The Lady Who Knew Too Much

by Alyson Chase

  Snow loosened his grip on her arm. “Everything is fine. Juliana isn’t feeling well and I’m taking her home.”

  She pulled free. “I’m feeling much better. Hyacinth’s family will see me home when I’m ready to return.” She gave the men a bright smile, knowing Snow wouldn’t want to cause a scene. “I’ll be home when the diversions of London have ceased to entertain me. Goodbye, Snow. James. It was lovely to see you again.” And she flew from the room.

  “Juliana!” her brother called.

  The low voice of James followed her down the hall. “Snowdon, now that I have you, I’ve been meaning to ask…”

  She gathered her hat and coat and hurried from the townhouse. She owed James a gift for that bit of diversion. He’d always been able to read situations and people well.

  She hailed a cab. She used to think she was good at reading people, too. Unconventional though it was, she’d thought her brother considered her his equal. A confidante, a friend.

  Not someone he could order home like a dog.

  But Snow wasn’t a man who stood on principle. For him, the means justified the ends. And if he truly feared for her safety, perhaps his heavy-handedness could be excused.

  But his refusal to see the danger their father was in bordered on unforgiveable. If their father scoffed at his near-death events, and her brother refused to acknowledge them, then it was solely down to her to catch a killer.

  And for once in her life, Juliana didn’t know if she was up to the task.

  Chapter Four

  Brogan’s knife whisked over the bit of silver birch in his hand. The blade caught the Bond offices’ lamplight, a subtle flash every time he scraped downwards. He didn’t know what form would appear from this carving; the wood hadn’t told him yet.

  Two fellow agents laughed from their desks in the corner of the open main office. They’d just concluded their latest case, successfully he might add. Their laughter was most likely over him, his failure in capturing one small, strange woman.

  A pair of scuffed boots entered his field of vision. Brogan looked up, into his boss’s face. He nodded. “Wil.”

  Wilberforce, the manager of the agency, looked at the hunk of wood in Brogan’s hands, at the row of carved figures lining the edge of his desk, and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we had so little to occupy you that you turned to whittling.”

  “Helps me think.”

  Wil nodded. He grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it up to Brogan’s desk, his left foot dragging slightly with each step. The manager had never told Brogan how he had been injured to suffer the limp.

  And Brogan had never asked.

  “We’ve had another message from Lord Snowdon,” Wil said. “He’s in London. He saw his sister at some philosophical meeting at a Mr. Rodger Rose’s home, but she ran again.”

  After making an obscene amount of money writing frilly poems, Rodger Rose had turned to more intellectual pursuits, creating a salon for open conversation in many fields. As uninterested in the lives of the Beau Monde as Brogan was, even he knew of the man’s influence. “Did Snowdon know she was a member of the Rose Salon?”

  Wil ran a hand through his black hair. “Apparently they’re both members.”

  “And he didn’t think to tell us this when we asked about her interests?” Brogan snorted and tossed his wood and blade on his desk. “Does he still want us to bring her home?” His gut swirled. If the agency lost this job because he was too slow to get his woman, that could be the end of his employment.

  He stretched his right hand, feeling each ache from the lesson he’d had to give a man that afternoon. If he lost this job, his hands would be feeling a lot more pain. He’d have to go back to boxing.

  “Yes.” Wil picked up the swan he’d carved last week. “His note was adamant. He wants her home.”

  Brogan nodded. That was good. He still had a chance to redeem himself. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. So why were his insides still twisting about like eels in a bucket? “The sister…”

  “Lady Juliana? What of her?”

  “Could there be a valid reason she shouldn’t return home?” He flexed his hand again. “There’s something about the brother I don’t like.”

  Wil stared at the scrapes on Brogan’s hand. “He’s a jackanape, but his concern for his sister seems genuine. It isn’t safe for a girl to be wandering about London alone.”

  “At two and twenty, she is no longer a girl.” He shifted in his chair. Her bosom was exceptionally womanly, and he pushed thoughts of it pressed against him out of his mind. “But, I agree, ladies have no place on the streets. Especially this one.”

  Wil rested his elbows on his knees. “Why do you say that?”

  “She still believes someone is after her father.” He shook his head. “Part of her is scared, but part of her sees this as a game. She’s a spoiled, rich girl playing at intrigue.” He could see it in her eyes. A hint of excitement lit them up, turning the drab brown to a beautiful mahogany.

  “Her father isn’t wealthy. Not for an earl. Summerset was surprised the family hired us.”

  Brogan arched an eyebrow. Most gentlemen would be considered lower class compared to Lord Summerset, one of the founders of the Bond Agency. Brogan didn’t know if he trusted Summerset’s judgment on who was wealthy or not.

  “All right,” Wil conceded. “Compared to our kind, she’s got blunt.” He rubbed his chin. “But just because she’s playing at intrigue doesn’t mean intrigue doesn’t exist. That secretary did come after her.”

  “The magistrate found that the man was trying to hide his thieving from being discovered. There is no deeper conspiracy.” But still, something about this didn’t feel settled. “She has reached the age of majority. If she doesn’t want to return home, do we have the right to force her?”

  Wil blinked. “She’s an unmarried lady. If she decides to live apart from her family, it would be a serious act of rebellion. She would be cast out of society. Besides, how would she support herself?”

  “This woman would find a way,” Brogan grumbled. “The way she talks, she could convince Prinny himself to give her a job.”

  Wil stilled. “When did you speak with her?”

  Brogan’s shoulders drew toward his ears. Damn. This was why it was better to remain silent. Words only caused trouble. “I had her.” He cleared his throat. “Last night.” He waited for his employer’s reprimand. He’d had a small, helpless gentlewoman in his grasp, and she’d escaped. It was too humiliating. When he could stand the silence no more, he added, “She’s damned slippery.”

  The edges of Wil’s eyes crinkled, but his mouth remained flat. “Ah. Well, any plans to catch her again?”

  Brogan picked up his knife and sheathed it. He shoved it in his pocket. “Yes. Tonight. I have Samson watching a house for me.” Samson was the agency’s errand boy. Wil had found him in the streets and taken him in, and so far the boy’s transition from petty thief to general lackey seemed successful.

  Brogan stood and reached for his coat on the back of his chair. It was time he relieved the boy. He had been fortunate Samson had been available so Brogan could take care of his own family business.

  He flexed his hand again. “I’d best get going. Can I use the office tonight?”

  Wil’s forehead furrowed. “Of course. Why?”

  “It will be too late to leave for Bluff Hall, and I can’t take Lady Juliana to my place or a hotel.”

  “She can use the cot in my office.” Wil pushed out of the chair. “And when you drop her off, make sure to get payment upon delivery. I don’t trust Lord Snowdon’s credit.”

  Brogan nodded as he shrugged into his coat. His first case as primary investigator was coming to an end. It hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d hoped. The satisfaction he’d expected to feel wasn’t there. But he wasn’t going to be the only one who was disgruntled. Lady Juliana would be none too happy come tonight.

  But she’d put hers
elf into this situation. She’d have to deal with the consequences of her actions, just like everybody else.

  Chapter Five

  Juliana leaned forward, peering at the stage. “Is that Miss DuBois in the breeches role?” she whispered. Their seats, the last row in the house, were far unlike her usual in a box near the stage. She wondered if it was even worth watching The Country Girl from such a distance. But as a set designer for Covent Garden, Bertie could only take what spots were left available.

  “Yes, she joined our theatre but recently.” He sighed. “She’s marvelous. And delightfully wicked. She entertained us all with lines from the original play, The Country Wife. Absolutely scandalous. No wonder it’s been banned.”

  Hmpf. Juliana settled back. Fortunately for her, her father disagreed with the government’s enforced morality laws as much as she, so she’d had access to the original play to read it for herself. Still, it would have been nice to be able to see it performed. If she could see anything from such a distance.

  “How did you fare this afternoon?” Bertie asked. “Did your brother see reason?”

  Juliana gave her neighbor an apologetic look. She lowered her voice, hoping Bertie would follow suit. Since he worked in the theatre, he didn’t seem to hold its customs, like keeping quiet during a performance, in the same regard. “Of course, he didn’t see reason. This is Snow. Once he has something in his head, he doesn’t let it go. And he has it in his head that I should be home.”

  Damned, infuriating man. Treating her like a child. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the stage. The actors were but fuzzy blurs. Perhaps it was time to look into those spectacles her father nudged her about.

  Bertie patted her knee. “Well, you can stay with me as long as you want.” He shifted and snatched his hand away. “Don’t look now, but we have our own audience.”

  Juliana craned her neck about. “Who? Where?”

  “I said don’t…” He sighed. “Two rows down, ten seats to the left. The man who is glaring positive daggers at me. Though I do say, he looks handsome angry.”

  She looked where he indicated, her breath stalling in her lungs when her gaze clashed with Mr. Duffy’s. “How on earth did he find me?” she said, then winced as her neighbor glared at her. She lowered her voice to a whisper again. “I have to get out of here, Bertie. Cause a distraction.”

  He dipped his chin. “I’m not that type of friend, Jules. Besides, the play is enough of a distraction. Wait until the interval and slip out with the crowd then. Though why you want to get away from that man, I don’t know.”

  She slid down in her seat, hoping to disappear from sight. Or at least from his sight. His glare did funny things to her stomach. Things she attributed to fear of being caught and sent back to Bluff Hall, but worried might actually be from another cause.

  She wouldn’t be attracted to Mr. Brogan Duffy. Yes, he was handsome in a blunt sort of way. And if her father wasn’t in danger, if her independence wasn’t at risk, then the idea of him pursuing and catching her for a whole other purpose could be…diverting.

  But her father was in trouble. She was vulnerable to having her agency stolen away. And having been raised by a father who’d told her she could do anything her male counterparts could, that thought was particularly intolerable.

  As soon as the lights went up, she pushed her way down her aisle, in the opposite direction of Mr. Duffy.

  She didn’t see him in the crowd of theatre-goers surging for refreshments in the lobby, no matter how often she peered behind her.

  But she could feel him.

  Tracking her.

  Hunting her.

  And even though she didn’t want it, a small kernel of excitement blossomed in her chest. It was with something almost like regret that she burst through the front doors of Covent Garden, like a cork from a bottle of champagne, and waved down a hansom cab.

  The driver stopped. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but tipped his cap at the solo female just the same.

  She climbed inside and blew out a breath. As exciting as Mr. Duffy proved himself to be, he had left her in a bit of a pickle. He’d seen her with Bertie; she couldn’t spend the night at her friend’s apartments. Where should she go? What were—

  The door sprung open just as the cab started to move. Mr. Duffy clambered inside, his face an emotionless mask, and slammed the door behind him.

  He settled next to her, facing forward, saying nothing.

  Juliana twisted her fingers around her pocket-book. Her skin went clammy, then hot.

  “Where to?” the driver called down to them.

  She bit her lip, sliding Mr. Duffy a sideways glance. Even if he wasn’t here, she’d be hard-pressed to answer that question. But his answer would be worse than anything she could come up with.

  She opened her mouth, but Mr. Duffy cut her off. “Vincent Street. A block north of St. Mary’s.”

  The address wasn’t familiar. It definitely wasn’t her family’s usual London lodgings. “Where are we going?”

  He grunted.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I followed you from Mr. Huddleson’s home.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You don’t have that many friends.”

  “I have plenty of friends!” Her face flushed. But most of them were also Snow’s friends.

  She glanced at the door opposite.

  Mr. Duffy gripped her elbow. “Don’t even think of it.”

  “Jump from a moving cab?” She sniffed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  She grumbled. Well, she wouldn’t think of it, not when he held her arm so tightly. “I could always scream,” she said.

  “You could,” he agreed. “Why haven’t you?”

  She chewed on her lower lip. She didn’t think she’d ever screamed in her life, not a full-throated help-I’m-being-murdered kind of scream. She didn’t know if she could force the sound from her throat, not without feeling foolish. “Would it be effective?”

  He snorted. “Definitely not.”

  She lifted her hand, palm up. “Well, there you have it.” She cleared her throat. “Besides, I spoke with my brother just this afternoon. He’s in London, wouldn’t you know. We’ve reconciled our differences. You don’t have to return me home any longer.”

  He chuckled, the sound grim. “You slipped away from him, too. That explains why he contacted the agency, demanding we double-down on our efforts.”

  Juliana’s jaw dropped. Why, that little… “He’s always been a bothersome brother.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  She turned to face him. “How much will it take for you to release me? I can’t go home.”

  “Yet home is where you belong.” His fingers tightened. “A single woman roaming the streets of London by herself isn’t safe.”

  She clenched her hands into fists. “I am quite accustomed to being in Town by myself. My father encourages my independence.” Except when it contravened her brother’s wishes, it seemed. Her father wanted Snow to take on more responsibilities so he’d be prepared for the time when he was master of Bluff Hall. She even agreed that her brother could use the practice.

  But her father’s allowing Snow to call her home like an errant dog still burned like betrayal.

  Mr. Duffy sighed. “I realize you are used to having your own way. Your father has been most…lenient with your upbringing. Perhaps it is right that your brother is stepping in where your father has been lax.”

  She jerked her elbow from his grip. Heat rose from her chest, up her throat to her face. “It always amazes me,” she said coldly, “how the working class so readily adopts the faux morality of the nobility. One would think, with all the injustice levied upon you by the elite, you would be eager to rebel against their silly norms.”

  He turned in his seat to face her, but she refused to look at him. “And I would think that a woman brought up in privil
ege and rank would be more sensible of her good fortune. No one gets everything they want in life, and having a titled father, money, and an education seems more than enough compensation for a minor restriction on your liberty. Having family who wish to protect you hardly seems a trade-off at all.”

  She gaped. That was more than she’d ever heard him speak in one sitting. When he found a topic he liked, apparently, he felt free to expound upon it. And discussing her lack of gratitude was obviously a topic he enjoyed.

  “You think me spoiled.”

  He shrugged.

  Her eyes flew wide. Of all the nerve. She turned her back on him, planting her shoulder into the seat and staring out her window. How much wealth would he accept in trade for his independence? Men like him took their liberty for granted, thinking nothing of walking to the market alone, of sitting down to a nice bit of pastry in a coffeehouse as they read the paper.

  But she was looked upon as spoiled for wanting the same freedoms. “I will only leave again. You might be able to bring me home, but you can’t keep me there.”

  “Delivery is my job. Keeping you there is your brother’s.”

  She spun back to face him. “You would have me held prisoner?”

  He winced. “You’re as dramatic as that play we just left. It’s natural for a brother to want his sister safe at home. How you two arrange your lives is a concern only for your family. I’m not a part of it.”

  “As you’re the means effecting my unwilling return, you are a great part of it.”

  He remained silent.

  Juliana bit make a scream of frustration. There were times she hated being a woman.

  Mr. Duffy sighed. “When we arrive at Bluff Hall, I’ll speak to your father, make sure your brother is not exceeding his authority.”

  “How kind of you,” she bit out. “And perhaps while you’re there you could try to discover who wants my father dead. You are receiving a fine sum of money from my family; it would be nice if you did something useful to earn it.”