“Yes, well,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with expressions of sympathy. “Also, perhaps not quite as important is that it will irk everyone I meet that I am the heir to the dukedom.” He grinned in apparent pleasure. “So many of them warned my parents I was a troublemaker, and to guide me with a firm hand.”

“I wonder why anybody would say that,” Della commented.

“Besides which, it sounds as though you are in need of a reentry to Society yourself, judging by what you say. It will be a pleasure to watch their faces as we walk in. Worth any amount of fancy dancing and such.”

“Ah, no wonder you are so pleased to have me along. I am an even bigger burr in their side. I’m the most disgraceful of the duke’s daughters.”

“Precisely,” he said in an enthusiastic tone.

Sarah just looked from one of them to the other, her expression startled. Nearly aghast. Until she eventually sighed and threw up her hands. Her usual response to much of what Della did.

“Well,” Della said in a bright tone of voice, “where do we start?”

Chapter 5

Where do we start?

Well, first I would undo your hair. I imagine it would flow down to your arse. Then I would lower my head to your neck, kissing it softly. Waiting for you to wrap your arms around me.

“Start?” Griffith said after a moment. A moment where his imagination had definitely run away with him. “I will consult with Frederick and review what invitations have come in.”

She looked him up and down, a gleam in her eye. He liked it when she assessed him like that. He knew she could not possibly find him wanting.

“Do you have the proper attire?” she asked, her tone indicating she doubted it.

Well, she was correct in her assumption.

“No, not at all,” he said, shaking his head. Which reminded him he probably should send to the ship for his belongings. At which point he’d have to tell his crew of his change in circumstances.

The thought hit him like a punch to the heart—not to be able to head off to sea whenever he wanted, to be bound to the land. To take up responsibilities he’d actively run from so long ago.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, Della, I want to go see what the children are up to. I will leave you to your sartorial discussion,” Mrs. Wattings said as she rose.

“Sartorial?” Della echoed in an amused tone as her friend walked to the door.

Griffith got up and bowed, then retook his seat. The kitten he’d picked up clung to his chest, and he knew he’d have tiny marks on his skin as a memento.

He wondered if she would scratch him as well.

“Will you need my help?” she continued. “With purchasing the proper clothing?”