Miss Dunn touched his arm and whispered, “How do you know the garment bears my initials? I am, after all, the only lady in the house.”
Noah stole any opportunity to explain his logical deductions. And he needed something to distract his mind from the dainty fingers resting on his coat sleeve.
“Because you were keen to inform me that Kathleen is a good person. One might assume that she stole an old garment, one that would not be missed as much as a recent purchase.”
“Yes.”
“And because I believe your godfather’s last poem, Castle of Corpses, relates to the time he took you to stay at Briden Castle two summers ago.”
It was a poem about an angel made to suffer the company of the undead. A battle to remain pure and uncorrupted. Becker had mentioned his charge in the acknowledgements but not named her.
“When attending a large house party,” he continued, “a maid would want to ensure no personal items went astray.”
Miss Dunn’s eyes remained wide. “While some would argue that you make sweeping assumptions, I find your insight rather remarkable.” She continued to stare. “And yes, a month spent with pretentious prigs takes its toll.”
Peters cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I opened late this morning. You’re the first people to walk through that door.”
Noah dragged his gaze away from Miss Dunn. “Then you won’t mind if I inspect your stock.”
“No, Mr Ashwood, sir. Do as you please.” Peters gestured for Noah to come behind the crude counter. “The lady is welcome to rummage through the drawers while you search the cupboards out the back.”
“Wait here, Miss Dunn. Scan the rows of shoes. See if any seem at all familiar.”
To keep Peters on his toes, Noah strode into the storeroom and searched through the petticoats. Based on Peters’ sudden burst of confidence, he knew the maid had not hurried to the shop to sell her ill-gotten gains.
Upon his return, he found Miss Dunn examining a rack of old boots, her pretty lace handkerchief pressed to her nose to mask the foul stench that resembled rotten cabbage.
“Anything of interest?”
“No. Nothing.” She straightened and tucked her handkerchief into her reticule.
Peters’ smile filled his chubby face. “As I said, sir, you’re the first people I’ve seen this morning.”
“Then let’s hope you speak the truth. I shall be in a devil of a mood if forced to return.” Noah captured Miss Dunn’s elbow and guided her towards the door.
Touching her only deepened his attraction.
“Where to now?” She looked up at him and held his gaze. The tightness around her eyes revealed a sense of unease.
“Now we question your maid.”
Chapter 4
They covered the brief walk to Brownlow Street in silence, though Eva’s mind was far from quiet. Her chaotic thoughts had nothing to do with her worrying situation. On the contrary, the confident gentleman striding beside her commanded her attention.
Eva studied his handsome profile.
Mr Ashwood embodied a wealth of contradictions. His neat beard and devilish grin gave him a rugged appeal. That of a man capable of beating a villain to death with his bare hands. Yet his powerful jaw and proud bearing spoke of his upstanding moral character. He was serious in his approach to work. Determined. A man to admire. Yet it was the teasing way his golden brown hair curled at the nape, and the playful glint in those alluring green eyes, that fed her curiosity.
“You’ll have a crick in your neck if you keep staring, Miss Dunn.” Mr Ashwood did not look at her but continued to survey their surroundings as they approached the Lying-In Hospital.
“I find you somewhat of an enigma, sir.” And she did so love a puzzle.
“Then we have something else in common, madam, other than our feckless fathers and a love of books.”
He came to an abrupt halt opposite the hospital. The building might have been mistaken for a row of townhouses were it not for the grand entrance supported by Doric pilasters and a vast Greek pediment.
“Something else in common?”
“With shocking frequency, I’m surprised by elements of your character, too.” He studied the sash windows covering the hospital’s facade. “I’ve never met a woman like you.”
Thank goodness he wasn’t gazing into her eyes when conveying what sounded like a compliment. “Being considered an original comes with its problems.”
“I fail to see how,” he said before his attention drifted. “Excuse me a moment.”
Without another word, Mr Ashwood dashed across the road and came to the aid of a heavily pregnant woman struggling to carry her valise. He took hold of her bag and let the woman grip his arm as he helped her hobble towards the entrance.
A matron appeared, and a lengthy discussion ensued. Mr Ashwood motioned to Eva, no doubt explaining that he was not the father of the unborn babe but a mere bystander offering assistance.
“The men call him Dauntless,” Mrs Gunning said, admiration for her employer evident. “Dauntless because of his strength and courage they say. It doesn’t do him justice in my humble opinion.”
“No,” Eva mused as she watched the gentleman approach. She imagined any woman witnessing the act of kindness might fall a little in love with Mr Ashwood. “I suspect there isn’t a word to sum up the complex nature of his character.”
“Forgive me,” the gentleman said, joining Eva on the pavement. “What husband lets his wife make the journey to hospital alone?”
“A negligent one.” Eva glanced at the hospital, the place paid for by wealthy subscribers to care for impoverished pregnant women of reasonable social standing. “Although some ladies who arrive are unmarried and have forged the paperwork.”
She had heard many sad stories, seen many desperate women attempt to gain entrance without having first submitted an affidavit of marriage and the necessary letter of recommendation.
Guilt flared as her thoughts
