“My lady?” It was yet another impossibly young girl, one who looked at him and turned white as a sheet. If I could do something about my size I would, Griff thought to himself. It’s not enjoyable to terrify any lady who comes near me.

Except for her. She wasn’t terrified at all. A remarkable woman, to be sure. Even without her hat pin.

“We would like tea, please. And if you could ask Mrs. Wattings to step into the parlor? Thank you.”

The girl nodded and curtseyed, then shut the door behind her.

Griff looked at the closed door, his eyebrow rising. “Is it your custom that every gentleman who visits you has the benefit of being in a closed room alone with you?” He shook his head. “No wonder you are not accepted in polite society.”

She glared at him even as her cheeks turned bright red.

“I did warn you about my reputation. It is you who thought that made our farce even more appealing.”

Griff gestured for her to sit, then lowered himself down onto the sofa. She sat beside him at the far end, still glaring.

“So I did. I should ask, however. Am I likely to encounter any unexpected rivals in my claim to your person?”

Her eyes glittered. She was truly glorious, especially when her angry passion was so clearly raised.

“No, my lord. I live here with my friend Mrs. Wattings and our children. Every day Sarah and I go to the Society for Poor and Unfortunate Children to offer instruction. Sometimes, when we are feeling especially adventurous, we get ices and walk home. That is the sum of my existence. There are no rivals.”

“Sounds fairly dull to me,” Griffith said. “Are you certain you don’t want to engage in any more scandalous behavior?” He winked at her, enjoying how she glared even harder at him.

“The most scandalous behavior I can imagine, my lord, is entering a ballroom on your arm.”

Before he could reply, the door opened letting in two meowing kittens, and a striking woman around the same age as Lady Della entered the room.

The resemblance ended there, however; Mrs. Wattings, as Griffith assumed she was, was brown-skinned, with dark brown eyes and delicate eyebrows. Her hair was pulled back into a modest style, and her clothing was just as modest, and obviously that of a lady’s. Her expression was gentle, and she glanced from his face to her friend’s, her eyes widening as she assessed the situation. And how large he was, he presumed.

Griffith stood, holding his hand out to her. The kittens dove under the sofa. “You are Mrs. Wattings? I am Griffith Davies, Lord Stanbury. Lady Della tells me you are Wattings’s wife?”

She nodded as she shook his hand.

“Please sit,” Griffith said in a mild tone. He waited until she took a chair opposite, then sat back down.