“Well, as your new employee, I shouldn’t be sitting in this fancy room as though we were all the same,” Clark said as he sprang up from his seat.
Griffith winced. “No, the whole point is that we are the same.”
“Except that you have a title and will own more land than my family has ever seen,” Clark replied.
“He is not wrong,” Frederick commented.
“Be quiet, both of you,” Griffith replied, glancing from one to the other. “And sit down, Clark.”
Clark sat, a grin on his face.
“Fred, if you expect me to be the kind of duke that sits around musing on his own importance, you might want to reconsider asking me to stay. Because I won’t do that.”
Frederick smiled. “I know you won’t. What I do know is that I’ll be leaving the title in good hands when I am gone.”
When I am gone. Fred spoke so matter-of-factly, as if his dying wasn’t something to be feared. Perhaps it wasn’t, since it was obvious that the event had been coming, and had been foreseen, for a long time now.
“And if he does get to musing,” Clark added, “I’ll knock him over the head.”
Frederick’s smile widened. “Excellent.” He paused. “But not too hard, or we’ll be out another duke. You don’t have a child somewhere about to inherit, do you?” he said, addressing Griffith.
Griffith swallowed. “Uh—no.” A good reminder that since he was planning on taking Lady Della up on her offer, he had to ensure that his answer remained accurate. He’d have to ask Clark to figure out where one might go to purchase some discreet items.
Likely his first mate wouldn’t anticipate “find out where to buy condoms” as one of his first on-shore duties.
“So not too hard, then,” Frederick admonished Clark.
“Aye, aye, Your Grace,” Clark replied.
“Bring the decanter over, Mr. Clark,” Frederick said. “Let’s have a toast to our new situations.”
“Your cousin, has he always been ill?”
Griffith and Clark had spent another hour with Frederick, swapping stories of life aboard ship as Frederick listened, his face alit with curiosity and excitement.
Now they were upstairs in Griffith’s bedroom, a room at least five times larger than his captain’s berth.
“He was fine when I left,” Griffith replied. His hands reached up to his cravat, only to have Clark swat them away.
“That’s my job now.”
“So you want to be my valet?” Griffith asked, lifting his chin so Clark could more easily undo the fabric around his neck.
Clark shrugged. “I’ll be both valet and secretary, at least until we figure out what either job is. If that’s all right with you, my lord,” he added in an obsequious tone.
Griffith glowered, at which Clark laughed. He bowed, then stepped in front of the wardrobe and began to open various drawers.
“What are you looking for?” Griffith asked.
Clark turned to regard him. “Well, I see some clothing here—yours, judging by the size—but you don’t have any of your own items here, as far as I can tell. Should I send to the ship for them?”
Griffith nodded. “Yes, thank you. I—things have happened so quickly I forgot.”
What with being hauled off to prison, just as suddenly released, and then made heir to a dukedom.
“And I’ll need to send an official letter to the Royal Navy letting them know I am resigning my commission. I forgot about that too.”
“That is why you need a valet-secretary. Or secretary-valet, I’m not sure of the right sequence of words,” Clark said with a grin.
It was good to have his friend around. He hadn’t realized just how off he’d felt being on his own. Was that why he was so interested in Lady Della? Because he was lonely?
No, you idiot. It’s because she’s intelligent, quick-witted, and beautiful. You’d be interested in her if all of London was standing in one ballroom, and she was on the other side.
Not to mention, it appeared she was as interested in him, which couldn’t help but increase his own interest.
“What are you thinking about?” Clark’s question snapped him out of his reverie.
“Uh—” Griffith began, only to have Clark raise an eyebrow and look him straight in the eye. Difficult, since Clark was so much shorter than Griffith was.
Griffith admired his friend’s dexterity.
“Out with it. What are you doing? What are you planning on doing?”
He never could keep a secret from his first mate, could he?
“Well, there is a lady.”
Clark’s expression cleared. “Oh, is that all? I should have expected that.”
Griffith wanted to bristle at Clark’s easy acceptance, and his implication that Lady Della was just another of his passing fancies.
Even though she was, by her own definition. And they hadn’t done anything but kiss yet. And he’d stroked her breast, which it seemed she thoroughly enjoyed.
He felt as he did when he had first noticed the opposite sex; how could one sharp, beautiful woman set him so askew? As though he were half his age and desperate for notice?
He would have to remind himself of his own skill in matters of passion when he actually got to touch her. Or she’d be disappointed in his quick . . . resolution.
“Do you need anything else, my lord?” Clark said, a sly gleam in his eyes. “Should I help you dress for bed?”
Griffith grabbed a pillow off the bed and flung it at Clark, who dodged it easily, laughing.
“I take that as a no. If you will excuse me? I’ll just go to my room.”
“Good evening, Clark.”
“Good evening, my lord,” Clark said as he left the room.
Leaving Griffith alone to recall the kiss, and the proposal she’d made, and imagining just how delicious she would taste.
If it weren’t close to midnight, he’d be tempted to walk over to her house right now to take her up on the offer. Perhaps she’d already be in bed, all sleepy and rumpled, and he could curl up alongside her, rousing her gently with his mouth and hands.
But—damn it!—he knew he could not do that, and now he had a massive cockstand and only his own hand to take care of it.
But soon. Soon he would be able to thrust inside her, to bring her to release, to ravish her thoroughly so that both of them would be left in a boneless heap.
He couldn’t wait.
Chapter 8
“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.
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