Mrs. Wattings wrapped her arms around both of them, and he averted his gaze, shifting his stance so as not to intrude on the moment.

Della came to stand beside him, mirroring his position so that they were both definitely not staring at the reunited family.

“You found him,” she said, her voice holding an astonished tone. “I wasn’t certain we would—”

“You doubt me?” he interrupted.

He could hear her roll her eyes. “No, of course not, you arrogant man. If he was out there, I had no doubt but that you could find him. I just doubted that he could be found. And yet here he is.”

“Here he is,” Griff repeated in satisfaction.

The Wattingses, still holding on to one another, began to walk up the stairs, Mrs. Wattings glancing back at them with a tear-stained face.

It felt good to have done something like this. No, more than that; it felt marvelous. It felt as though he could conquer the world.

Of course, he felt like that normally, so perhaps it wasn’t that remarkable.

But there was a tinge of something he’d never felt before—a feeling that he’d accomplished something that would bring about a powerful change for the three members of the Wattings family.

“Did he say why he’d left London before?” Della asked. “About why he didn’t try to find Sarah?”

Griff had been dreading this question, just as he knew it was inevitable.

“It seems as though Mrs. Wattings’s parents told Wattings that Sarah had gone to America with another man.”

She froze, then inhaled sharply. “Dear Lord. Poor Sarah. That her parents could—” She shook her head. “I wish I couldn’t believe it, but of course I do.” Of course she believed it, given how her own parents had treated her. Denying themselves the opportunity to meet Nora because of their stubbornness.

The thought made him furious. “I would never do anything without your permission, but let me know if I can do anything to help. Either with Mrs. Wattings’s family, or—or your own.”

She bit her lip, and he could see her eyes getting moist. His fierce Della, close to tears?

His throat closed over, and he wished he could punch someone.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

Two words were inadequate for the gratitude she felt. He had done what he had promised. Not only that, but he had respected her need to be independent. I would never do anything without your permission.

That was far more seductive than any compliment she had ever received.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked, an amused tone in his voice. “For not escorting you to the party?”