The Lady Who Knew Too Much

by Alyson Chase

  The coach rolled to a stop. “We’re ‘ere,” the cabbie called down.

  Juliana pushed open the door and hopped down, trying to figure out where ‘here’ was. If she had any chance of escape tonight, she needed to know her environs.

  They were in a business district. A block down, the spires of a church rose into the inky night. A church she recognized. “Are we near Bowker Street?”

  He jutted his chin west. “A block over.” Taking her elbow again, he guided her into the three-story building before them. “We’ll spend the night at the Bond Agency’s offices. I’ll take you home in the morning.”

  A night in his offices. She glanced at the large hand gently cupping her arm. At the muscled body attached to that hand.

  A lot could happen in a night. A lot of ways for her to slip free.

  Mr. Brogan Duffy thought her spoiled and entitled. A selfish woman, thinking only of her own pleasures.

  She could work with that.

  He opened a door, his wide shoulders blocking out the lights from the window. He lit an oil lamp, and those broad shoulders became clearly defined, narrowing into a trim waist, supported by muscled thighs.

  She repressed the smile that wanted to curl her lips.

  She could work very well with that indeed.

  Chapter Six

  Brogan fluffed the thin pillow as best he could before tossing it on the cot in the corner of Wil’s office. The accommodations were surely not to Lady Juliana’s liking, but the woman would have to make do. He couldn’t take her to his apartments; his neighbors would speak of nothing else for a month at least.

  And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until she was safely back home.

  “A blanket’s there,” he pointed to a chest next to the cot, “and there’s a pitcher of water in the main office. ‘Night.”

  Juliana stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Where will you sleep?”

  He nodded through the door to the main room. The owners of the agency and Wil had separate rooms as their offices, but Brogan enjoyed sharing the large room with the other investigators. They tossed around ideas and theories on current cases with one another, laughed over absurd clients. For someone used to more solitary work, the brotherhood was a welcome surprise.

  “I’ll be at my desk,” he said. “Good night.”

  He stepped through the doorway, and she stopped him again. “Can you help me with my gown?” Juliana bit her lip and looked at the floor. “I don’t want it wrinkled by sleeping in it.”

  His abdomen tensed. What she said only made sense, but he didn’t trust her new docility.

  Nor did he trust his ability to keep his eyes from roaming.

  “Or course.” He motioned for her to turn around, give him her back. He’d had years of training, of self-discipline. One half-naked woman wasn’t enough to make him lose his good sense. He’d make sure of it.

  The elegant knot in her hair covered the top button. He brushed it aside, ignoring the silkiness of the strands, trying not to wonder what else on this woman would feel as soft. He pushed the pearl button through its hole. The gown sagged off one shoulder as he worked his way down her back. He kept his gaze off the expanse of skin he was revealing and focused on not tearing any of the buttons from the silly gown. Why did any garment need so many buttons? It was absurd. It was as if it were designed for the sole purpose of teasing a man, delaying his pleasure in seeing his prize, tempting him to follow the trail to its happy conclusion.

  The last button rested just above the curve of her arse. A very fine, plump arse.

  “Done.” He stared at the far wall, willing every muscle in his body to stand down. “Sleep well.” He stomped towards his desk.

  “My stays…” she called from the doorway.

  “Are not my problem.” He built a fire, poking at the logs with unnecessary force. Women. Did she actually think she could seduce him into betraying his duty? He glared at the flames.

  “It’s too cold in there.”

  Brogan started. In her bare feet, he hadn’t heard the dratted woman follow him into the main office.

  Juliana stood before him, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders but dipping low enough in front for him to see the curve of her breasts over her chemise. Her long hair hung down her back, looking sexily tousled.

  Apparently, she did think she could seduce him.

  He sighed. “You can wear my greatcoat.”

  “But then you’ll be cold.”

  “I’ll stay by the fire.”

  “Can’t I be by the fire, as well?” She shivered, her blanket dropping another inch. “Perhaps move the cot out here?”

  Brogan pressed his lips tight. Unable to think of a reason to deny her request, he tramped back into Wil’s office and hefted the cot over his head. He dropped it down in front of the fire with a growl. “Now will you sleep?”

  “Of course.” Sliding the blanket off her shoulders, she draped it over the cot.

  Leaving her in nothing but her chemise.

  The fire flickered behind her, illuminating the thin garment. The curves of her body were on full display behind the gossamer fabric, leaving little to his imagination.

  He swallowed.

  She didn’t have the best body he’d ever seen, her waist a bit too thick to give her the sought-after hourglass shape, her hips a bit too wide for fashion.

  But she was soft and feminine and it had been a long time since Brogan had lost himself between a woman’s thighs.

  He turned, cursing pampered, preening young misses who thought the world owed them whatever their hearts desired.

  She pressed against his back, those curves feeling nothing less than perfect. “I’m sorry, Mr. Duffy, do I make you uncomfortable? I’d be happy to spend the night back at Bertie’s if that would be easier for you.”

  He snorted. “Very generous of you. No, we’ll both stay right here. You in your cot, me at my desk.”

  She heaved a deep breath, her breasts sliding against his back. “As you like.” Her heat dissipated. “These are lovely. Did you make them?”

  He turned. She held his whittled swan. He strode to his desk and took it from her hand, placing it back in its spot. “Yes.” He pulled his work in progress from his pocket and added it to the line of figurines. He’d learned his lesson one too many times falling asleep with a hard piece of wood so close to his bollocks.

  “What do you do with them?” She picked up the swan again, running her finger along its smooth back.

  “I’ll paint that one and give it to my sister.” He gripped the back of his neck, not liking how she stroked the wood. It gave him inappropriate ideas. “She’s ten. She likes that sort of thing.”

  “Any other siblings?”

  “Another sister.” The trouble-maker. “She’s nineteen.” His hands twitched to grab something, so he took the whittling from her again and placed it back down. “Now go to bed.”

  “If you wish.” She clasped her hands behind her back, making her bosom rise. “Though, if this is to be my last night of freedom, I’d have no qualms about making it a memorable one.”

  He dragged his gaze to her face. He barked out a laugh. “You’re that forward with your favors, are you? Do you think I’m stupid? You see a banged-up ex-boxer and think I don’t have a brain in my head?”

  It was what most people thought when they saw him. The broken nose that hadn’t healed straight. The thick shoulders and short neck. He was a bruiser. A brute. Men like him weren’t supposed to think, only take orders. It was why he still couldn’t believe the Bond Agency had hired him as an investigator. He’d applied, expecting nothing more than an enforcer position. But Wil and the owners had seen past his appearance. And he wasn’t going to let them down by tupping what might be the sweetest pussy ever offered to him.

  “Do you think I don’t see through you as easily as I do this bit of linen?” He fingered the strap of her chemise, the backs of his fingers brushin
g against her collar bone.

  She opened her mouth, shut it. “I…I don’t think that.”

  “‘Course not.” He huffed. “My size and crooked nose must have reminded you of your men in those philosophical societies.”

  Juliana tilted her chin. “You’re a very handsome man, Brogan Duffy. Surely you’re used to a woman’s interest.”

  He rubbed his thumb over her shoulder. How far would she play this game? Not all the way, surely. Not the daughter of an earl.

  He stepped close. The scent of lavender teased his nose. He should play along. He lowered his head, their mouths inches apart. See how far she’d go. She obviously thought a man used his smaller head to make decisions, and it would be a great pleasure to have her then disabuse her of that notion.

  She stared at his mouth, her breaths growing short.

  He closed the distance another inch. He should give this proper young miss something scandalous to write about in her journal. Show her how a working man fucked, what she would be missing with those bloodless toffs.

  She leaned into him, her belly nestling against his hardening cock.

  It was so tempting. She was that tempting. With her soft skin and glistening eyes. Her set shoulders and determined airs. He enjoyed the feel of her body against his for one more moment, then stepped back, putting distance between them.

  “Go to bed.” He strode to the main exit and pulled a desk in front of the door. There’d be no sneaking off while he got some sleep. He dropped into his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave the vixen one last glare. Dipping his chin, he closed his eyes.

  Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. His first case was at a close. It had a successful resolution. He should be happy.

  He slitted his eyes open, watching as Lady Juliana lay down with her back to him, her shoulders hard under the blanket.

  Why the hell wasn’t he feeling happy?

  Chapter Seven

  Brogan gave Lady Juliana’s elbow a slight tug, drawing her over the threshold of Bluff Hall. The infernal woman hadn’t said one word to him all six hours of the drive to her home, although he was becoming quite adept at reading her glares.

  The squinty-eyed glare was for when she was particularly irritated with one of his suggestions. The glare with the arched right eyebrow expressed just how inferior the inn he’d taken her to for nuncheon had been. And the glare accompanied by a small huff showed when she clearly thought him an idiot.

  As frustrating as all those glares had been, he rather wished she would turn one on him now. The slight shudder that wracked her body as she stood in the entry was most disconcerting. Reasonable or not, Lady Juliana’s fear was real.

  “Jules!” Her brother hurried forwards, arms outstretched. “Finally, you’re here. I’m glad I decided to quit London yesterday so I am able to greet you.”

  She lifted her cheek for his kiss even as she ground her jaw. “Snow. After yesterday’s disagreement, I’m surprised you are happy to see me.”

  Snowdon flapped his hand. “A trifling soon forgotten. Although I should be angry for all the trouble you put me through. But now that you’re back you can have a talk with Mrs. Bailey. I keep telling her I don’t want my potatoes creamed. I want them mashed. She doesn’t listen to me.” The viscount turned to Brogan. “Do you take your payment now? I can draft a bank note.”

  Brogan removed his hat and finger-combed his hair back. “Yes, now is good. But there is something else I need speak to you about.”

  “Of course.” Looping his arm through his sister’s, Snowdon turned and led the way down a corridor.

  Bluff Hall was a comfortable home. Far grander than any house Brogan had ever lived in, but nothing to the magnificence of Lord Summerset’s or the Duke of Montague’s homes. He’d been sent on errands for those owners of the Bond Agency, and their houses had made him near speechless. The furniture here, in comparison, was comfortably worn; the floors scuffed. While far from a pauper, Lord Withington’s estate was modest compared to most in the ton.

  Snowdon pushed a door open into a sun-filled room. “Have a seat in my office and we can discuss what you will.”

  Juliana jerked her arm free. “You mean father’s office. Where is he?”

  “Gone this morning with Rodger Rose up to his home for a month or so.” Her brother dropped in the chair behind the cluttered desk. “Rose travelled to Bluff Hall with me yesterday.”

  “Mr. Rose is a family friend,” Juliana explained to Brogan. “He lives in Leeds.” She turned to Snow. “I’m glad. Father should be safe there.”

  “Oh, bother.” The viscount rolled his eyes. “Not that nonsense again. No one is trying to harm Father. I for one can’t wait for him to return. He’s left me with a bothersome amount of business to manage.” He poked at a stack of correspondence. “It’s dreadfully dull.”

  Brogan settled in the chair across from Snowdon. “Why don’t you think your father could be in danger? His secretary is in prison for attacking your sister.”

  Snowdon smiled tightly. “Jules, I know cook is baking some of those buns you like as I just stole one myself. Why don’t you go get one? It will give you a chance to talk to her about my potatoes.”

  “Meaning you want me out of the room for this discussion.” She shifted her weight between her feet. “Because I’m hungry, I’ll allow it.”

  She wouldn’t be hungry if she’d eaten her nuncheon. Apparently, a ploughman’s lunch wasn’t good enough for her. Still, it was with some regret that he watched her stalk from the room. Even with her quirks, she was the pleasanter of the siblings.

  He turned back to face her brother. The man scratched at the soft pouch of skin beneath his chin then examined whatever had come off on his nail.

  And far easier to look at.

  “Your sister has raised concerns about her safety. What are you doing to address them?”

  “Address them?” Snowdon blinked. “Why should I address them? They are naught but flights of fancy on her part. She always was the romantic. Father never should have let her read her gothic novels.”

  “Have you questioned your servants? Found out if the secretary, Pickens, had any accomplices?”

  The viscount sighed. “Pickens was a greedy, little man who got what was coming to him. The rest of our servants were horrified that not only would he steal from us, but then go after Jules to silence her. I can assure you, there are no other traitors here.”

  Brogan stood. “You won’t mind if I ask around.” He didn’t make it a question. Lord Snowdon was a careless man who did nothing he didn’t have to. Before Brogan left, he would be satisfied there was no danger at Bluff Hall.

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “Thanks. I’ll be back for that bank note.” And ignoring the other man’s sputters, Brogan strode from the room. From the cook he discovered that there were only four servants, not counting herself. Two maids, and two men who took care of the animals and acted as footmen. The lord hadn’t yet hired a new secretary.

  He also discovered that her buns were, in fact, delicious. So good he wondered that Juliana wasn’t still down here eating them up.

  The maids seemed like good lasses, happy in their employment. One of the men was soon to be married and needed the job. The other just seemed bored, content to do as he was told but taking on no extra work.

  All in all, no one who would have a motive to harm their master.

  Brogan stood on the front lawn, staring up at the second story windows. Juliana’s bedroom was up there. He should probably ask to speak to her, tell her what he’d found. Nothing.

  Instead, he turned his feet toward the agency’s carriage.

  His driver stretched from his spot underneath a willow tree and lumbered over. “Off to London, sir?”

  “Yes.” Brogan looked back at Bluff Hall. The sun glinted off the front windows. Ivy climbed up the white walls. All in all, a cheerful picture.

  A sliver of dread wedged in
his gut.

  He sniffed. It was Lady Juliana’s doing, filling his mind with unfounded suspicions. Yanking open the carriage door, he climbed inside, slamming it behind him.

  He pounded on the ceiling, eager to be away. He’d done his job, and kept his promise to the lady. He had nothing to feel badly for.

  He stretched his legs out, kicking the blanket-wrapped bundle underneath the seat opposite.

  “Ouch!” The bundle shifted.

  Brogan’s stomach twisted. He bent over and yanked the edge of the blanket toward him.

  Dark hair spilled across the floor. Juliana pushed a hank off her face and peered up at him, blinking.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, with the dignity of a princess instead of the stowaway she was. “I don’t suppose I could have a ride back to London?”

  ***

  His face went grim, or at least grimmer than usual. He clenched his hand, and for a moment, Juliana thought he would pound the ceiling, order the carriage to turn around.

  But Brogan Duffy sat back in his seat and merely said, “Explain,” through clenched teeth.

  She kicked her way free of the carriage blanket and crawled from her hidey-hole. Truly, her actions should be self-explanatory. Mr. Duffy knew she did not wish to spend even one night at Bluff Hall, and this was her way of escaping. But instead of an explanation, what Duffy needed was a reason. A reason he shouldn’t turn her out of his carriage this instant.

  She settled herself across from him, smoothing hair back away from her face and shaking out the wrinkles in her gown. “You have completed your job.” She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. From the way the corners of his mouth drew down further, it didn’t have the effect she’d hoped it would. “You safely delivered me home. There was nothing in your contract about ensuring I remained at home, though. Was there?”

  After a tense moment, he shook his head.

  She spread her hands wide. “There. You have done your duty and received compensation, and now you are free to escort me back to London. A mutually satisfactory outcome. Besides…”