by Alyson Chase
“Of course.” Wil’s lips twitched. “There is a fine bake house around the corner which delivers. I do believe it was the reason the owners of this agency fixed on this location for their offices.” He tilted his head towards the window. “A word, Brogan, before you go?”
Brogan followed the manager across the room. “Yes?”
Wil rested against the window sill and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you need a reminder of your professional responsibilities?”
Brogan blinked. “What?”
Wil gave him a look, glanced at Juliana, then turned his gaze back to Brogan. “She is a client, and one under threat. She needs our protection and help. She doesn’t need to have her emotions toyed with.”
The back of his neck heated. “I have said nothing to make you suspect—”
“There is much that can be said without words.” Wil ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to involve myself in the affairs of my investigators, but if it involves a client, it becomes my business. Take care.”
Brogan swallowed, the back of his throat aching. “You don’t need to worry. I have made it clear to the lady that nothing can happen between us. Besides, she is more worldly than you give her credit for. She would not be hurt emotionally by an affair.”
She would walk away from him as easily as she had her past lover. With a smile and a wish to remain friends, a wish that would never happen. He felt nothing friendly towards Juliana.
Wil smiled sadly. Rubbing his thigh, he rose to standing. “Take care,” he said again.
Brogan nodded. He strode for the door, gathering his coat and hat from the pegs on the wall. Without a backwards glance, he fled the offices and headed toward Newgate.
Solving this case had become more imperative than ever. Not only because the threat against Juliana had become apparent, but so had the threat to him.
He needed Juliana out of his life, happily settled back with her family, with her odd friends and untraditional lifestyle.
Perhaps then thoughts of her wouldn’t consume his mind every waking moment.
“Sorry.” The guard he’d spoken with before remained stone-faced in front of the prison’s door. “No visitors today.”
Brogan sighed. He moved to take his billfold from his pocket. “How much to change your mind?” It was good the owners of the agency had deep pockets. With the way his expense account was adding up, he wasn’t sure the fee Juliana agreed to pay would cover it.
The guard looked longingly at the banknotes. “The prison is closed. No exceptions. But I do have something you might want.”
Brogan’s brow furrowed. “The entire prison? No one is getting in to visit at all?”
“The place is in lock-down.” He shrugged. “It happens sometimes. Probably an inspection was scheduled by the magistrate. But the man you saw last time. The thief.”
Pickens was more than that, but Brogan merely nodded. “What about him?”
“He wanted a message sent to you. I told him I might be able to help. You know, depending?”
“How much?”
The guard licked his lip. “What you paid me last time to get in should do.”
Brogan provided the funds, the guard provided a crumpled letter from his coat pocket, and the exchange was made.
Brogan scanned the note. Pickens wanted to talk. Useless information as Brogan was intending to speak to the man whether he wanted to or not. He shoved the letter in his pocket and turned to go, frustrated. Even waiting one day to speak with Pickens seemed too long.
That left another night with Juliana.
Unless he got another agent to watch over her.
His gut churned. No. No one else would be watching over her at night but him. He didn’t trust any of the other investigators to have the restraint he did. He stalked back to his carriage. All right, so he hadn’t been all that restrained when he’d kissed her like a man dying of thirst and she was a tall drink of water. Nor when he’d put his lips on her quim and taken her to climax.
But, he reminded himself, he had stopped there. Hadn’t satisfied himself. He climbed into the carriage and slammed the door shut. And that had taken a Herculean amount of restraint.
A knock rattled the carriage door.
Frowning, he pushed it open.
And just like that, all his vaunted restraint went up in smoke.
Juliana smiled up at him. “Why aren’t we going into the prison? I have ever so much more I’d like to say to Mr. Pickens.”
***
The scowl Brogan shot her would have made a timid woman flee.
Luckily, Juliana wasn’t a timid woman.
“What are you doing here?” Brogan leapt from the carriage, forcing her back a step. “How did you leave the office?”
She dipped her chin and shook her head sadly. “You didn’t truly think I was resigned to remaining in the office all day, did you?”
Brogan’s scowl deepened.
Her smile remained firmly affixed, but inside, her chest ached. He didn’t want to spend time in her company. He rejected her again and again and yet still she hoped.
She was an idiot.
“Wil wouldn’t have let you traipse out on your own.” He peered down the street as if expecting the agency’s manager to come sprinting up at any moment.
“I asked to use the necessary as soon as you had left.” She adjusted the hem of her gloves. “As a gentleman, he wasn’t going to stand outside waiting for me. It was a trifle to slip outside from there and hail a cab.”
She did feel a bit badly about tricking Wilberforce. He seemed a kind man. Too kind, however. He wouldn’t want a woman to involve herself in danger, so the subterfuge had been necessary.
“Now, you couldn’t have spoken with Pickens so quickly,” she said. “Why are you leaving?”
“The prison is closed to visitors today.”
She eyed the gray monstrosity. It squatted like a toad over the London streets. “Closed?” They would have to return on the morrow, when Brogan would be prepared for her stratagems. Her shoulders rounded.
Brogan ran a hand up the back of his neck. “Pickens sent a note. He’s ready to talk.”
She bounced on her toes. “That’s wonderful. Can I see it?” She held out her hand.
He sighed. “It says nothing but he wants to talk.” But still, he handed over the letter so she could read it with her own eyes.
“I was right. Someone paid him to attack my father. He’s going to tell us who is behind the plot.” By tomorrow, the threat to her father’s life, and hers, would be over.
By tomorrow, she might never have a reason to see Mr. Brogan Duffy ever again.
Her excitement drained away.
“Perhaps,” Brogan said. “Or he might tell us to jump in the Thames. We’ll see.”
She nodded. “Shall we visit my father’s former friend, Sir Thomas, in the meantime? I’ll only have to send a note to Hyacinth. She’ll know where he lives.”
“I’ll go.” He cupped her elbow and lifted her into the carriage. “You’ll return to the offices.”
Juliana settled on the seat opposite him. “Hmm.” She tapped her bottom lip. “I don’t believe a Mr. Brogan Duffy will gain admittance into the home of a baronet, not without me.” She kept her voice light, but his words had been like a lash to her skin.
He couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Well, tomorrow, his wish would most likely come true. Good for him.
“Besides.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “When did you decide to make prisoners of your clients?”
Hands on his knees, he leant forwards. “Since I met you.”
They stared at each other, neither speaking. She tried her best to ignore the scent of sandalwood soap wafting off his skin. The way his blue eyes darkened to navy when filled with emotion. The crooked ridge of his nose that begged her fingertip to trace its curve.
He slouched back. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. For now.
”
The victory didn’t elate her as it should.
After receiving the direction to Sir Thomas Miles’s townhouse, along with an invitation to a musical evening at Hy’s home the next night, they set off. The baronet lived in a smart section of town, one occupied by nouveau rich merchants and the fashionable set. Whatever investment had gone poorly with her father, it couldn’t have affected Sir Thomas’s wealth overmuch.
The townhouse was three stories high, made of a gleaming dark stone, and had an entrance even Prinny would have been proud of.
Unfortunately, it didn’t hold Sir Thomas. He was at his offices off Bond Street, the butler told them. Another silent carriage ride, and finally they were in the baronet’s presence.
“Little Lady Juliana.” Sir Thomas took both her hands and held them wide, looking her up and down. “Is it truly you?”
She laughed. Something about the man’s rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes allowed her to do nothing else. “Not so little any longer, but yes, it’s me.” She made the necessary introductions.
Sir Thomas pointed to the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit, sit, and tell me what this lovely visit is all about.”
“Did you hear about Lord Withington’s troubles with his secretary?” Brogan asked.
The older man’s face clouded. “Yes. Nasty business. And what the scoundrel did to you?” He nodded at Juliana. “Attacking a woman? He should hang. I thought about writing to your father…”
Juliana scooted to the edge of her chair. “You and my father were good friends.”
“The best.” A smile curved Sir Thomas’s lips. “You and your brother used to call me Uncle Thomas.”
“What happened between you and my father? Why did you have a falling out?”
Sir Thomas shifted in his seat. “That, perhaps, is a question best asked of Withington.”
“He wouldn’t answer a question like that.” Her lips twisted. She’d prided herself on having an adult relationship with her father, one where he treated her as he did his son, as an equal. But there was no depth to it. Her father, her brother, and her were like three acquaintances who happened to live together. No confidences were shared. No advice sought. Her father had cultivated his children’s minds with his unorthodox educations, but there was much work to be done with their hearts.
She swallowed. “Please. I hope you won’t divulge this confidence, but I believe my father in some danger. If I can understand what brought about a breach between the two of you, perhaps I can understand why someone else would want to hurt him. All I know is the kindness of my father. Is there something about him that has garnered him enemies?”
Sir Thomas started. “Enemies? Good heavens no, child. I hope you don’t think I am his enemy. We had a falling out, yes, but your father isn’t the kind of man to truly anger anyone.”
“And your falling out was about…?” Brogan tapped his fingers on his knee.
Sir Thomas sighed. “Money, like so many fights. Your father had started an investment circle, and I was one of the members.”
“And your investment was wiped out,” Brogan said.
Sir Thomas nodded. “I, and the other two investors, lost a lot of money. We’d told your father that we thought his contact in the Bahamas wasn’t trustworthy, but he refused to listen. We were all robbed.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I should have made more of an allowance for his grief. What man could have been expected to concern himself with finance when he’d just lost his wife? But I was scared I’d lost it all, that I’d never recover. I haven’t spoken to Withington since.”
Brogan waved his hand at his office. “Obviously you did recover.”
“Yes.” Sir Thomas smiled, but it held a hint of sadness. “I learned to be more actively involved in all my investments. I’ve done well over the years.”
“And the other investors?” Sir Thomas might have done well, but if one of the other men had remained impoverished, his resentment festering for seventeen years…
“Sanders died two years ago.” Sir Thomas pursed his lips. “And Hatherford moved to the Continent. Venice, I believe.”
Brogan looked to her, but she had no more questions. She shrugged.
“Thank you for your time.” Brogan rose and held his hand out for Juliana.
She took it and stood, as well. “Yes, it was lovely seeing you again.”
Sir Thomas circled the desk. “And you, too, my dear. You don’t suppose, if I reached out to your father, that he…”
Juliana rose onto her toes and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “I think that is a splendid idea.”
The carriage ride back to the agency’s office was quiet. Juliana was lost in her own thoughts, about former friendships and relationships that were never allowed to begin. She didn’t know what occupied Brogan’s thoughts.
Wil had gone by the time they returned, but another agent was there manning the office, with a message for Brogan. “It came from your father.”
Brogan took the slip of paper and turned his back to read it. His shoulders went hard as rocks beneath his jacket.
Juliana placed her hand on his arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He crumpled up the note. “It’s my sister. She’s run off again.”
Chapter Fifteen
“He’s no good for ‘er. I told ‘er, but did she listen?”
Brogan clapped a hand on his father’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I’ll get her back.”
Juliana sat next to his mother on the sofa in his parents’ small sitting room. She had an arm around his mother’s curved shoulders and had handed over her handkerchief after his mother had soaked hers through.
His little sister had been told to remain in her room.
“When you find that man, you teach ‘im a lesson, you hear?” His father shook his fist but there was no power behind it. Apoplexy had depleted the man of his strength two years previous.
Leaving Brogan responsible for his family. It was a responsibility he took most seriously. He took a determined step towards the door.
Juliana rose. “Should I…?” She nodded at the door then towards his mother, her indecision showing.
“Come with me.” He hadn’t particularly wanted to introduce Juliana to his family, but he hoped that another woman, one of Juliana’s breeding and who was plainspoken, could convince his sister of her folly. Lord knew she didn’t listen to him.
He ignored the carriage that idled in front of his parents’ home. He strode down the street, knowing he was making Juliana trot to keep up but unable to slow his pace. Anger controlled his steps. How could his sister be so stupid? The man didn’t care for her. When Brogan had spoken to him before, he’d found that out only too easily.
But Sally thought she was in love. Sentimental tripe. That’s all this was.
Juliana gasped as they reached the next corner, pressing her hand to her side. “Being with you does put me through my paces.”
“Sorry.” His voice was gruff, but he made a concerted effort to slow his feet. They crossed the street and turned at the next corner.
“How do you know where your sister is?”
He glanced at her from the side of his eye. “Unlike you, Sally makes no attempt to hide where she goes.” He stopped at a squat block of apartments. “She has been very open about the man she stupidly believes she will marry. She thought we would like him just as well as she does.”
Juliana clasped her hat as she tipped her head back to look where he did. “And you didn’t, I take it.”
“No,” he said grimly. “There’s nothing in that man to like.”
“There must be something.” She sniffed. “After all, your sister likes him. She cannot be completely without sense, not if she’s related to you.”
He grunted. His sister was eight years his junior. She’d grown up when he’d already started making some money in boxing. Her life had been easier, and perhaps she had been indulged too much.
; He pushed open the building’s door. “Let’s get this over with. The man lives on the second floor.” He and Juliana climbed the sagging steps, and he pounded on the door.
The neighbor next door poked his head out, then scurried back inside his home at Brogan’s glare.
Juliana laughed. “You have picked the perfect profession. Intimidation comes easily to you. If a person didn’t know you better, he’d think you were capable of ripping their heads right off.”
He glanced down at her. Was it Juliana who didn’t know him better? Because at this moment he felt capable of tearing off some heads.
The door opened to his sister’s smiling face. “Brogan! You came. I was going to send a note as soon as the wedding date was set—”
He pushed open the door and brushed past her. His eyes immediately found the man responsible for this mess.
Charles Barbour sat at a small table, a cup of tea in front of him and an ironic expression raising one of his eyebrows. “A family visit. How nice.”
“Sally, this is Lady Juliana.” Brogan cleared his throat. “A friend. Go downstairs with her and wait for me.”
Sally protested. “This is my home now.”
Brogan eyed the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. The clothing piled on a chair. This was nobody’s home. This was a hovel not fit for his sister. The arsehole only wanted a mistress to tidy for him. And warm his bed.
“I’m going to speak with your intended,” he told his sister. “If the man still wishes to marry you when we’re done, I’ll leave you be and object to the match no more.”
She crossed her arms. “Of all the nerve. Of course, he’ll still want me.”
Brogan nodded to the door. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”
Juliana, for once silent, opened the apartment’s door and gave his sister a reassuring smile.
“Give me just five minutes,” Brogan asked his sister.
She narrowed her eyes. Glancing between Brogan and Juliana, she shifted her weight. With a nod, she finally relented. Brogan thought it was more curiosity about Juliana than his persuasive talents that got her out of the apartments.
He waited until the door was shut and their footsteps had faded.
