missing man. It’s that way,” he continued, gesturing down the docks to the right.
“Excellent, thank you,” Lord Stanbury said.
They headed off in that direction, Della holding on to Lord Stanbury’s arm as his long legs chewed up the ground.
She could have asked him to slow down, but she found she liked the pace. Far too often she’d found herself frustrated at the slowness of other people around her. Lord Stanbury—Griffith—was just as energetic as she, and she liked how breathless and energized she felt.
Which, of course, reminded her that they would be engaged in other physical pursuits that would hopefully make her feel both energized and breathless.
And the house was empty now, so it made sense to try to hasten this errand. Was that why he was walking so quickly? Because he was eager to get her into bed?
Not that he knew of her plan, so perhaps not.
“Why are we searching this way instead of applying directly to the Navy?” she asked. She looked up at him, noting how his dark hair was flying about, nearly as wild as he was. He only needed a gold hoop through his ear to look like the most dangerous of pirates.
“I’d rather not remind them of my existence,” he replied wryly. “Given that the last time the Navy and I met I ended up in jail.”
“How did you get out anyway?”
He looked down at her as though considering what to say. “My cousin’s solicitor came to get me. It turns out a duke’s heir should not spend time in any type of jail, no matter what they did.”
“What did you do?” She couldn’t help but ask; hopefully it was not “asked a lady to be his pretend betrothed and then dumped her into the ocean” or something equally terrible.
“I did what was right,” he replied, his tone making it clear he did not want to discuss it further.
“What was that?” Because even though Della could read a tone as well as the next person, that did not mean she paid attention to the cue.
“I captured a slaver ship and then released everyone aboard when it was clear that the authorities were going to let the matter drag on.” He shrugged. “Apparently I should have waited for justice to take its course. But it seemed to me,” he said, sounding more vehement, “that justice was taking far too long, and some of those people would have died in the interim.”
“You did the right thing, then. Even if the Navy disagrees. But I understand why going through official channels—”
“So to speak,” he interrupted.
“—would be something you would prefer to avoid.”
“At the moment, yes. So we’ll ask at this pub and try to find Wattings without having to inquire of Her Majesty’s Navy.”
More questions occurred to her, but there was no opportunity to ask them, since they were in front of the pub. He turned to her and adjusted the hood of her cloak lower over her face.
“You’re still too damned beautiful,” he murmured as he tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear. “But I also know you’re too damned stubborn, so you wouldn’t let me do this on my own.”
She smiled up at him. “And you’re far too handsome, but I assume you won’t let that impede you from asking questions.”
He grinned back as he pushed open the door to the pub.
They stepped inside, him close at her back as though for protection. Not that I need it, she thought. Although it did feel nice to feel the solid warmth of him.
He strode to the bar at the other end of the pub, her trailing along after him. The pub was half-full of men, some white and some black. All of them staring at them, making Della feel nearly uncomfortable.
If she ever felt uncomfortable, that was. Which she did not.
“We’re looking for someone,” Griffith announced. He placed a few coins on the bar and addressed the room. “A Mr. Henry Wattings, he would have come ashore about three years ago, right after the Royal Lady capsized.”
Della held her breath as the men glanced at one another. A man, one nearly as large as Griffith, rose slowly to his feet. “And who is asking?” he said in a soft voice, but one that held a menacing tone.
“I’m Captain Griffith Davies. Wattings was under my command, and now I want to find him.”
The man paused, his gaze assessing the two of them. At last, he nodded. “I’ve heard of you.” Della exhaled. “Wattings hasn’t been here for at least a year. He went to—where did he go, John?” he said, turning his head to address a man at another table.
Was it going to be this simple? And once she had found Sarah’s husband, did that mean her agreement with Lord Stanbury would be finished?
“I can’t say,” John said, shrugging.
Damn it.
Lord Stanbury tossed a coin to the first man, and then to John, leaving the rest on the bar. “If you hear anything about Wattings, send word to the Duke of Northam’s address.”
The first man looked askance at Lord Stanbury. “You’re a duke?”
His mouth thinned. “Not yet I’m not.” He nodded at the two men, then slid the remaining coins to the barkeep as he took Della’s arm none too gently.
She was going to do it. She was on her way to taking Lord Enormous into her bed, where she’d discover if his enormousness extended everywhere.
She was fairly certain it would.
Lord Stanbury—or Griffith, since she supposed that their imminent sexual congress would put them on a first-name basis—walked so quickly she had to scurry to keep up. They had left the docks and were in the shopping district now, close to home. He kept her close to his side, his hand clamped on top of hers where it rested on his arm.
“My lord!”
He kept moving as quickly as before.
“My lord!” the voice said again. She nudged him with her elbow, and she heard him sigh in exasperation.
“Yes?” he said, nearly as curtly as earlier. She nudged him harder, and he responded by holding tighter to her hand.
“My lord, if I may presume to introduce myself.” The gentleman who’d approached them was older, a young lady at his side. An explanation for his insistence on hailing Griffith. I’m here to prevent your daughter from ensnaring him, Della thought. And let me keep up my part of the bargain by making that very clear.
Not to mention she was very eager herself to get him home. Since then they could embark on the most pleasurable aspect of their bargain.
“Lord Thwaite, my lord. I know your cousin the Duke of Northam. Terribly sorry to hear of his illness.”
She felt Griffith’s posture get rigid. And knew it was because he didn’t want anyone to speak of his cousin, whom Della could tell was someone Griffith cared about.
“Thank you.”
“I know you are recently arrived in London, and I believe you don’t have many acquaintances as of yet,” Lord Thwaite continued, apparently oblivious to Griffith’s clear aggravation. “So I would introduce my daughter, Lady Amelia.”
The daughter nodded at Griffith, looking pained. Perhaps she was aware of her father’s encroachment?
“A pleasure, my lady.” Griffith’s tone was softer, as though he wouldn’t punish the daughter for the father’s sins.
That shouldn’t have surprised her, given how kind he was to any lady he’d met besides her. Should she take that as a reverse sort of compliment?
After all, he wasn’t planning on having sexual relations with any of the ladies he was pleasant to. At least she hoped he wasn’t, or he’d be too tired to venture into Society.
Not that she had claim to him in any way about that, but she did hope he would devote himself exclusively to her, at least while they were in agreement as to their relationship. She deserved and desired his full attention.
“My lord.”
“This is my betrothed, Lady Della,” Griffith said.
Lord Thwaite’s face fell. Just as his daughter’s brightened. She glanced at Della with a wry look on her face, as though acknowledging her father’s disappointment, but also relieved by it.
Della liked her already.
“Lady Della, a pleasure. I believe I have met your sister Ida, Lady Carson?”
Ah. No wonder Lady Amelia was relieved not to have to cast her lures to Griffith—if she knew and had spent time with Ida, and was also willing to admit it, chances were good she was as intelligent as Ida and as unwilling to get married simply because that was what one did.
“If I may, could I persuade you to share a dance with me this evening? I believe we are scheduled to attend the Chartleys’ party?” he said, looking down at Della.
“Yes,” Della confirmed, even though now was the first time she’d heard of the party. But she shouldn’t have been surprised; there were parties every evening. His surprising her with the information wasn’t the same as being told she would have to go.
And she wouldn’t have been invited at all if she weren’t on the arm of an eligible gentleman.
It was remarkable how that would open doors for someone who’d expected all the doors to be shut in her face on her return.
“Thank you, my lord, I would be delighted,” Lady Amelia replied.
“Good, good. Now, if you will excuse me, my betrothed and I have to be on our way. We have strategizing to do.”
He whisked her away before Lord Thwaite and his daughter could see her break out into laughter.