“Excellent, thank you,” Lord Stanbury said.

They headed off in that direction, Della holding on to Lord Stanbury’s arm as his long legs chewed up the ground.

She could have asked him to slow down, but she found she liked the pace. Far too often she’d found herself frustrated at the slowness of other people around her. Lord Stanbury—Griffith—was just as energetic as she, and she liked how breathless and energized she felt.

Which, of course, reminded her that they would be engaged in other physical pursuits that would hopefully make her feel both energized and breathless.

And the house was empty now, so it made sense to try to hasten this errand. Was that why he was walking so quickly? Because he was eager to get her into bed?

Not that he knew of her plan, so perhaps not.

“Why are we searching this way instead of applying directly to the Navy?” she asked. She looked up at him, noting how his dark hair was flying about, nearly as wild as he was. He only needed a gold hoop through his ear to look like the most dangerous of pirates.

“I’d rather not remind them of my existence,” he replied wryly. “Given that the last time the Navy and I met I ended up in jail.”

“How did you get out anyway?”

He looked down at her as though considering what to say. “My cousin’s solicitor came to get me. It turns out a duke’s heir should not spend time in any type of jail, no matter what they did.”

“What did you do?” She couldn’t help but ask; hopefully it was not “asked a lady to be his pretend betrothed and then dumped her into the ocean” or something equally terrible.

“I did what was right,” he replied, his tone making it clear he did not want to discuss it further.

“What was that?” Because even though Della could read a tone as well as the next person, that did not mean she paid attention to the cue.

“I captured a slaver ship and then released everyone aboard when it was clear that the authorities were going to let the matter drag on.” He shrugged. “Apparently I should have waited for justice to take its course. But it seemed to me,” he said, sounding more vehement, “that justice was taking far too long, and some of those people would have died in the interim.”

“You did the right thing, then. Even if the Navy disagrees. But I understand why going through official channels—”

“So to speak,” he interrupted.

“—would be something you would prefer to avoid.”

“At the moment, yes. So we’ll ask at this pub and try to find Wattings without having to inquire of Her Majesty’s Navy.”