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She should have been terrified of the man.

He was rude, crude, off-putting and testy. Tonight’s interaction hadn’t done a thing to convince her Mr. Calderbank was a gentleman. He’d physically accosted her, pinned her to the wall with his body, and held her at knifepoint. With an erection.

So why in the world was she suddenly desperately curious about him?

Blast.

She was a scientist. When faced with a quandary, there was only one acceptable solution: she needed to experiment.

Experiment with Mr. Calderbank?

No, no, do not be silly.

But now she’d thought of the dratted idea, she couldn’t convince her mind to release it. Was it only Calderbank’s scent which aroused her? Or did she enjoy his overwhelming physicality? Or was she so desperate, any man could make her feel this way?

Double blast.

She needed to solve this problem.

What was the likelihood she’d be able to convince the Grump Next Door to help her?

Improbable.

Chapter 2

Griffin shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other and rolled his shoulders as he finally stepped onto his street. The square had a cheerful park in the center, but the summer sun was low enough to throw shadows amongst the bushes and trees.

He was too tired to appreciate it.

He was too tired to appreciate anything, it seemed.

Christ, who would’ve guessed that nine hours behind a desk could be as exhausting as going nine rounds with some instructor Blackrose had hired? If someone had told Griffin that, back when he was busy getting his arse beaten, he would’ve laughed.

But now, his fists practically ached for the chance to be used.

Although he’d be hard-pressed to choose a target; Blackrose’s nose, or Griffin’s boss.

“Ye ungrateful bastard, at least ye have a job,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand across his face as his house came into view.

Aye, the venerated accounting firm of Cooke, Books & Steele was well-known, and he’d been lucky to leverage his former employer’s letter of recommendation into a position when he’d returned from New York. But Kermit Steele was a tight-fisted old miser, and had hired him at half-pay for the first two quarters.

Which meant that Griffin’s family was living on his savings.

Which meant in a few months they’d be up shite creek.

“Fook,” he mumbled, and when he received a glare from the nursemaid pushing a pram, scowled in return. He didn’t need to impress these people; he’d only chosen the neighborhood because it was quiet and safe, and not at all the sort of place he’d lived when he’d worked for Blackrose.

Aye, if the bastard had a mind to find him, to hurt his family again…Griffin wanted to make it as difficult as possible.

Unfortunately, when he’d chosen this particular townhouse, sight unseen, he hadn’t realized it was next door to…

With a sigh, he tipped his head back to stare up at the edifice of his next-door neighbor’s home. Everything he’d been able to learn said that Miss Felicity Montrose had lived there for ten years—since she’d come to London from parts unknown—and had obviously made it into a home. Colorful flowers bloomed in the window pots, the paint was in good condition, and generally the place had an air of gentility, maintained by an army of servants only the rich could afford.

And then there was the Calderbank home.

Nay, no’ a home. A house. Just a house.

His lips turned down in a snarl, Griffin stomped to his steps. They weren’t dilapidated—he wouldn’t have chosen an unsafe home for his children and Mrs. Mac—but it was obvious to a passerby the place was a rental. No personality, no appeal.