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“More rest would have been wise,” he said conversationally. It seemed toiling up hills didn’t affect his breathing in the least. “But Ponsonby and I can get carried away.”
She panted. “You were with Mr. Ponsonby?”
“And a couple of bottles. A classic combination.”
She gulped for air. The road had leveled. And last night, Griffith hadn’t been cavorting with a paramour, but drinking with a friend—heavily, to judge by his raddled appearance.
“It’s an unhealthy combination,” she told him. “James says alcohol causes degeneration and disease of the nervous system.”
“Does he say it while swilling sherry?”
“Physician, heal thyself.” She sighed. “It doesn’t make it less true. I’m not judging.”
“What, then? Fretting? Fussing?” His indignation was obviously feigned. Beneath it, he seemed pleased, as though no one had fussed over him for some time.
And maybe no one had.
Her heart gave a sudden lurch.
She trained her attention straight ahead. “I saw the sunrise too.”
“Good God.” His tone changed. “You waited all night.”
“I fell asleep for some of it.”
“On the drenched ground?”
Maybe she’d taken brazen honesty a step too far.
“I wouldn’t say drenched. A bit damp, perhaps.”
The pause extended. Then he said: “You should have let yourself in.”
She made a face. “I’m not accustomed to letting myself into other people’s houses.”
“Desperate times.”
“I wasn’t desperate.” She bit her lip. Was that how he saw her?
“Besides,” she muttered, “we can’t all be rakes like you, climbing trellises and crawling through windows.”
“No climbing or crawling required. The door wasn’t locked.” He veered around something gristly. “I’ve never climbed a trellis myself.”
She snorted. “What about an iron downpipe? Or a knotted lace curtain lowered from a garret balcony?”
“I appreciate the image.” His voice was dry. “But I moved through the world seen as a woman for the first three decades of my life. Which means I followed a different version of the rake’s rule book.”
“Oh.” Her breath puffed out. She felt awkward and almost painfully curious. “Trellises play a smaller role?”
He gave her a wry look. “Did you ever have to sneak past a chaperone to get a private word with a female acquaintance? Limitless energy goes toward governing what a woman says to a man. How she says it. Where and in whose company. But no one thinks twice if two wallflowers slip out of a ballroom. If a girl shuts herself up with another girl in the parlor, or even in her bedchamber.”
“So you wouldn’t scramble up to a balcony under cover of dark.” She swallowed. “You’d just…call at the front door and walk up the stairs.”
She pictured him in a gown, slinking through a lady’s boudoir, slinking up to the lady herself, who watched him approach in her vanity mirror, shivering with anticipation.
She realized she was shivering, and she shifted on the dense leather seat, newly aware of the pressure it exerted on her inner thighs.
“Don’t you miss the convenience?” she asked.
