He absorbed her words, then burst into laughter. “I never thought of it that way. Although I will admit that I believe there are occasions where you try to deliberately upset me.”

His expression was tentatively hopeful, and it made her heart get all mushy. Because he was flirting with her, naturally, but not forcing anything upon her. Allowing her to take the lead, but letting her know how he felt.

“Let’s go,” she said, wishing she were less of a good friend so she could take Lord Aghast and Thoughtful here into her parlor and have her way with him. But she was a good friend, and Sarah had been waiting for so long for news of her Mr. Wattings that Della couldn’t and wouldn’t justify waiting any longer just because she had feminine wants and needs.

“Of course,” he said, his hand going automatically to the small of her back, but then hesitating right when he would have touched her.

She turned and nodded at him in acknowledgment. It was a small gesture, but it was an automatic one for most, if not all, gentlemen. That he would hesitate because he was uncertain if she wanted it spoke more than a thousand apologies.

Although she might take those as well. It could be fun to see him grovel.

“I think I might’ve seen him.” And then the man paused, making Griff want to shake him until his teeth rattled in his head.

Not that that would help. But it would be most satisfying.

“He was here mebbe six months ago?”

He and Della had gone straight to the docks where a ship had just arrived, its crew spilling out in search of companionship and alcohol. Probably not in that order.

They’d asked nearly forty sailors if any of them knew Mr. Wattings, and none of them did, until this one scratched his head and squinted and surmised that perhaps he did.

He and Della had whisked the sailor away to the closest pub, where Griff bought him an ale, buying one for himself as well, waiting impatiently as the man downed his drink, belched, and then scratched his head some more.

“Where was he?” Della asked.

The sailor paused in his head-scratching to give her an appreciative glance. Griff was pleased that he did not immediately want to punch the man—mostly because he already wanted to punch him for taking so long to answer the question.

“He was aboard the Righteous Lady,” the man replied. He was thin, his skin sallow, as though he hadn’t been let on deck during his voyage. “Last I saw him he said he was leaving London. Said there was nothing for him here.”

“But there was!” she replied in a fierce tone. “His wife and child were here.”

The man shrugged, looking wistfully at the bottom of his glass. Griff gestured to the barmaid for another, at which the man brightened considerably.