by Alyson Chase
The larger problem for Brogan was the fourth man. He was a veritable giant, someone Brogan had only seen once, but not a man to forget. Was he friends with Snowdon? And if so, why hadn’t Brogan been informed?
“Juliana,” her father said. “What a delightful surprise. What on earth are you doing here?”
She took a step forward, swayed. But she stayed on her feet. “I came to speak to you, Father.” She stared at Snowdon. “It's most urgent.”
Her father hurried forwards and took her hands. He looked nearly as wobbly as his daughter, with tiny beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “What is it, child? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, “I'm not the one in trouble.” She spoke to her father, but her gaze remained on her brother. Betrayal was visible in every line of her body.
She shook herself and squeezed her father’s hand. “But how are you?” Her eyebrows drew together. “You look flushed.”
He waved his hand. “I’m fine. Just a bit under the weather today. Now what did you need to speak to me about?”
“How rude we are,” Snowdon interrupted loudly. “Lord Dunkeld, Rose, this is Mr. Duffy and my sister, Lady Juliana Wickham. Rose, you, of course, already know Lady Juliana. Duffy, Jules, this is the Marquess of Dunkeld. With such inspired company, perhaps we should wait until later for any family discussions.”
The enormous man, Dunkeld, hooked a thumb in the pocket of his tartan-patterned waistcoat. He nodded at them and gave Juliana a curious look. He must have felt the uneasiness of the newcomers. The man’s body tensed as though preparing for a fight.
Which wasn’t a surprise from what Brogan had heard about him. The marquess was someone even a professional boxer would be leery of facing in a ring.
“This is quite the coincidence,” Snowdon continued. “Dunkeld, do you know, Mr. Duffy? He does work for you after all.”
“Is that right?” Dunkeld stepped forward, hand outstretched. His faint Scottish burr warmed his voice.
They shook. “Yes, sir. I'm an investigator with the Bond Agency.” And the Marquess of Dunkeld was one of its five owners. What Brogan did now, in front of the man, could establish his position…or end it.
“Is this visit for pleasure?” his employer asked.
“No.” Brogan’s heart beat sluggishly. “We're here on business.”
Snowdon snorted. “This is the man I hired to find my sister. And find her he did. And now the two seemed joined at the hip. A bit unconventional, don’t you think, Jules? Even for you.”
Dunkeld narrowed his eyes. He cut his gaze over Juliana’s family, and Brogan could see the gears turning in his head.
“While this is all delightfully interesting,” Rose said, “my gout is acting up, and I need to sit. Come join us,” he said to Juliana and Brogan as he eased himself down in his chair and plopped his leg onto an ottoman. He leaned an brass-handled cane against his chair.
Juliana walked stiffly to the open space next to her brother on a settee. Brogan grabbed a chair by the wall and set it next to her. He wished he could wedge it between her and Snowdon. The man’s very presence tainted the air. Juliana shouldn’t be subjected to his nearness.
“I was just speaking to your father about you, Lady Juliana.” Rose picked up a cheroot and took a puff. “I read the essay you sent me on poverty alleviation programs. The writing needs a bit of work, but the underlying arguments are interesting. There might be a spot for you in my debate society after all.”
She rubbed her temple. “That’s nice?”
Her father chortled. “Nice? You’ve been blathering on about wanting to go on tour with Rose for a year.” He flapped his hand in the air, trying to dispel the cheroot smoke, his mouth twisting. “Here’s your chance.”
Rose tapped his ash into a bowl. “Now Withington, I didn’t say it was guaranteed. I’d want to see some more of her work before it’s settled. But that shouldn’t be a problem for such an accomplished young woman, should it?”
Juliana opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.
Brogan’s chest burned. She was finally getting the recognition she wanted, the opportunity she craved. And she couldn’t feel pride in her accomplishment because of her fuckwit brother. “It won’t be a problem. Lady Juliana has many good ideas.”
She frowned at him. “I’ll do my best,” she finally said. “Father, can we—”
“How long are you planning on staying?” Snowdon asked her. “Father and I are returning to Bluff Hall in two days. You should join us. It will give you time to write something that will really impress Rose.”
“Why wait?” Rose shifted his leg and grimaced. “With the people I have staying here now, I’m sure ideas will be gushing from Lady Juliana like water from a geyser.”
“Who all is here?” Brogan sat at the edge of his chair. The more guests, the harder it would be to keep track of Withington, to keep him safe. That’s if they weren’t ejected from Rose’s house after Juliana told her story.
“Us, Dunkeld’s lovely wife.” He nodded at the Scotsman. “She has become one of our most engaging speakers on natural sciences.”
“She enjoys your meetings whenever we’re in Town,” Dunkeld agreed. “My wife is quite the woman of science. She’s increased our harvest four times over since she’s moved to Kenmore Castle.” Pride spilled from the man’s words.
“Anyone else?” Brogan asked.
“What?” Rose rubbed his leg. “Oh, yes, that self-assured young woman who joined us about a year ago. A Miss…” His face cleared. “Ah, here she is now, along with the marchioness.” He nodded to the door, and Brogan turned.
Miss Lynn and a tall, sturdy woman entered the room, each carrying a book in her hand.
“Did you find my greenhouse to your liking?” Rose asked the marchioness.
“Lovely.” The woman crossed to her husband and pecked his cheek. “Though I did give your gardener some advice on soil additives. I hope you don’t mind.”
“What’s she doing here,” Juliana hissed at her brother as she glared at Miss Lynn.
Rose started. “I received a note that Miss Lynn was in town, so of course I extended an invitation. You know I have an open-door policy for my salon members.”
“Of course.” Juliana’s breathing increased, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Father, I really must sp—”
“Miss Lynn, there is room for you here.” Snowdon scooted over and patted the space between himself and Juliana. The look he shot his sister was too smug by half, and Brogan fisted his hands, wanting to knock the pompousness right out of him. Juliana practically sat on the armrest of the settee to put as much distance between herself and Miss Lynn as she could.
Dunkeld glanced at Brogan’s fists and arched an eyebrow. Brogan forced himself to relax. Miss Lynn appeared to be an intimate of the marquess’s wife. How would the man take accusations against her character? All the other investigators said their employers were fair men, but none of them had accused one of the owner’s friends of criminal acts. And this owner had a known temper. Perhaps his fairness had a breaking point.
Snowdon laced his fingers together and rested his hands over his belly. “There now, isn’t this nice? A cozy gathering of intimates. Isn’t this better than running off on your own, Juliana? Being surrounded by family and friends? I do hope you’ll give up the queer ideas that have taken hold of you lately and rejoin the family. You should—”
Juliana leapt from her seat. “Shut up, Snow, you swag-bellied maggot pie!”
The room froze. Even Brogan stopped breathing. Those insults were minor by a man’s standards, but coming from his usually composed Juliana, shocking nevertheless. Her face was red and her limbs shook with rage. If ever there was a person who had been pushed too far, Juliana was an exact portrait of her.
He stood, ignoring the impropriety, and cupped her shoulder, pulling her into his side. “Take deep breaths,” he murmured into her ear. “In and out. There you go.”<
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She relaxed fractionally under his hands. Her face remained red, though whether purely from anger or if embarrassment was now added to the mix, Brogan didn’t know.
“Juliana.” Withington struggled to his feet, his face grey. “What is the meaning of this? Get hold of yourself, girl.”
“I apologize, Father. Mr. Rose.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “But I have something I need to tell you. About…” Her gaze flicked to Snow.
His jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed to slits. Miss Lynn sat beside him looking as unconcerned as an angel before heaven’s gate.
Withington raked his hand through his hair. “While family matters should usually be conducted privately, you’ve publicly insulted your brother. It is only fair to him for you to say your piece here.”
Dunkeld stood and subtly placed his wife behind him. He nodded to Brogan. “Perhaps we should go outside. Have our own talk as they have theirs.”
“I’m not leaving Juliana’s side.”
Withington’s eyes flew wide at Brogan’s use of his daughter’s first name.
Dunkeld’s face went grim.
Snowdon and Lynn watched with a glee more appropriate for spectators at a scandalous play.
Rose frowned, a deep divot forming in his forehead. “I won’t have nonsense in my house, or my salon. We gather to discuss high ideas, not gossip and use base language.”
Juliana squeezed her hands together. “I do apologize. But I must speak to my father. And if he won’t speak with me alone…”
Then she would make a fool of herself in front of her idol. Ruin her chances for her spot in his debate society. Her one chance to make a difference in the world, or so she thought.
Brogan’s stomach hardened. He couldn’t let her do it. If her father wouldn’t make it easier on his daughter by removing himself for a private conversation, Brogan would remove him with his own bare hands.
Perhaps he should have remained a boxer. His first instinct was always to use his hands. He shot a glance at his employer. Soon, Dunkeld would realize the mistake he and his partners had made hiring an ex-bruiser.
His spine straightened. But there was nothing for it. His job, no matter what Juliana had paid the agency for, had been to protect her. And he wanted to protect more than just her life. He wanted to protect her future, as well.
“Lord Withington,” Brogan said, “we will be retiring to a private room for your conversation with your daughter.”
“See here, Duffy,” Snowdon began.
Miss Lynn patted his arm. “Not now. Can’t you see your father is distressed?” She rose and hurried to the man. “I’m sure your daughter’s behavior has come as quite a shock, although those of us who’ve spent time with her recently have seen she must be suffering from an attack of nerves. But you have been away and missed her alteration. Let me get you a drink to help calm you.”
Withington placed his hand on the back of a chair and leaned against it. “I don’t feel well. A drink won’t sit right.”
“I know something special for upset stomachs.” Lynn gave his arm one last pat before hurrying to the sideboard.
“I believe Juliana needs to rest, Father.” Snowdon bore down on his sister. “She’s been allowed too much free rein to traipse about unattended and the stress is getting to her.” He reached for her arm, and Juliana jerked away.
“How did I never truly see you before?” she asked. “How have I lived with such a snake and never known?”
“Juliana.” Her father’s voice was sharp. “What are you saying? What could he have possibly done to deserve such censure?”
“Here you are, Lord Withington.” Miss Lynn sashayed up, carefully holding the over-full glass. “This should set you right up.”
Without looking at her, Withington reached for the glass. He wiped his forehead with his other hand.
Brogan eyed the drink, watched as Miss Lynn’s lips tilted upward as he raised the glass, observed the man’s pallor, his sweaty brow.
He reached for the glass, intending to grab it away, but Withington pulled back at the same time, splashing the liquid over his waistcoat and trousers.
“Good lord, man!” Withington shook the wet from his hand. “What do you think you’re doing? What is going on here?”
“I apologize for my investigator.” Dunkeld’s brows drew down. “I presume he has a good reason for his actions here today.”
Juliana gave one last longing look at Rose then squared her shoulders. “They’re trying to kill you, Father. Snow and Miss Lynn. I know it sounds mad, but Snow admitted it to me in London when he tried to force me to Bluff Hall. He wants to be earl. He doesn't want to wait.”
Withington loosed a disbelieving chuckle. “Is this a jest of some sort? How can you say such a thing?”
“Really, Lady Juliana.” Rose scowled. “There’s no call for this nonsense in my home. No call at all.”
She lifted her chin. “I say it because it's true. All those accidents, all those little mishaps that could have cost your life. He was behind that. He and his”—she glared at Miss Lynn—“friends.”
Miss Lynn pressed her fingers to the base of her throat. “Her mind has truly broken. Lord Snowdon, you must see to your sister. She deserves good care. Don't be too harsh on her. It's not her fault if her mind is diseased.”
“There's nothing wrong with Juliana’s mind,” Brogan growled. Oh, the woman was good. He could see how she had insinuated her way into Snowdon’s life. Wrapped her claws into his mind. But the hint of playfulness that lingered in Miss Lynn’s eyes gave her away. It also made Brogan question how serious she was about her revolutionary ideas. Was this a game to her or was she in earnest?
She was willing to kill to achieve her ends, but he bet that she had kept her hands clean, that she'd made Snowdon do all the dirty work.
Juliana took her father's hand and held it tight. “I know this is unbelievable. That this is the last thing you'd ever want to hear. But I'm not sick. I'm not lying. He admitted to this as he pulled out a pistol to kidnap me. And then he raced up here to get to you first. Please, Father.” She pressed his hand to her heart. “Please, you must believe me. Your life depends on it.”
Withington swung his head back and forth. His eyes were glossy, his mouth slack. “But what you’re saying…” he mumbled. “It’s monstrous. It would mean that your mother and I have produced a monster. It can't be.”
“Of course, it can’t be.” Snowdon strode forward and jerked his father's hand from Juliana's grip. “You know me, Father. You know I could never do anything like this. All I've ever wanted to be was a good man, be as good an earl as you are when the time comes. I’ve worked my whole life towards that end.”
Withington staggered back. “You've never cared about being earl, good or otherwise.” He clawed at the knot of his cravat. “Whenever I tried to instruct you in your duties, you never paid me mind.”
Snowdon’s hand twitched, and he shoved it into his pocket. “You can't listen to her. She's a liar. She's never wanted what was best for me. She's always tried to hold me back.”
Withington shook his head, blinking rapidly. “No. I know that's not true. Juliana always tried to encourage you in your duties. I've seen it.” He swayed. “Why would you lie? Is this true, Snow? Do you hate me so much?”
“Of course, it's not true.” Miss Lynn hurried to Withington’s side and grasped his arm. “Your son has been a true friend, a good man. I know he could never do anything so…” She trailed off.
Brogan turned his head to follow her gaze.
His blood iced his veins when he saw the pistol in Snowdon’s hand.
Pointed straight at Juliana.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Son, what are you doing?” Her father’s voice was broken, worse even than when he’d told her and Snow that their mother had died. “Put down the weapon.”
Snow's hand shook. “You had to get in my way. You couldn't let me have
this one thing.”
A burble of laughter escaped Juliana's throat. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Let you kill father? You think you’re entitled to that?” She shook her head. “You're mad.” She almost wished he truly was mad. That his eyes were wild and he had the disease of mind that Miss Lynn had accused her of.
Then this would make sense. Then she could have sympathy, and still love her brother.
“Is it mad to want to fix this broken world? Mad to see the oppression rife in England and want to fix it?” He jerked his index finger at his face. “I could have been the one to fix it. Father does nothing in the House of Lords, but if I were earl, I would make changes. People would listen to me.”
“I’m already tired of listening to you,” Rose grumped. “This is insufferable, young man.”
Aside from a twitch in Lord Dunkeld’s lips, everyone ignored the poet.
Juliana stepped forward, then stopped short when Snow waggled the gun at her.
Brogan growled.
Snowdon’s aim wavered between Brogan and herself. Panic clogged her chest. Everything was wrong. Her life was torn apart. But Brogan was still whole, healthy, and wonderful, and there was no way she was going to let her brother hurt him.
It wasn't Brogan’s fault he’d become mixed up with the likes of her. That his first case entangled him with a woman who came from such a broken family.
She wanted to make a difference in the world? Keeping Brogan safe was the best thing she could do.
“People would listen to you?” She huffed. “You think you would walk into the House, one of nearly seven hundred members, and people will trip over themselves to hear what you have to say?” She shook her head. “I know you've always been spoiled.”
Her father stiffened at those words, but she pressed forward. There would be time to comfort her father, hopefully. First, they had to survive.
“You're never told no,” she said. “All our nannies would praise you, the future earl, for the smallest accomplishment. But praise without merit is a toxic combination. Even you can't be so deranged as to think that with no skills, no discernable talents, that you can change the world.”