Page 42 of Honor Unbound

“Fine.” Brett gave the driver a quelling look. “Please meet us there.” He gave Marie his arm.

She examined it, trying to see if there was a patch of it she wouldn’t mind touching.

There was not. She clasped her reticule with both hands and turned up the street. “So. The man you saw?”

Brett fell into step beside her. “Average size, wearing a brown coat.”

She waited for more. “That’s it?” she asked when he remained silent. “The sole description?”

“He made a point not to be seen.” There was a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

She made to pat his arm, thought better of it. “What does it mean? Why would someone trail about after us?”

“Perhaps our questions are making someone nervous.” He bumped his elbow into hers. “Perhaps you have a jealous beau.”

“Stuff and nonsense.” She heated, even more than the warm day warranted.

“Are you saying there is no beau I have to compete with?” He made a show of wiping his brow. “That is quite the relief.”

Her stomach fluttered. She didn’t know how to take his teasing so remained silent. Silence wasn’t her usual state. When they reached the bathhouse, her shoulders relaxed. “We’re here. I’ll wait in the hackney when he arrives.”

The gatekeeper let out a low whistle when he saw Brett. “We can brush out your clothes while you bathe, but I don’t know how clean we can get them.”

Brett handed him the required coin to enter. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He looked at Marie. “Why don’t you dip your feet in the pool while I clean up. You do have a women’s bath, yes?” he asked the man.

The man nodded, and Brett handed him another coin. “It will be more comfortable in there than the hackney.”

Marie needed no encouragement. Dangling her feet in cool water sounded heavenly. That was one of the things she’d missed since moving to London—easy access to a brook or pond. “Don’t mind if I do.” She followed Mr. Burton inside, then went left at the doorman’s indication while Burton continued down the stone hallway.

The bath looked old. The ceilings were low and the rocks were cut in inconsistent shapes and sizes. When she stepped into the bath proper, the temperature dropped a good ten degrees. A narrow opening in the ceiling let in a soft light that bounced off the surface of the water most invitingly. Marie let out a delighted sigh.

One woman was in the chamber with her, tying up her boot, the ends of her hair wet. “Cor, the water feels good. I’m loath to go back into the heat, but work does call.”

Marie sat near the ledge of the small pool and slid off her slippers. “Unfortunately, I can’t do a full soak, just my feet.”

“More’s the pity. Enjoy yourself,” the woman said before disappearing out the door.

After pulling off her stockings, Marie scooted to the edge and dropped her feet in the water. It was shockingly cool. The natural springs it proceeded from must have been deep. As she swirled her feet in a figure eight pattern, she pondered whether the male bath had its own spring or if the water from this one flowed past the wall and fed the other bath.

She stared at the far wall and chewed her bottom lip. Had Mr. Burton disrobed fully or would he just wash his face and hands while keeping his undergarments on? She’d seen her share of bare male backs, and on one shocking occasion the bare bum of a field hand.

She dropped her face in her hands as inappropriate images filled her mind of Mr. Burton in various stages of undress. Theyhad to work together. They were trying to uncover a murderer. It was wrong of her to—

A slight rasp was the only warning Marie had. She started to lift her head, but her reaction came too late. Something crashed into her shoulders, sending her tumbling into the pool. Her shocked gasp ended with a mouth full of water.

Her skirts were heavy, but she kicked for the surface. Her brother had taught her how to swim, and she felt no panic when the waters enveloped her.

Just as she started to break the surface a hand grabbed her head and held it under.

Now she felt panic.

It took everything in her being not to scream. Underwater it would do no good. But she wanted to. Reaching up, she fumbled at the hand on her bonnet, trying to pry the fingers off. She kicked off the wall, pounded on the arm attached to that hand, but still it held her under.

Her lungs began to ache. Trying to force her way up wasn’t working. She tried going down. The bonnet pulled free from her head. Her heart raced. If she could get to the other side, just get her head—

A hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her back, keeping her submerged.

Marie could no longer hold back her cry. She was going to die. She looked up, wanting to at least know her murderer but all she saw was a dark form, his silhouette a wavering shadow.