“You shouldn’t go on your own,” Clark argued, even though he’d been saying the same thing for the half an hour it had taken them to get Griffith dressed properly for a rendezvous with his lover’s former—whatever he was. Just that Griffith wanted to punch first, try to define who this Mr. Baxter was later.

They were in Griffith’s bedroom, a room that had initially seemed far too opulent for him, but now seemed as though it was just about the right size.

It was early evening, and Griffith had returned home from the duke’s house determined to take care of things sooner rather than later. So he’d summoned Clark and the two of them had retreated to the bedroom, where they had discussed the letter and what to do.

Although they had not come to any kind of agreement.

“I should come with you, at least to the tavern,” Clark continued.

Griffith snorted. “It’s not as though I can’t handle myself. The blackguard just wants money.” He shrugged. “I have money, I will give it to him, and send him on his way. He won’t dare to return, not after I’ve spoken to him.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t go on your own,” Clark replied mildly. “I am not concerned for your safety, but for the safety of the blackguard. What if he says something you don’t like? I know you. You’re as likely to knock him down as to hear him out.”

“Nice turn of phrase,” Griffith said with a grin. “But I promise, I won’t be punching anybody.” Not that she would know about it, but she would not like it if she ever heard he had punched someone on her behalf. He knew that because she had told him just as much.

He wished she could tell him why she closed up so quickly after sex. He knew it wasn’t a problem with the sex itself; her cries of pleasure told him that much.

But he wanted her to trust him with her mind as well as her body.

He’d never had that thought about a woman he’d been in a relationship with before. And it wasn’t as though his heart hadn’t been nearly caught on occasion; he’d come close to falling in love, but just hadn’t.

Until he had. Suddenly, headlong, ridiculously in love.

Now that he knew what it was, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like a starving person looking forward to their next meal.

He wanted to devour her.

“Griffith?” Clark’s voice recalled him to the present. Right. He had to go deal with this Mr. Baxter, then figure out how to tell her he loved her without scaring her off entirely.