He climbed wearily from the bed and began splashing in the basin of water. “Have we heard from Nick Barnes?”
Deedle laid out the razor, strop, and towels. “No.”
“Damn.” Griffin frowned. Nick usually sent word first thing in the morning. Griffin would have to see if Nick was sleeping in—or if something more ominous had happened. But first he must deal with the lovely Lady Hero—and the consequences of last night’s impulse.
Fifteen minutes later, Griffin ran down the steps of his rented town house. It wasn’t in the most fashionable part of the West End of London, but he’d long ago decided that lodgings separate from Thomas were essential for familial accord.
Rambler was waiting at the bottom of the steps, his head held by a young groom. Griffin patted the gelding’s glossy neck before swinging into the saddle and throwing the boy a shilling.
The day was sunny, and Rambler made good time, weaving through the London traffic. Griffin found Lady Hero’s carriage not twenty minutes later, stalled behind a herd of pigs.
Lady Hero’s coachman merely nodded as Griffin waved at him and entered the carriage.
“Good morning,” he said as he sat.
“Go away,” she replied.
He clapped a hand over his heart. “Such cruelty from such a fair lady.”
She wouldn’t even look at him. She stared fixedly out the window, her profile remote and reserved. Only the faint spots of pink on her cheekbones gave lie to her serenity. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, yes.” He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankle, grappling with a wholly foreign surge of guilt. Outside, a chorus of squealing rose alarmingly. “I should be abed, still dreaming, but it’s not my fault you decided to rise early and sneak off to St. Giles without me.”
She pursed her lips irritably. “This isn’t wise.”
He noted that she didn’t deny her destination. “Have you told your brother or Thomas about your jaunts to St. Giles?”
“No, but—”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
She closed her eyes as if pained. “You know we can’t do this.”
Had he hurt her so much? He cleared his throat, feeling uncharacteristically diffident. “About last night…”
She held up her palm, her face averted. “Don’t.”
He opened his mouth, but she was as still as a graven image. She seemed to have retreated somewhere deep inside herself.
Damnation! His mouth snapped shut. He turned to look out the window as the carriage began rolling forward. He’d well and truly mucked this up. If he had it to do over, he’d… what? He sure as hell wouldn’t take back that kiss.
Griffin sighed and laid his head against the squabs. That kiss had been quite spectacular. He remembered her mouth soft and yielding, her breasts pressed against his chest, and the hard beat of his own heart. He’d been aroused, naturally, but oddly the part that stuck in his mind wasn’t the eroticism of their embrace, but the sweetness. It had felt… right—as wrong as that was.
And as truly foolish as it was to have kissed his brother’s fiancée, he’d do it all over again if Lady Hero gave even the slightest sign of acquiescence.
Griffin cracked an eyelid and snorted under his breath. The lady was showing no such signs this morning. She sat ramrod straight in her seat—surely an uncomfortable pose as the carriage swayed—and her face was still averted. She gave every indication of loathing him.
Well, that was for the best, wasn’t it?
Griffin sighed. “Why have you decided to go back to St. Giles so soon?”
“Mr. Templeton has agreed to meet me at the site of the new home,” she said.
He raised his brows, waiting for more explanation, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Fine, two could play at that game. He tilted his hat over his eyes and settled back to regain some of the sleep he’d lost this morning.
The carriage shuddering to a stop woke Griffin some time later. He watched lazily as Lady Hero got up and left the carriage without a word to him. His lips twitched. That certainly put him in his place. He could stay in the carriage and await her return, but curiosity got the better of him. Griffin followed her out of the carriage, looking around.
They were in St. Giles, not far from his still, actually. The carriage was stopped at the end of a narrow lane, too wide to pass through. Griffin saw Lady Hero walking determinedly down the lane with her footman, George. Griffin jogged to catch up. By the time he made her side, she was already in conversation with Jonathan. The architect was all in black, a huge roll of papers under one arm. He turned to greet Griffin, but Lady Hero continued talking.
“… as you can see. Now we’re worried that the children will have to stay in their wretched temporary home for the winter. Can you give us any hope, Mr. Templeton?”
She drew breath and Griffin took advantage of the pause by sticking his hand out to his friend. “Good morning, Jonathan. How are you today?”
“Quite well, my lord, quite well indeed,” the architect replied, beaming. He glanced at Lady Hero and blinked at her gimlet stare. “Er… now, then, as to the progress of the foundling home, my lady. As you can see, the former architect barely laid the foundations. I’ve had a chance to inspect the site, and I’m afraid I’ve discovered several distressing points.”
Lady Hero frowned. “Yes?”
Jonathan nodded, pushing his spectacles up onto his forehead. “Most of the foundation is sound, but in places it has already settled and will need to be dug up, shored, and rebuilt. Further, the papers you sent me indicated that special stone, wood, et cetera were bought and stored here. I’m afraid I cannot find them.”
“Stolen?” Griffin asked.
“Yes, my lord, or perhaps never truly bought in the first place.” Jonathan looked troubled. “In any case, the materials will have to be purchased before further construction is done.”
Griffin glanced at Lady Hero and saw that she was biting her lip. “I… I will have to see about obtaining the monies necessary to purchase material. Last time it took weeks for the stone to be shipped.”
“Ah.” Mr. Templeton rocked back on his heels. “Here I think I have good news, then. I know of a supplier of fine granite who has some already sitting in his warehouse here in London. I have no doubt that he has enough to meet our needs. It isn’t the Italian marble that the original plans called for, but the granite stone is pretty enough. Cheaper, too. I believe I can persuade him to extend you the credit on the stone.”