Page 28 of Honor Unbound

“I am.” Sir Kelsey rocked onto his toes. “Our group tends to get a little bit…loud, and we’ve been told we can’t meet in the clubhouse any longer.”

“It’s a game.” Jane pressed to standing. “You put a ball in a hole. What on earth are you discussing that gets so raucous as to get you thrown out of a club?”

He smiled. “We weren’t removed from the club. Only asked not to hold meetings there any longer.”

“You didn’t answer her question.” I narrowed my eyes.

“We hold court on a variety of topics.” Sir Kelsey hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, grinning. “Lately, however, we have been planning our campaign to keep women from playing at our course. After that women’s golf tournament was held in Scotland a few years back, there have been some who have pressed for us to open up the links to everyone.”

“And you can’t have that.” My stomach burned.

“Obviously not.” He shrugged. “The sport isn’t suited to women. So, do we have a deal?”

My Minerva Club hosting a bunch of small-minded, boorish, blockheads? The thought was intolerable.

“Unless, of course, you think a woman of your positionisn’twell-suited to investigating a crime?” He arched his eyebrows.

My spine snapped straight. “One meeting at my club.”

“Six.” His light brown eyes stared into mine, a challenge.

“Three. No more.”

Sir Kelsey extended his hand. “There’s usually about twenty of us. We’ll expect refreshments.”

I slapped my hand into his. “If you want refreshments, I want public acknowledgment of my assistance. In the paper.”

He paled but nodded.

I tugged Jane away before he could change his mind. That last provision might have made the magistrate pause, but I knew it wouldn’t overly concern him. Jane’s assessment of Sir Kelsey was correct. He couldn’t conceive that an old biddy, a woman, someone not in law enforcement, would be able to catch a killer.

I couldn’t wait to prove him wrong.

Chapter Eleven

Brett

“This is notnearly so diverting as I thought it would be.” Marie slumped back on the seat of the carriage. Fortunately, Lady Mary’s coach was a plain black conveyance with no distinguishing marks. With the curtains covering most of the window, no one who saw them would know who was in the carriage—or understand their purpose.

Brett leaned forward, squinting. He’d instructed Ernest to park as far from the street’s gas lamp as possible while keeping Mrs. Shaw’s front door in sight. Mrs. Trent had ordered her own carriage drawn in front of her sister’s house this fine Friday evening, but it had sat there unoccupied for going on forty minutes.

“Yes, your information concerning Mrs. Trent’s Friday evening habits appears not to be completely accurate,” he said.

Marie scowled, looking much too much like an angry kitten in the dim light. “It’s not my fault the woman is running late.”

“I didn’t say it was.” Brett’s lips twitched. When he’d first started working for Lady Mary, he had put all his effort into learning his job and learning it well. He hadn’t given the pretty maid much thought.

Since a body had appeared on their doorstep and he’d begun working more closely with Miss Marie Murphy, the flame-haired beauty had lingered in his thoughts more and more. Miss Murphy, or Marie as he now thought of her, was a diverting,mischievous, kind-hearted sort of woman—with everyone but him. She had a bit of sass to her, even when speaking to Lady Mary, but it was always of a good-natured variety. Her speech was decidedly more sour when directed his way.

It had puzzled him for several days, why her smiles had dimmed when he was present. Why an otherwise graceful woman walked into doorframes when she caught sight of him. He might not be everyone’s preferred cup of tea, but he didn’t usually engender hostility from others.

At last he’d understood.

“That maid might have given me a poor account, as well.” Marie batted a lock of her curly hair off her cheek. “Too interested in what she’s going to eat for dessert to read the clock right when her mistress leaves.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself.” Brett breathed deeply, the faint scent of rose water filling the carriage’s interior. He wondered if Lady Mary had gifted the maid the rose water or if it was an indulgence she allowed herself. “As I said, I’m not laying any blame at your feet.”

Instead of appeasing her, his words only deepened her scowl. She bobbed one of her feet up and down in a staccato rhythm.