Rescuing the Heiress. Valerie Hansen

      Michael shook his head and cupped a hand around his mouth to speak as privately as possible. “I’d rather not. You are too vulnerable, Miss Clark. If anyone saw through your disguise it could pose a problem.”

      “I don’t see how.”

      She noted his frown and the hoarseness of his voice as he replied, “You would be a valuable prize for anyone wanting to get back at your father or perhaps seeking a ransom.”

      “Me? That’s preposterous.”

      “All the same, I’m not about to leave you. Either of you,” he added, leaning farther forward to include Annie.

      Just then, a portly matron in a copious cape and broad-brimmed hat paused in the aisle next to him and cleared her throat noisily.

      When Michael didn’t rise, she said, “I fear you have not noticed a lady in need of a seat, young man. I would think a member of a fire brigade, like yourself, would have better manners.”

      Although he set his jaw, he did stand, bow and reluctantly relinquish his place to the demanding woman.

      If Tess had not been so relieved that he had been forced to give her some breathing space, she might have felt sorry for him.

      “I’ll be waiting for you right outside the south door, the one we came in,” Michael had said in parting. “Keep an eye out for me.”

      It had eased his mind some when Tess had nodded but he was still nervous about leaving her. After all, she was naïve about the inherent dangers of gatherings such as this. At least he assumed she was.

      He had occasionally seen her in the Clark family pew in church and was certain she had also attended fashionable soirees, but this kind of open meeting was totally different. Here, she might come across anyone from any walk of life. How she would handle such encounters was his main concern. If she exhibited the same high and mighty attitude he’d observed so far, she could wind up in serious trouble.

      To Michael’s chagrin, some of the same firemen he’d encountered earlier were gathered just outside the very door he had instructed Tess to use. That left him no option but to face them.

      James O’Neill was puffing on a cigar. He began to grin wryly as soon as he spotted Michael. “Well, well. I see you were tellin’ the truth. Have ye gone over to the ladies’ side now?”

      “Of course not. I’m just doing a favor for my mother’s employer, that’s all.”

      “Oh, and what would that be?”

      Keeping his voice light and a smile in place so the other men wouldn’t take offense, Michael changed the subject rather than answer directly. “Never mind that. What’re all of you doing here? Did you follow me?”

      “Naw. We’re slumming,” O’Neill replied, laughing raucously. “We decided to take a gander at the lovely girls.” He roared with glee at his supposedly clever remark. “Have ye seen ’em? I’d sooner kiss me own sister.”

      “I wouldn’t want to kiss your sister either—if you had one,” Michael countered, joining in the laughter. “She’d look too much like you—and you are one ugly fellow.”

      “Well said,” O’Neill shot back, clapping Michael on the back and blowing smoke rings. “C’mon. Let’s go find us a good pub and get some beer.”

      “Can’t,” Michael said. “I told you. I’m working.”

      “Moonlighting, eh? All right. Have it your way.” He motioned to his cronies with a broad wave of his arm and a slight unsteadiness in his gait. “Let’s go, boys.”

      Michael was relieved to see them walk away without further probing into his evening’s plans. He wasn’t ashamed of Tess—or of Annie. He just didn’t want to take the chance of having his name linked by gossip with that of the young, beautiful socialite. It not only wasn’t accurate, it wasn’t seemly.

      Although he was successfully climbing the promotion ladder within his chosen field, that didn’t mean he considered himself worthy to court a highborn woman like Tess Clark. No matter how well he rose in the fire department ranks, some facts would never change. He was who he was. That he had accomplished as much as he already had was a testimony to his zeal for the job and honest hard work.

      For that Michael was thankful, because it meant he’d had no unearned favors handed to him nor had he sought any. His rank and anticipated promotion were his responsibility and his reward.

      “With the help of the good Lord,” he added, casting a brief glance at the cloudy night sky beyond the streetlamps and remembering his spiritual roots. His father had not imparted any belief system but his mother had made up for it with a strong faith that never seemed to waver. As far as Michael was concerned, if he could become half the Christian his mother was, he’d be in good shape.

      When the elderly, spry, white-haired president of the local society for the advancement of women stood, the crowd hushed. In a clear but reedy voice she introduced Maud Younger to a roar of applause and cheering.

      Tess was surprised to note that Miss Younger didn’t look nearly as old as she had imagined she’d be. Her clothing was a simple but fashionable white lawn waist with vertical tucks and a dark skirt, fitted by plaiting from waist to hip that accentuated her spare figure. Her grace and regal bearing reminded Tess a bit of her own mother, although this woman was barely old enough to have belonged to the same generation.

      “Good evening,” Miss Younger said, her voice carrying strongly. “As many of you know, I was born and raised right here in your fair city, and although I have been traveling the globe, I feel as though I’ve come home when I gaze upon the bay and wharves once again.” She smiled. “They smell the same, too.”

      That brought a wave of laughter. She waited for it to subside before continuing. “Many of you come from a background of wealth. Others don’t. That makes no difference in our movement. Here, we are all sisters, all equal in the eyes of God. Our goal is to make ourselves just as equal in the eyes of our fellow men, which brings me to the point. We have been treated as second-class citizens for countless generations. It is time for that unfair servitude to end.”

      As the cheers of the crowd rose and the entire audience stood to applaud, Tess felt a surge of pride for those present. Miss Younger was right. They were all equal. She had felt for a long time that she and Annie certainly were. Why, they had often shared the notion that they might as well be family. This movement was the affirmation of that idea, the answer to Tess’s fervent prayers for understanding and equality.

      Beside her, on the aisle, she heard a muttered yet clearly derogatory comment. Wide-eyed, she turned to the portly woman who had usurped Michael’s place, studying her features closely for the first time. “I beg your pardon?”

      “It’s that evil harridan up there who should beg all our pardons,” the matron said, frowning and pointing to the stage. “Does your father know you’re here?”

      “What?” Tess squinted at the round, jowly face. “Do I know you?”

      “You certainly should. My husband and I see you every Sunday in church.”

      Recognition buzzed at the fringes of Tess’s mind the way flies worried a horse’s flanks in the summer. There was a fair chance that she had encountered this particular person in the past but she couldn’t attach a name to that memory. “I’m so sorry, Mrs.…”

      “Blassingame. Mrs. Henry Blassingame. But never you mind,” the woman said, gathering herself as if she were a mother hen with ruffled feathers. “You just watch your p’s and q’s, young lady. Mark my words, this whole movement will do nothing but cause trouble.”

      Tess faced her nemesis as the applause died down, determined to give as good as she got. “You don’t see yourself as equal to me, Mrs. Blassingame? That’s a pity.”

      “Well, I never…” The woman spun and shuffled up