by Alyson Chase
In truth, he most likely always had been.
“No,” she told him.
The pistol in his pocket bulged against the fabric. He chuckled. “My sister and I were to leave for home, but it seems as though she's changed her mind. Are you certain, Jules?”
The familiar nickname burned into her skin like a brand. She wanted to smack his mouth.
No, she wanted Brogan to smack his mouth. He had the skills to make her brother hurt. Make him bleed.
“Father is arriving at Bluff Hall soon,” he continued. “It will just be he and I alone together if you don't come.”
She pressed her hand to her side. Her breath came in short bursts. She’d laughed with her brother, played silly games with him, cried on his shoulder when their mother died.
And now he was trying to blackmail her into going with him, so he could kill his entire family with no one the wiser.
She took a step back. Another. Until she felt the presence of Mr. Hurst’s body behind her.
“I guess she's changed her mind.” Snowdon shrugged. “You know how women are.”
The agent slid in front of her, never taking his eyes off Snow. Instinct must have told him something was wrong between brother and sister. That, or Brogan had told him her brother wasn't to be trusted.
“I know what this woman is like,” Hurst said. “She has a good head on her shoulders. If she doesn't want to go with you, she has a reason.”
The cloth covering the gun barrel shifted.
Juliana held her breath. Even after everything Snowdon had told her, after all the attempts he'd made on their father's life, she couldn't believe he would pull the trigger. Shoot her in cold blood. She didn’t want to believe it.
She saw every expression that crossed her brother's face. It seemed like she could see every strand of his hair as a soft breeze ruffled his locks. She knew the moment when he made his decision.
“I’ll see you around, Jules.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and tipped his hat. He turned for the carriage.
It wasn't until it had rolled halfway down the block that the sounds of the street came roaring back.
Mr. Hurst turned to her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, numb.
“Can I get you anything?”
Brogan. She wanted Brogan. Wanted him to wrap his arms around her, hold her tight, tell her everything would come out right in the end.
She swallowed.
Nothing would be right again.
Her brother was a killer. And Brogan… Brogan wasn’t there to offer her comfort. He didn’t want to be the man to help her pick up the pieces of her soul.
“I need to speak to the agent in charge of my investigation,” she said, her voice hollow. “I have new information to disclose.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brogan slapped the flat of the blade of his whittling knife against his palm.
He wanted to slap it against something else. Juliana’s brother deserved that and more.
Wil brought Juliana a cup of tea as she sat before Hurst’s desk. Her head was high, her shoulders back, but she was pale. More shaken than he had ever seen her.
“Tell me what he said again.” Wil crossed his arms over his chest. “Try to repeat your brother’s words as exactly as possible.”
Hurst sat across from her, his pen poised above an inkwell. He'd already written down her statement, but Brogan knew it was effective to have the witness go over it several times. Memories were funny things, and shock had a strange effect on them.
“I told you.” She put the cup on the desk, untouched. “He wants to be earl. He thinks he’ll be able to do great things as Lord Withington.” She swallowed, her throat rolling. “I guess he's no longer willing to wait until nature takes its course. I must get to my father. I must tell him.” Her voice broke on the last words.
Wil squeezed her shoulder, and Brogan squeezed the handle of his knife.
He should be the one offering her comfort. But comfort led to other emotions, to an increase in her expectations. Comfort led to heartbreak later.
“Your father's up in Leeds?” Wil asked. “With this poet fellow?”
Juliana fiddled with the lace on her left cuff, her fingers ceaselessly moving. “They’ve been good friends for twenty years now. And Mr. Rose is more than a poet. He’s written political essays and given lectures to several members of the House of Lords. His ideas could change England forever.”
Hurst looked up from his notes. “I'll take her. Verity and I can both go. I’ll make sure this gets sorted.” He scowled. “I knew I didn't like the look of that brother.”
Brogan stabbed his blade into his desk, leaving it upright in the wood. All right, that was it. He stood. “I'm taking her.”
Yes, this idea was stupid. Yes, it went against everything he’d just been telling himself about keeping his distance. But no way was he trusting Juliana’s safety to anyone but himself. Even the past few days, when other agents had taken their turns at her friend's house to watch over her, he had remained close by, always ready to intervene.
Juliana started, as though she'd forgotten he was there. Which was something else that got under his skin. He didn’t want her to be heartbroken now they were no longer together, but did he slip her mind that easily? There wasn’t a moment she wasn’t invading his thoughts.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you still working my investigation?”
“Of course, I'm still on your investigation,” he said sharply. “I was never off it.” She had received a large shock, been betrayed by a close family member. That could be the only excuse for her thinking he would leave her security to anyone else.
“That's true.” Wil tilted his head and eyed Brogan. “Mr. Duffy is still lead investigator. He just had some personal matters to attend to these past couple days.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain the personal matters are now resolved? We do have other agents who are more than capable of—”
“I'm sure.” He circled his desk and went to stand in front of Juliana. “Your brother has returned to Bluff Hall?”
“That's where he said he was going.”
“We have some time then.” Brogan rubbed his temple. “Tomorrow morning we'll leave for Leeds. Have a chest packed and be ready for me. Early.”
She nodded and stared at her hands. “This will devastate my father. I don't know how he'll ever recover.”
“Will he believe you?” Wil asked. “You're a very sensible sort of woman, but if it came down to your word against your brother's, who will your father believe?”
She blinked. “I… I think me.” She licked her lips. “Snow said Father respects me more, and much as I hate to think a parent plays favorites, I think he’s right. Father does ask my opinion before Snow’s. It’s one of the reasons he h-hates me.” A shudder ran through her body, and Brogan fought the urge to drop by her side, pull her into his arms.
He flexed his hand instead, and visualized the broken nose he would give Snowdon. The meaning of her words filtered through his anger, and he frowned. “Your father trusts your judgment over your brother's?” The man hadn’t when Juliana had told him she thought his life was in danger, but suspicions were different than relating a first-hand conversation with her brother. Withington might think Juliana was mistaken about the attempts on his life, but if he trusted her to not outright lie about what she’d learned…
“Yes, that's what I just said.”
Brogan didn't mind her testy tone. He liked that a bit of temper brought some color to her cheeks. “Then is it likely that your brother would return to Bluff Hall, give you time to speak with your father, time to bring the authorities down upon him? If I had admitted to such a dastardly plan, I would hardly kick my heels up at home, waiting for my end to come.”
“What are you saying?” Juliana asked.
Wil ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll send a messenger ahead. He’ll ride like the wind to get a wa
rning to the man.”
“What would the message say?” Juliana jerked out of her chair and started pacing. “I think my father will believe me, if I talk with him, face-to-face. If the information is relayed in a letter, that his son is trying to kill him, even if signed by me?” She shrugged. “He won’t accept the seriousness of the situation from a message. Why would he when he doesn't even believe anyone has tried to kill him before?”
“Do we have any men around Leeds who we can send to watch over him?” Hurst asked.
Wil rubbed his thigh, then found a chair to sink into. “Perhaps. But to what end? If Withington won’t believe him, and our man doesn’t have access to the house the earl’s staying in, our avenues of protection are limited.”
“I need to speak to him,” Juliana said. “If Snowdon is trying to get to him first, we must leave now. Immediately.”
Brogan nodded at Hurst. “Whatever is in the wardrobe closet that would be appropriate for travel, put it together for us, will you?”
The agent nodded and hurried to the back room.
Brogan rested his weight on the balls of his feet. The calm that came right before a fight dropped over him like a veil. “Well,” he said to Juliana, “it looks like I’m finally going to meet this famous poet and philosopher you talk so much about.”
And since such an introduction held the potential for bloodshed, it was a meeting Brogan for once looked forward to.
***
Leaning her temple against the carriage window, Juliana watched as the last building of London rolled out of view. The coach rattled over a rut, and she bounced, her head nearly hitting the ceiling.
They were taking the fastest carriage the Bond Agency owned, with four horses out in front running hell for leather. This trip had a single purpose, and the niceties, like comfort, no longer mattered. It was a race, who would reach her father first, one she and Brogan had to win.
She traced a seam in the wood paneling near the window. One would think that in such an important matter that she would feel more interest. That her pulse would be racing, her stomach turning over.
Instead, she felt nothing. Nothing but duty to do her best to save her father.
Brogan leaned forward and rested his palm on her knee. “It will be all right.”
She looked at his face, dropped her gaze to his hand. It was such an intimate gesture, his desire to console her. He must think her quite out of her senses if he was willing to risk such unprofessional behavior. He’d made such a point of denying them anything else.
He snatched his hand back, as though she burned.
Yes, that was more like it. She looked out the window again. It was worse being in this carriage with Brogan. She wished it had been any other agent who had come with her. She wanted to stay in her little cocoon, remain numb as long as possible. But every word from his mouth, every look, threatened to drag her out.
“I don't require reassurance,” she said. “We can keep this completely professional. The way you want.”
He loosed a deep breath. “None of this is what I want.”
“But this is what you've created.” She tapped her fingers on her thigh. “If it's not what you want, then why have you made it this way?”
“Because it's what is best. Someday, you'll see—”
“Please, be quiet.” Heat rose up her chest. She didn't want to hear how someday she'd be thankful. Or happy. Grateful that he’d put an end to their relationship. He might think he was saving her to marry someone better, someone of her own station.
She couldn't imagine marrying anyone. Not if it wasn’t Brogan. Why didn’t he want to save her from heartbreak? From loneliness?
Brogan leaned back, his nostrils flaring. He plucked his hat from the seat, gripped it, then chucked it into the corner of the coach.
Brogan would marry. He wouldn’t be lonely. A man like him deserved a good wife. Her heart pinched, and she placed her hand over it.
She'd always thought jealousy a foolish emotion, reserved only for the simpletons who didn’t trust their partners. But Brogan was under no obligation to her, he’d made no vows. There was no trust to break, yet jealousy still clogged her throat until she thought she couldn’t breathe.
She hated the woman he would marry. The woman who would share his bed. Hold his hand when he was sick. Laugh with him. Tease him.
For just a moment, she understood her brother and what he was capable of. Understood how passion could turn ugly, drive someone under its spell to do something horrible. If Brogan whispered in her ear, promising her forever if only she’d commit some dastardly deed, how tempted would she be? One bad act that would give her everything.
That would give her him.
But Brogan would never ask her to do something immoral. He was no Miss Bella Lynn.
The carriage jounced again, so hard she nearly fell off her seat. She cried out at her sharp landing on the springs.
“We can't slow down,” Brogan said.
She smoothed her hands down the stomach of her gown. “I didn't ask you to.”
“Come here.” He patted the seat next to him. “I’ll make sure you don't bounce away.”
“I’m fine.” She clenched her teeth together at the next rut in the road so she didn't bite her tongue clean through.
His eyes narrowed. “Don't let your anger keep you from getting more comfortable. I promise—”
“No.” Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear his promises. Not if they didn't include keeping her forever. “Cuddling up with you wouldn't be professional, regardless of the circumstances. And we do want to keep things professional.”
He cursed, his hands fisting and opening the way they only did when he was truly irritated.
But his irritation was no longer her concern. She turned on her hip and stared out the window. Stared at anything other than him.
Then squawked when he lifted her from her seat and plopped her down beside him, his arm banding around her waist.
“What do you think you're doing?” She pushed at his chest, but he was immovable. The carriage hit the next bump in the road, and he squeezed her to his side, keeping them locked together.
“Making sure you don't break your fool neck out of pique.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let me hold you, Juliana. Please.”
She stopped squirming, sagging against him. There was no fight left in her. The warmth of his body seeped into her side. She didn't want to like being pressed against him so much, but for the first time in days, she felt safe.
She felt like she was home.
She dropped her head to his shoulder. “What am I going to do? My brother…” Her voice broke.
“I know.” He ran his hand up and down her arm. “We’ll figure it out. You’re strong. And I'll be there to help you. As your friend.”
The last word was the one that broke her. Tears slid down her cheeks before ugly sobs tore from her throat.
Her brother wanted to kill her father, to kill her.
And Brogan was only her friend.
She felt like she had fallen down a dark hole, and she saw no way to ever climb out.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brogan jumped from the carriage, turning to give his hand to Juliana. The trip had been grueling, in more ways than one. The breakneck pace and little sleep had made all of his muscles ache.
Being confined with Juliana made something else inside of him ache even more.
“We’re finally here.” Juliana climbed down the steps and pressed her hands to her lower back, arching. She gazed at the house, worrying her bottom lip.
It was a two-story stone structure with elegant side wings. It seemed like a more impressive house than a man who wrote lines about love should be able to afford, but what did Brogan know? Juliana admired Rose; the man must be good.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What am I going to say to Father?”
He shoved his hands in his p
ockets to keep them from doing something stupid, like pulling her in for an embrace or rubbing the soreness from her back. “The truth.” He cleared his throat. “You'll tell your father the truth. What he does with it is up to him.”
She swallowed. “This is the end of my family. No matter what happens, nothing will ever be the same.”
Someone like her poet would have found the words to comfort her. Said something to give her courage and lift her spirits.
Brogan had nothing. Nothing but honesty. “No, life will never be the same for you. But you'll survive.”
She nodded and smiled as a butler approached. “Let’s get this over with,” she said. She introduced them to the butler and told him she had an urgent need to speak to her father.
“Of course, mum.” He took their coats. “I'll have one of the lads see to your horses and your driver. You can follow me.” His smile included Brogan in the invitation, but it wouldn't have mattered if it hadn’t. There was no way Brogan was leaving her side. He'd seen her through the investigation this far. He would see her through to the end.
Their footsteps echoed down the long corridor. Colorful paintings lined the walls, along with bookcases crammed full of books sticking out every which way.
The man must do nothing but read. And this was the type of man that Juliana admired. This was the type of man who deserved her.
The butler opened a door and shuffled inside, but Juliana paused at the entrance.
The blood drained from her face. “I don't know if I can do this,” she whispered.
Brogan smiled sadly. She didn't know it, but she could do just about anything. All she needed was a little push. He placed his palm on her back and guided her inside.
They had been announced, so the four men were already on their feet. The two older men were her father and who Brogan supposed was Rodger Rose. The sight of Snowdon, smirking at his sister, sent fire racing through Brogan’s veins. But it was the fourth man that halted his steps.
Juliana hissed in a breath at the sight of her brother. Snowdon murmured something to their father then laughed.
How much had the bastard poisoned the well against Juliana? Seeing that Snowdon had beaten them here was a punch to the gut, but perhaps it was for the best. It was better to see the snake than wonder where it was.