Page 43 of Secrets of the Heart

“Really?”

“Yes, really. And you needn’t sound so scornful. Michael is a very fair man.”

“And you think he is so fair that he would be happy for you to be out here tramping about the East End, mingling with people like me and worse, looking into a murder?”

“Well, no.” Rachel was too fair herself to pretend otherwise. “He probably would not. He would doubtless be afraid that I would get into some sort of trouble. I am not generally considered someone who is capable of doing things, you see.”

He turned to look at her, his brows drawing together in a frown. “I don’t think—” He paused and cleared his throat, then continued. “I don’t think Lord Westhampton would look at it that way.”

She cast him a quizzical glance. “This from the man who was just disparaging Lord Westhampton and all the aristocracy?”

Michael made a face. “I’m just sayin’ a man would want to protect you—if you belonged to him, I mean. He would worry about you and want you to be safe, and that’s why he wouldn’t want you wandering about here by yourself. Not because he thinks you cannot do things. What sort of things? You look quite capable to me.”

Rachel chuckled. “No, I don’t. I probably seem even more useless to you than I do to Michael. I am, after all, like most of the women of my station—bred for pouring tea and stitching pretty things, but not for thinking or doing anything important. My brother married a woman who runs her own business. Her father used to take her into the wilds with him when he traded with fur trappers. She can shoot a gun and even use a knife.”

“Your sister-in-law sounds like a rum ’un to me.”

Rachel laughed, a silvery sound that snaked down through Michael’s gut. “No, she is not a ‘rum ’un.’ She is from America.”

“There you go, then.”

“But my other—well, I guess he is not really a relative anymore, but my friend—anyway, his wife is a well-bred Englishwoman, but she is capable, as well. She worked as a governess for years, and she helped Richard solve a mystery at his estate at Christmas. And—and, well, she speaks her mind, and Richard respects her opinion.”

“I am sure your husband respects you.”

“Oh, he respects me, as any gentleman would respect his wife, but that isn’t the same thing as respecting my opinion—thinking that what I say has worth and—”

“You think he discounts you?”

She looked at him, considering his question. It surprised her that she was discussing such things so freely with this man, whom she hardly knew. But there was something freeing about talking to a man who did not really know her, who had no concern with how she should act or talk. James Hobson would not care if what she said was unladylike or did not reflect well on her husband or her family. Yet at the same time, because of his similarity in looks to Michael, he seemed familiar to her. It was almost like talking to Michael, but without any worry about how he would take what she said, given the events of their past.

“No,” she said after a moment. “Michael would not act like that. But I do not think he would assume that I could do anything difficult, either. I never have, so I cannot see why he would think I could. But, you see, I can do this,” Rachel told him earnestly. “I can talk to Martha Denton. Better than you can, I warrant, for I can manage to see her at her new place of employment, but I doubt Lady Esterbrook would give you permission to speak to her.”

“No. I imagine you are right about that.”

They walked on in silence for a moment. Michael glanced at Rachel thoughtfully, then said, “I know where there is an inn not far from here. We could go there and get a bite to eat, mayhap.”

Rachel had to admit that she had worked up a hunger, but she hesitated. “But I cannot—what would people say if I went into an inn with a strange man?”

His brows rose comically. “You think you are going to see anyone you know going into an inn anywhere around here?”

“Well, no.” Rachel smiled. “Probably not, but…”

“Besides, you know how much I resemble Lord Westhampton. Anyone who saw you would assume that you are with your husband.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right. Although they would wonder why you were dressed so oddly.”

“We can discuss this investigation further over luncheon.”

Rachel looked at him warily. “What do you mean? You are going to try further to convince me not to do it?”

A smile quirked up his mouth, lighting his face in a way that reminded Rachel forcibly of Michael. “No. I mean, perhaps we could, um, work on it together. Perhaps you could do the sort of things that you are better at, like speaking to Lady Esterbrook’s new maid, and I could talk to the men who work for Birkshaw—as an equal, see, ’cause they’ll tell me things they would not tell a toff. And we could tell each other what we found out, and talk about it and what it means. After all, we are trying to find out the same thing.”

“All right,” Rachel replied, feeling rather daring. After all, there was, she told herself, nothing intrinsically wrong with dining with this man.

She remembered what had happened the last time she had been alone with James Hobson, but she immediately dismissed the thought. It had been an aberration, she told herself, something that had been brought about by that particular situation. Their emotions had been aroused, and even if it had been anger that she was feeling, somehow it had made it easier for her to slip into an unaccustomed passion. Being together in a public place like an inn, talking about working together on this case, would be an entirely different thing.

It took only a few minutes to arrive at the inn, named The Red Boar, a large, busy stopover for travelers. Hobson was able to procure them a private room in which to dine, and they were waited on by the innkeeper himself, who, Rachel noticed, addressed them as my lord and lady.