Garrett was going to help her. He nodded and smiled to a gentleman he passed, then chuckled under his breath.
Midday bustled with sounds of pedestrian chatter, horses’ hooves clopping, and carriage wheels rumbling over hard-packed roads. Garrett tipped his hat to every lady he passed and nodded to every gentleman whether or not they were Society born. Now that he’d been all over the world, for the most part, anyway, he was beginning to think he was ready to spend more time in England once again. After ten years of traveling, London felt like home.
Lady Kitson Fairbright was the reason.
How could it have ever crossed his mind that a widow with a son of her own would be the lady of his dreams? Everything about her drew him. Her courage and her dedication impressed him. Her passion was real and strong whether she was protecting Chatwyn, going after the duke, or lying in his arms. She put all her strength into whatever she was doing.
Garrett’s stomach tightened at the thought of her in his arms again. Much as he had ached to be with her, he would have never suggested they come together last night. Putting her in danger wasn’t something he wanted to do. He wanted to protect her. If she hadn’t made it clear that being with him was exactly what she wanted, he wouldn’t have touched her.
“Damnation,” he whispered to himself, aching to be with her again.
There was more between them than just words, glances, touches and kisses. More than just primal coming together. After last night, she had him thinking about giving up his life of the adventurer and living a settled life with a family, but would a lady like Julia take the chance that he wouldn’t leave her and take to the sea again? He didn’t even know the answer to that himself. Answers to that question would have to come later. For now, he’d concentrate on helping her with the duke.
He passed a perfumery, and the varied floral scents drifting onto the heavy air stirred his thoughts of how fresh Julia smelled. There wasn’t a hint of rosewater, lavender, or any other fragrance on her skin. That made her different from any other woman he could remember being with. Her hair had been braided, and he would have liked nothing better than to free it from the tight coil and sink his fingers into its lush length while making her his. But there had been no time for slow strokes down the plane of her hip or kisses that went on forever. They’d been too desperate. But next time, he would touch, kiss and love her the way he wanted to.
A chuckle rumbled in Garrett’s chest as he noticed a couple of street urchins eyeing him as he approached them. He knew they were looking him over, trying to decide if they could distract him long enough to lift his coin purse. It was a fairly common occurrence wherever he went, and Garrett never minded their attempts. It was a way of life for them.
The footpads caused Julia’s little boy to come to mind. She had been horrified when he grabbed hold of Garrett’s leg. If she only knew the many times he’d been rushed by a band of street urchins bent on pilfering his purse and dagger, or mobbed by a gang of gypsy children who’d been sent out by their parents to pick pockets clean of anything that might have value. They hadn’t been particular about where they touched when robbing him. One little boy holding on to him wasn’t going to disturb Garrett’s disposition.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling. He tossed it in the air toward the street urchins as he passed. They laughed with delight and shouted thank you.
Garrett inhaled the wet, earthy scent from the tobacco store next door as he walked up the three steps to the entrance of Stockton Shipping and entered the office. A stocky-built man with thinning gray hair jumped out of his chair from behind the simple desk and said, “Good-day to you, sir. Is there anything I can help you with this morning?”
Mr. Ashfield always asked the same question whenever Garrett was in the offices. “Yes, Mr. Ashfield, there is something.”
Garrett took off his hat and placed it on a small table along with his umbrella. While removing his gloves, he looked around the spacious room, something he couldn’t remember actually taking the time to do before. There was never any reason to. He spent so little time at the offices of his shipping company. It was the first time he realized there was very little furniture sitting about and absolutely nothing hung on the walls. No framed writings, etchings, or drawings. No paintings of ships, landscapes, or fruit and flowers. There wasn’t a candlestick holder on either side of the room or a clock standing in one of the corners.
It was odd that today he was aware of how barren the room was. It had nothing to give it the liveliness of being occupied. Garrett had never set up an office for himself in his own building. There was no purpose, he’d always told himself. He was seldom in London, and when he was, he spent most of his time in Mr. Urswick’s office.
But today, for reasons Garrett didn’t want to ponder too closely, he was being more honest with his thoughts. If he set up an office for himself in the shipping company, the old guard in the ton could legitimately say he no longer simply owned ships and traveled about the world as a sojourner, and that he’d gone into trade. But now that he’d met Julia, Garrett was glad he hadn’t made the final commitment to give up his link with Polite Society.
He walked over to Mr. Ashfield and pulled a leather bag not much larger than a man’s coin purse out of his pocket. He looked down at Ashfield’s hands. They were definitely worse than the last time he saw the man. His knuckles were large and knobby.
“How are the joints moving these days?”
“Difficult, to be sure, but I can still grip a quill and turn a page as quickly as any man.”
“I’ve never doubted that.” Garrett laid the bag on his desk. “I finally got around to having my trunks delivered from the ship to the inn. I brought this back for you. Try it and see if it helps. Mix a level spoon of it in a little water every morning and drink it.”
Ashfield picked up the little sack and spread it open. A damp, putrid smell permeated the air around them. He grimaced and turned his head away from the foul odor.
“I know,” Garrett offered before the man said a word. “It doesn’t smell good and it probably tastes even worse, but I’m told it will diminish the pain you have and give you more movement in your fingers. It might make the knees feel a little better, too.”
Ashfield looked doubtful. “Where did it come from?”
“India. Don’t ask me what’s in it because I don’t know. I can’t swear it will help your joints but I’d trust the man who gave it to me with my life, and he said it would. This isn’t like laudanum. You won’t feel better in a few minutes and probably not for a few days. This works over time and you have to take it every day. I promise it’s not poisonous. It’s ground plant roots and herbs and maybe a spice or two. Try it. I brought a couple of barrels back with me. If it helps you, I’m going to see if any of the apothecaries in London are interested in selling it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stockton. A spoonful every morning. Don’t you worry, I’ll get it down.”
Garrett then pulled the stack of documents from the duke’s office out of the leather package and placed them on Mr. Ashfield’s desk. “I need you to copy each of these documents as accurately as possible.”
The secretary’s eyes widened as he began looking through the stack. “There are many pages here, sir. This will take some time, but I’ll do my best to get them done as quickly as I can.”