He should have returned by now. Vincent had counted on his being back by now. Waiting was not something he did well. And waiting in his coach, in the cold, when he didn’t need to be there and still wasn’t even sure why he was there, was starting to annoy him, especially since Dudley was taking his sweet time delivering the notice. How bloody long did it take to hand over a piece of paper?

Across the street, the door finally closed. But Vincent’s secretary still stood there facing it, unmoving. Had he accomplished his task, or had the door been closed on him before he could? What the devil was he doing, standing there in the snow doing nothing?

Vincent was about to leave the coach himself to find out what was going on, when Dudley finally turned about and headed back toward him. Vincent opened the coach door, more in his impatience than to get Dudley out of the biting cold sooner. But Dudley didn’t rush inside when he got there, he didn’t enter the coach at all, was once again just standing there in the snow, as if he’d gone totally daft.

However, before Vincent could ask about this strange behavior, Dudley announced, “I have never in my life done anything so despicable, my lord, nor will I ever do so again. I quit.”

Vincent raised a questioning brow at him. “Quit as in—?”

“You will have my formal resignation on your desk in the morning.”

Vincent savored a moment of amazement. It wasn’t often that he could be so thoroughly surprised. But then his impatience returned.

“Get in the bloody coach, Mr. Dudley. You can explain yourself when we are out of this damnable weather.”

“No, sir,” Dudley replied stiffly. “I will find my own way home, thank you very much.”

“Don’t be absurd. You won’t find a hack this time of night.”

“I will manage.”

With that, the secretary closed the coach door and started marching down the street. Ordinarily Vincent would have shrugged and dismissed the man from his mind, but he was in an impatient frame of mind, which was as close as he came to being emotional.

He found himself leaving the coach himself and marching after Dudley to demand, “What the devil happened at that house to give you leave of your senses?”

Horace Dudley swung around, his face suffused with emotional color rather than paled from the cold. “If I must have further discourse with you, my lord, I fear I will disgrace myself beyond regret. Please, simply accept my resignation and leave it go at—”

“The devil I will. You’ve been with me for eight years. You do not just resign over a small matter—”