Noah glanced out of the window. It was a mere five-minute journey to Tavistock Street, and so he would have to return to the subject of Lord Benham being a suspect once he’d dealt with Hemming.
He pulled his gold watch from his pocket and checked the time. “We can continue this conversation later. Unless there is another secret you wish to divulge.”
“No, no more secrets.” She hesitated. “There is something you should know about Lord Benham, but we can discuss it after the appointment. I hope you understand why I was reluctant to speak of this matter. I hope you understand why this was a hard tale to tell.”
“Indeed.”
Noah wondered how she fared living across the road from the hospital. Did witnessing the women’s struggles firsthand remind her of Miss Swales’ ruination? Did seeing proud mothers cradling their babes rouse painful regrets?
He cleared his throat. “As we’re fast approaching our meeting with your publisher, I must ask a few personal questions, if I may.”
Miss Dunn nodded confidently, though he sensed an underlying tension at the mere mention of Mr Hemming.
“What do you want to know?” She gripped the seat.
“Have you given Mr Hemming any indication you would be open to his romantic overtures?”
She straightened abruptly. “Certainly not.”
“And have you ever embraced, ever kissed?”
“No!”
“Has he mentioned marriage?”
“On occasion.”
“And has he touched you intimately without your permission?”
Miss Dunn’s cheeks flamed. She closed her eyes briefly and nodded. “He said he misread the signs. That I gave the impression I was open to his advances, particularly after accepting his gift.”
“Gift?” Noah muttered a curse. It was a common ploy used by a seducer to shift blame.
“A pretty silver bookmark in a velvet case. I returned it the moment I realised it gave him an excuse to manhandle me in a rakish fashion.”
Noah’s hands throbbed to manhandle the blackguard, too.
“Are you loyal to Mr Hemming? What if I found you another publisher?”
Hope sprang to life in Miss Dunn’s eyes. Indeed, her whole countenance brightened. “You know a publisher who is willing to consider a woman’s work?”
“I do,” he said, his heart feeling suddenly full at the prospect of helping her. “Mr Lydford is a forward-thinking man, and a friend. He published my poetry when most thought it unsuitable reading material.”
She smiled. “And yet I’m told every man in London owns a copy.”
“Mr Lydford did not regret his decision.”
“I would be eternally grateful if you could arrange a meeting with the gentleman. The sooner I untangle myself from Mr Hemming’s web, the better.”
“Excellent.”
Miss Dunn’s contented sigh became a groan when the carriage rattled to a halt outside the goldsmith shop in Tavistock Street.
“How will this work?” she said, the sudden onset of nerves evident. “I do not want Mr Hemming to know I sought the help of a professional investigator.”
Noah had no intention of revealing the real reason they were meeting with the publisher. “How are your acting skills?”
She blinked in surprise. “Poor at best. Why, what would you have me do?”