He intended to walk a distance before finding a hack to take him home for the evening; any number of black carriages waited on gentlemen who had not brought their own vehicles that evening, but the closest conveyance was not the one Griffin sought. He peered into a few as he walked, looking for signs of age. He preferred to give his funds to those most in need, not the few who had managed to claim the choicest positions near the front doors of gentlemen’s clubs.
The flash of a pale face inside one vehicle gave him pause. He took a few steps backward and looked again, certain he was mistaken.
A woman waited in the hack. He looked up at the driver, who purposefully ignored him, then approached. Poor thing had likely come looking for a relative and did not know how to go about getting them out of the club without causing a scene. Women were not allowed, of course, and usually sent servants to deliver important messages to husbands.
Griffin knocked on the window, purposefully looking away. “Madam, if you will tell me who you are waiting for, I will happily fetch the man for you.”
There was a yelp from inside, then the window dropped open with a bang, startling him into looking up. Directly into Miss Kimball’s face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her dark eyebrows raising comically high.
“What am I doing here? My club is here. What are you doing here?” Griffin stared at her, then looked deeper into the shadows. “Do you at least have a maid with you?”
She gasped. “That is none of your concern.”
She was alone. Griffin shook his head. “What are you doing out here, Miss Kimball? Your reputation—”
The door opened, and she reached out to grab the lapel of his coat, stunning Griffin enough that he complied when she pulled him into the coach. He realized what he had done when she shut the door behind him.
“See here, Miss Kimball, I will not be forced into a compromising position with you.”
A bark of a laugh followed her momentary silence. “Me? Compromise you? Why ever would I do such a thing?”
That ruffled his pride a bit, but Griffin shrugged. “Who knows? Women are mysterious creatures. For instance, I have absolutely no idea why you would pull me into a dark carriage if you did not have nefarious purposes.”
She leaned forward in her seat, allowing the lamplight from outside to illuminate her face. “Nefarious?” She smiled enough to make him almost like her. “I suppose I am behaving rather unusually, but I assure you, my being here has nothing to do with you. I merely had no wish for you to stand there and give me away. I am here for a very specific purpose.”
“What might that be, that it requires sitting all alone on St. James?” Griffin adjusted his posture first, his hat second, and then smoothed the lapels of his coat. “Caroline would have a fit, I am certain. She cannot know that you are here.”
“No one knows I am here,” she stated coolly, looking out the window again. “And I will thank you to tell no one about it. You may leave now, if you wish. No one is upon the street at present.”
“What is it you are waiting for? Or whom are you waiting for? Perhaps I can help.” That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, of course. The satisfaction of his curiosity was an additional benefit. After the way Miss Kimball had treated him the day before, he had thought her entirely too bent upon propriety to be the adventurous sort.
For several seconds, she bit her bottom lip and stared out the window. Her eyebrows were drawn down, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to think. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, then sighed. “I suppose the fact that Caroline knows you so well ought to count in your favor. Very well. I am waiting on Mr. Milbourne. You may remember introducing us yesterday.”
“I do, yes.” He looked out the window, a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. “Are you meeting him here?”
“Heavens, no.” She appeared genuinely startled. “I intend to spy on him.”
His jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Spy on him?” He sat back in the seat and took her in with entirely new eyes. He had thought her prim and proper. Arrogant or conceited. But here she played at espionage. “I have seriously misjudged you, Miss Kimball.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not surprised.” Whatever she meant by that statement, he could not say.
“At least I can be of some service to you,” he said at last, the world trying to right itself in his mind. “Mr. Milbourne will not come out for a few hours yet. He is playing cards.”
Her shoulders sunk. “Hours? It is midnight now.”
Griffin nodded slowly. She was acting on the information in his anonymous letter. While he had not expected such a dramatic reaction, Griffin’s relief she had taken him seriously made him relax. “The game is easily worth a few hundred pounds at the moment. He will play until it is over, then he will play again, whether he wins or loses.”
“Does everyone know about his gambling habits?” she asked quietly, notes of anxiety in each word.
“Everyone who pays attention to such things.” He shrugged, wincing on her behalf. What would it feel like to be the last one to hear such a thing? At least she had made no commitment to the gambler.
“Gambling is a popular pastime among gentlemen, though,” Miss Kimball said quietly.
Griffin shrugged again. “That is not the least of his vices, I am afraid.”
She groaned and dropped her face in her hands. “Duped. Again.” Without raising from her slumped position, Miss Kimball spoke through her fingers. “Thank you for your time and insight, Mr. Fenwick. You may go.”
Could he, when she was obviously in distress? “Miss Kimball, I could see you home if you like—”
Miss Kimball sat up abruptly, her spine straight as a needle and her tone just as sharp. “That is unnecessary.” She opened the door to the hackney. “Thank you for your concern. Good evening.”
Her swift dismissal, made with a cold tone and her nose in the air, gave him pause. Yet he tipped his head to her, stepped out of the coach, and shut the door behind him. Some people did not know how to show gratitude. Not that he needed effusive praise, but something more than being turned out onto the street as though he had been the one performing a questionable act did not sit well with him. It nearly brought his temper to the surface.
Irritating, unreasonable woman. As much as he had admired the gumption it took to spy upon someone, and the bravery besides, he would not allow himself to like Miss Kimball. He had done her a good turn, nothing more. Griffin was determined to think no more of her, even as he walked into the darkness of the street and heard her hackney pull away.
Chapter 3
A Sparring Match
To My Friend,
You have saved me from great humiliation and subsequent despair. I thank you, with all my heart. You cannot know what it means to me to receive your warning at such a time when no one else could advise me. I have made certain Mr. M. will have no reason to believe himself welcome in the future.
Truly, I cannot express the depth of my gratitude. May God bless you.
Sincerely Yours,
P.K.
Griffin arrived at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Carew, and their three sons, barely in time for dinner. He’d been abominably late to all of his appointments that day, ever since he had received the note from Phoebe Kimball. He’d read and reread her words, studied the swirls of her handwriting, and tried to discern how the young woman who had pushed him out of a hack could possibly be the same one who wrote such warm words with an elegant and gentle hand.