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won’t take me long to call for my wagon.”
    “You’re not going to bathe?”
    “We’re going to a mine, Agatha, not a tea party.” Zayne hobbled over to where his boots were lying on the floor. “And I’ll leave without you if you’re not outside when the wagon shows up.”
    “Then I’ll just have Mr. Blackheart dig up directions to your mine and escort me there. In fact, maybe that’s what I should do anyway. He’s certain to be a more pleasant riding companion than you.”
    Zayne paused mid-hobble. “Are you talking about Mr. Blackheart, as in Theodore Wilder’s right-hand man?”
    “One and the same. He’s the one who carried you up here last night after it became clear you weren’t going to come to your senses and stagger to your room on your own.”
    His stomach began to feel queasy. “I never knew you found Mr. Blackheart interesting.”
    “What?”
    “Granted, he’s a somewhat handsome gentleman—if a lady goes for that strong, brooding, silent type—but I would have never thought the two of you would form an alliance.”
    “I have no idea what you’re suggesting.”
    “I suppose I’ll have to get used to calling you Mrs. Blackheart instead of Agatha. Gentlemen don’t take kindly to other gentlemen calling their wives by their given names.”
    Agatha scrunched up her nose. “You should’ve told me you suffered an injury to your head as well as to your leg.”
    “You’re not married to Mr. Blackheart?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Mr. Blackheart is the last gentleman I’d marry—well, except for you, of course. He’s been hired to guard me as I collect information for articles for the New-York Tribune .”
    For some reason, a slice of what felt like relief stole over him, but he shoved that relief aside as something concerning struck him. “Don’t you think it’s slightly improper to be traveling around the country with a gentleman you’re not married to?”
    “It’s 1883, Zayne, not the Dark Ages, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’m also traveling with a paid companion, Mrs. Drusilla Swanson.” She headed for the door. “Now then, since you seem eager to get out to your mine, I’m off to change. And know that I won’t be too long. I certainly don’t want to give you a reason to leave without me.” With that, she disappeared out of his room, her little pig prancing right behind her.

    One hour later, Zayne sat on the seat of his wagon, not exactly certain why he hadn’t taken off for the mine yet, or why he’d changed his clothes and washed his face.
    “What I’d like to know is what you were thinking, agreeing to allow Miss Watson to travel with you to some mine of questionable safety you’ve gotten yourself involved with.”
    Blinking the sun out of his eyes, he turned and found himself pinned under the rather daunting glare of Mr. Blackheart. It was immediately evident that during the two years since he’d last seen the man, Mr. Blackheart had not mellowed with age. “I didn’t agree to Agatha’s accompanying me. She just invited herself and refused to listen when I objected.”
    “She told me you neglected to answer her questions, and surely you must remember that when Miss Watson has questions, nothing can stand in the way of her getting answers.” Mr. Blackheart stepped closer to the wagon, his gaze turning downright menacing. “I’m telling you now, Mr. Beckett, if anything of an unpleasant nature occurs while we’re visiting this mine, I’m holding you responsible.”
    “It would be refreshing if I ever found you not intimidating people, Mr. Blackheart,” Agatha said, drawing Zayne’s attention as she approached them. “And, since you’re not coming with us today, if there is any ‘unpleasant’ business to be found, you won’t have to see it.” She stopped and took a moment to readjust the huge hat on her head, pulling down a layer of what appeared to be veiling over her face.
    “You’d better hope we don’t encounter a stiff