“Then perhaps you will let me in on your thoughts.”
He looked at her, seemed to consider, then nodded. “I believe I owe that to you, yes. But not here.” He raised his hand as the approached the corner.
“What are you doing? Why are you flagging a hackney?”
“I’ll tell you at the hotel.”
“Hotel? I am not going to a hotel with you.” Even if the notion made her belly flutter and her knees give way like clotted cream.
“Well, we can’t stay here. Ho, there!” He called to the driver. “Mivart’s Hotel, please.”
“Alright, Guvner.”
Arundel opened the door and gestured for Belle to climb in. Belle hesitated, looked back at the shop, and then at Arundel. She had a choice. She could sit at home and hope her father returned soon or she could go with Arundel and help find him.
Belle climbed into the hackney.
Arundel climbed after her then closed the door and tapped on the roof. “I’m really not at liberty to tell you anything about my work,” he said once they were underway.
Belle crossed her arms. “And I would hate to throw you out of a moving coach, but if you don’t tell me something, I’ll open this door and toss you on your head.”
HEW COULDN’T HELP BUT smile at her. She couldn’t have thrown him out of the coach if she’d tried for a year. He had a foot of height on her and probably three or four stone. But he didn’t doubt she would attempt to toss him out on his ear. She had a temper and plenty of spirit.
“What have I told you already?” he asked. It was a ploy to give himself time to think, but he also wasn’t exactly sure, being that he’d spent much of his time with her previously in and out of consciousness.
“Well, the last time my father was missing”—her tone was accusatory—“you said you have been investigating a bridge collapse. The bridge crumbled as the train was midway across. Ten people were injured and...five killed?”
“Three killed.”
“You suspected there was sabotage involved in the accident. Or—well, I suppose if there was sabotage then it was no accident.”
“It was not an accident. I can’t prove it yet, but I have my theories.”
“So you said. And what are your theories?”
This was the part Hew was not at liberty to discuss. Baron would have his head, but Hew couldn’t justify keeping her in the dark. She’d lost her father—twice, as she pointed out—had her shop vandalized, and now he couldn’t allow her to go home else she might become a target of the men after him as well. Safer to keep her with him at this point, though he had debated that point at least a dozen times.
“Do not make me open this door,” Belle said, a warning in her voice. “What are your theories?”
“If I tell you, you must never repeat any of this to anyone.”
She gave him a look of disdain. “And who would I tell? The clerk who comes in for his Irish Breakfast tea? No, the seamstress who needs a new teapot because her mother-in-law is coming to visit.” She shook her head. “Most people have no time to worry about sabotaged bridges. Most people have never so much as traveled outside of London, much less been on a train.”
Hew raised his brows. “Have you been out of London?”
“I’ve been to Wapping.”
That hardly counted as outside of London. “Then you’ve never been on a train.”
“No.”
It seemed incredible to him that she should never have left this city, and he was seized with the sudden desire to show her the world. He’d like to see Paris, Rome, and Constantinople through her eyes.
“From what you’ve said,” she continued, “I don’t think I’m missing much.”
He wanted to say that she was missing everything. There was so much more to the world than Fenchurch Street. But he couldn’t say that, of course. Even if she believed him, what difference did it make? He couldn’t be the one to take her away. He’d have to marry her for that. And he would never marry again. He would never trust a woman again—not even a woman like Belle.
“Arundel?”