“I don’t know the details of it.” Always his answer, although she was beginning to suspect he was lying.

“But whatever it is, it is dangerous.” Persisting with the topic, she was rather certain she should be worried about Marcus.

He rubbed his brow. “It’s late, Althea, and I have to be at the docks early. I’m to bed.”

“Let me see to your hands first.”

“They’re fine.”

“Griff, if they get infected, you’re going to lose them, and then where will we be?”

With a long-suffering dramatic sigh—she’d once heard a rumor that he’d had an affair with an actress, and she couldn’t help but believe he’d adopted some of her theatrics—he nodded.

Not bothering to remove her cloak because the air was cold and they wouldn’t have a fire tonight, she pumped water into a bowl, grabbed some linen and the salve. By the time she joined him at the table, he’d removed the bandages she’d wrapped around his hands that morning.

“They’re looking better,” he mused.

In spite of the fact he wore gloves, lifting and hauling crates had caused blisters, torn skin, and calluses. He winced as she saw to the raw places. She didn’t know how he managed to continue at his labors. Until three months ago, the most laborious thing he’d ever done was lift a tankard or a card at a gaming table. And he’d certainly never arisen before dawn. He’d seldom moved about before noon.

“Oh, I forgot. A bit of good news. Someone left me a sovereign tonight.”

“Why would he do that?” She heard the suspicion in his voice. They had learned to trust no one.

“My smile?”

He grinned. “It has been known to lay men flat.”

Yes, once she’d been the darling of the ton, had been in no hurry to settle on anyone. Until finally, she’d decided on the Earl of Chadbourne. They were to have been married in January, a few weeks from now. “I’ll give it to you when I’m done here.”

“Keep it. You might have a need for it.”

“I want to contribute.” It was the reason she’d taken a position at the tavern. She’d begun feeling rather useless. Keeping things tidy, preparing meals—which had been a challenge in itself—and mending Griffith’s clothing had not taken most of her day. She’d been left with nothing to do but sit and worry.

“Then simply hold it close. I’ll let you know if we have need of it.”