“It’s you and me, love,” he said to the glass, which was already nearly empty.

He, Clark, and his crew had made shore only that morning, and after filing the ship’s paperwork with the authorities, he had told his crew to do whatever they wanted until he sent word they were needed. He presumed they were scattered around London, doing exactly what he was doing, give or take a few ales and women.

Or, like Clark here, getting some well-deserved rest.

He took the last pull from his glass as he saw the door to the pub open. His mouth dropped open as he saw who had walked in—not that he knew the lady, how could he? Just that she looked like a glorious angel, a vibrant, dark-haired woman wearing a dark cloak of excellent quality. The glimpse he got of her face indicated she was truly stunning. And was entirely out of place in this dingy dockside pub.

“I wish you were awake for this,” Griffith murmured in Clark’s direction. “And I’m reconsidering my stance on anonymous couplings. Although she is clearly a lady, so that would not be possible.” Too bad, he thought. For him, not for her. He didn’t think a lady would wish to have anything to do with someone like him. Even though, theoretically at least, he was a gentleman.

The female wore an enormous bonnet, making her have to turn her head to glance around her, a newspaper tucked under one arm, while in the other she was brandishing a—a tiny sword? A poker for the fire?

Oh. A hat pin. Of course. Because young, beautiful ladies often ventured into disreputable establishments carrying only a newspaper and an accessory.

“The fool,” he muttered, shaking his head as he watched her movements. He felt his body tighten in an unconscious protective position. He wished he weren’t so determined to rescue anybody who seemed they might need help, but that was what had propelled him thus far, so he supposed it wouldn’t stop just because he was off duty. He shrugged, taking another drink as he accepted his own inability to stay uninvolved.

She held the hat pin in front of her, clearly apprehensive. As she should be. The only women in the pub worked here, and they were definitely not ladies. The noise had been growing steadily in the short time he’d been inside. There had even been a few scuffles, although there hadn’t been any full-fledged fights. At least not yet. She glanced around, her gaze, from what Griffith could see of it, intent. As though she were looking for someone or something. She picked her way over to the bar, a few tables away from where Griffith sat and Clark slept.