It had been a matter of chance. He’d absolutely not been looking for her when he’d returned from his morning ride, sought out his offices, and looked out the windows.

But she’d been there, going off with a little jauntiness in her step.

And he’d been baffled as to why a young lady should or would go off anywhere alone.

Perhaps her family granted her greater freedoms in the winter, as all had left.

But that didn’t mean the lady was safe from danger.

Danger could befall her anywhere.

Surely her family had sense enough to realize that.

Either way, her affairs—their affairs—were their own.

He told himself that, even as he waited at the window seat, her book still resting there, untouched, unopened . . . and then he spied her.

Val straightened, unsure how to account for the way his heartbeat picked up its cadence.

Outside, with that same basket in her fingers and her back to him, she crept along the side of her family’s townhouse with footsteps he expected she thought were stealthy.

She’d returned.

Good. Now he could go back to . . .

Nothing. You do absolutely nothing.

Which was certainly the only reason he’d noted that the lady had gone off on her own, or that she’d now returned and was—

She disappeared around the corner.

“Good,” he mumbled. “Out of sight. Out of mind.”

“What is that, Your Grace?” His butler popped his head into Val’s offices.

“Nothing, Jenkins. Take the day,” he instructed.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” With a bow, the loyal servant shuffled off, leaving Val alone.

As he wished it.

Except . . . his gaze drifted once more to the window.

She is not my problem. She is not my problem. She is—

His mind proved anything but compliant. With a dark curse, Val spun on his heel, and gathering his cloak from the foyer, he swung it around his shoulders and headed for the door.

Horace gave an excited yelp and danced around Val’s legs, his gait awkward from the limp he’d sustained years earlier, but the excited spring in those canine steps clear.

“You’re not coming,” he said tightly. “Stay.”

His dog immediately dropped his head between his front legs and emitted a piteous whine. In the span of less than a day, guilt reared its head for a second time.

“Trust me, you do not want to come,” Val said for the loyal dog’s benefit. “The lady is a bother. She’ll give you nothing but a megrim.”

Horace whimpered his protest once more.

“She is,” Val insisted. “And it’s cold outside and—”

Sitting on his haunches, Horace rested a massive paw on Val’s leg.

Bloody hell on Sunday. With another curse, Val wrenched the door open and patted the side of his thigh.

Horace instantly fell into step beside him.