The name meant nothing to him, of course. Although it was a confirmation that she was, indeed, a lady, which meant her being at the pub yesterday was entirely untoward.

It was a damned good thing he had been there to rescue her, or she would have been in serious trouble. Not that she would acknowledge that, it seemed.

Griffith gestured for her to sit, then went and sat in the sofa opposite. The room was so small that their knees nearly touched.

“Well, Lady Della Howlett,” Griffith said, stretching his arm over the back of the sofa, “what do you want?”

“You,” she replied.

Chapter 3

He was even larger than she’d recalled. If she were anybody but herself she would have been intimidated by his size—he had to be well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, perhaps the broadest she’d ever seen, and long, long legs that threatened to touch hers as he sprawled on the sofa.

But Della was not easily intimidated.

“Me?” he replied in an incredulous voice, leaning forward to stick his face close to hers. He glanced up to the ceiling as though exasperated. “You are not the only one. Perhaps it’s a sickness that’s going around.”

He was exceedingly attractive in addition to all that size. Even though he was currently spouting nonsense.

Although she should not be noticing his appearance right now. But she couldn’t help it; he had long dark curly hair, far too long for Society’s liking, and it was clear he hadn’t shaved in some time, judging by the thick stubble on his face. His eyes were dark also, and focused on her so intently she felt his gaze throughout her entire body. His mouth was lifted in a sly grin, as though he knew how he was affecting her.

He probably affected every woman who saw him the same way. Imagine all that force and power engaged in—stop it, Della! she chided herself.

“Yes, you.” Della dragged her eyes away from his face to look in the corner of the room. There was a bookshelf with what appeared to be discarded knitting, and she wondered if this enormous viscount-captain had a wife. And if he did, Della envied that woman more than she would like to admit.

But this wasn’t his house, was it?

None of that mattered. Focus, Della. “The thing is,” she began, directing her words to the knitting, “you were the captain on the HMS Royal Lady three years ago.”

He laughed. “I know that,” he said in a condescending tone.

Hmph. “And the ship capsized.”

“I know that as well,” he interrupted, his tone less obnoxious.

“And some of your crew was lost.”

She waited for him to say something cutting, but apparently even he could be silenced. “One of the crew members was a Mr. Henry Wattings. I am hoping you can tell me what you know about what happened to him.”