Letters for Phoebe by Sally Britton Page 0,9

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