Bedford Street Brigade 02 - Love Unbidden

by Laura Landon

  Briggs couldn’t help but laugh at her description.

  “And you believe everything you heard?”

  She lifted her chin and looked at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Something inside his chest shifted.

  The expression on her face glowed with radiant admiration. For a moment he felt as heroic as her description indicated.

  Then, she covered her mouth with her gloved fingers, and laughed. “Of course not, silly. The reports have been so glowing that it’s impossible to believe them.”

  He didn’t understand why, but he felt deflated. “You don’t believe that we’re courageous and daring?”

  “Well, perhaps you are a bit courageous. You’d have to be to face vicious criminals. But not that you’re fearless in the face of danger. Even the bravest of men become frightened when faced with dangerous situations.”

  “I think perhaps I’d have to agree with you on that point. Only a fool doesn’t fear danger.”

  Without Briggs realizing it, Cora was no longer near them. And he must have extended his arm to Lady Pauline, for he found himself escorting her across the room.

  “And none of you are anywhere near larger than life. You all seem to be very normal men, although you are a bit taller than most.”

  “That’s because I’m the youngest of the Brigadesmen and have to have something that puts me on par with the rest of the investigators. Being valiantly heroic doesn’t seem to count, since we all lay claim to that attribute.”

  She looked at him with a shy smile. “Yes, then there is the rumor that you are Olympian gods who have come down to help us mere mortals in times of peril.”

  “You doubt we resemble Olympian gods?” He tried to look shocked.

  “The only god from Mount Olympus who comes to mind would be Zeus, and you seem far too cultured and refined to bear him close resemblance.”

  “I was thinking more on the lines of Apollo,” he offered.

  She shook her head. “No, I think not. You’re too dark.”

  He tried to look disappointed.

  “But there is one rumor with which I wholeheartedly agree.”

  “What is that?”

  “That you always solve your cases. Rumor has it that none of the Bedford Street investigators have ever left a case unsolved.”

  “At last,” Briggs said on a sigh. “Something we can agree on.”

  He looked down at her and their gazes locked. Briggs felt a connection he’d never experienced before. His heart raced, his palms felt damp. The only emotion he could use to describe how he felt was…fear.

  He tried to think of something to say. “Dinner will be served soon. Would you care for something to drink before we go in?”

  “I’d love that.”

  Briggs led the Lady Pauline to the refreshment table Cora had set up in the corner and poured two glasses of chilled punch. He handed Lady Pauline a glass, then turned.

  His gaze lifted and he focused on a man walking toward them.

  His blood turned to ice in his veins. Every muscle bunched in fury.

  Rage consumed him. He seethed with anger, and for the first time in over a decade he wanted to kill someone.

  His breath caught as he found himself looking into the face of a man he’d hoped never to see again in his life. The man who’d destroyed his father’s reputation. The man who’d let Briggs’s father go to his grave bearing the weight of everyone thinking that he was a thief, even though he wasn’t. And this man knew his father was innocent, and had done nothing about it.

  Briggs felt his temper rise. His fists clenched and he placed his glass back on the table before it smashed in his hand.

  “Pauline,” the man said, the smile on his face one of adoration. “I see one of Wallace’s Brigadesmen has made sure you weren’t left unattended. How thoughtful.”

  “Father, allow me to introduce Mr. Briggs Murdock. Mr. Murdock, my father, the Earl of Stepmoore.”

  “Murdock?” Stepmoore said. “The name sounds familiar. Have we met?”

  Briggs swallowed hard before he could form any words. He’d thought of meeting Stepmoore several times, but each time he envisioned having a weapon in his hand. Each time he’d envisioned standing over Stepmoore’s lifeless body. Never had he thought he’d come face to face with the man he hated more than any other man in the world at a dinner party. Never had he thought he’d be forced to tolerate him because he was relevant to the future success of the Bedford Street Brigade.

  “Yes, we’ve met,” Briggs finally managed, although his words came out between clenched teeth.

  Stepmoore frowned. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

  “That’s because you were not as acquainted with me as you were with my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes. His friends called him Robbie. You would have known him as Robert.”

  Stepmoore’s face paled. “Yes. Robert Murdock. I remember him.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “Ah, Stepmoore,” Mack Wallace said from beside them. “I see you’ve met Briggs. He’s one of our skilled investigators.”

  Stepmoore turned to face Mack Wallace. “Yes, Mr. Wallace. Mr. Murdock and I were just becoming reacquainted.”

  Briggs felt Mack study him. No one could read his brigadesmen better than Mack could.

  “I didn’t realize you’d met before,” Mack said

  Briggs was desperate to leave. He couldn’t stand being in Stepmoore’s company one more second. “Regretfully, we have. Now, if you will excuse me. I need to speak with someone.”

  Briggs felt three pair of eyes focus on him as he walked away. He knew Mack and Lady Pauline were confused by his curtness.

  He didn’t care what Stepmoore thought.

  He would have to explain to Mack why he’d been rude. But not tonight.

  The only one whose opinion bothered him was Lady Pauline. For some reason, he cared a great deal what she thought.

  CHAPTER 2

  Polly watched Briggs Murdock throughout dinner. Several times she caught him watching her. She couldn’t read his expression as clearly now as she’d been able to before. Occasionally she saw him glancing at her father. There was something in Mr. Murdock’s icy glare that told her they shared a past. And that past was not good.

  The expression on his face was resentful. The look in his eyes was murderous.

  She tried to ignore him, but found it impossible. She was attracted to him unlike she’d been attracted to any man before. It was as if he were the flame of a candle—and she was desperate for light.

  She told herself she shouldn’t think of him. Her father certainly wouldn’t approve of him. Even if there wasn’t something in their pasts that made them bitter enemies, he wouldn’t be someone her father would choose for her. When it came to his daughter, he had his sights set much higher than a Bedford Street investigator.

  Yet, there was something about the fellow that intrigued her. Something more than his handsome features and striking physique. Something more than the fact that he’d been enormously charming when they’d first met. Until he’d seen her father, that is.

  Polly let her gaze shift to where he sat at the table. She noticed that he’d eaten very little. But his wine glass had needed refilling several times. She noticed that he hadn’t been a charming dinner partner for the ladies on either side of him. But sat in silence. She also noticed that her father seemed a bit unlike his usual self, as well.

  The Earl of Stepmoore was reputed to be one of the most well respected men in Society. His opinions were eagerly sought out and well-regarded. Even now, there were several bills in the House of Lords that he’d been working on. These were important bills that he said were essential for the economy of Britain. For months he’d worked tirelessly to get them heard.

  But tonight he seemed a bit reserved. In fact, if she thought about it, he’d seemed a bit preoccupied for several days. She was usually free to go shopping with friends, or with Mrs. Culli
ngs, her chaperone. She’d been surprised twice in the last week when he’d refused to allow her to leave the house unless he went with her.

  Ordinarily, they attended as many social events as they could. But for the last week or more, he’d elected to remain home in the evenings. Which meant she stayed home, too.

  She moved her gaze to where her father sat, and for the first time noticed the wrinkles that furrowed across his forehead. She wondered if the worry lines on his face had anything to do with Mr. Murdock. Or if there was something else that bothered him.

  Polly was glad when the dinner came to an end and the men left the room to have their customary brandy and cigar. She wondered how her father and Mr. Murdock would get along confined in Mr. Wallace’s study, but didn’t need to worry. Mr. Murdock separated himself from the men when they turned to the study, and exited out the French doors that led to the terrace.

  Polly knew it wasn’t wise to follow, but as if her feet had a will of their own, she excused herself and left the room. She slipped out onto the terrace from another door where she wouldn’t be seen.

  The night air was pleasantly cool, a perfect evening to walk beneath the stars. She took several steps out, then looked to her right and left before she found him in the shadows on the far side of the terrace.

  “Have you escaped the political talk that men usually enjoy when they don’t have to worry about offending and confusing the women?”

  He turned. The glass in his hand was half raised to his lips, but when she spoke, he slowly lowered it.

  “I needed a breath of fresh air.” He placed his glass on the cement railing.

  “Or did you need to escape?”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t a smile that resembled the smiles he’d given her before. This gesture was little more than a grin.

  “Perhaps that was my intent.”

  Polly closed the gap that separated them. “What happened between you and my father?”

  He reached for his glass and took a swallow, then spoke. “You’ll have to ask your father that question. I’m sure his recollection will be far more benevolent than mine.”

  “Then I’d rather hear your version.”

  He took another swallow. “No you wouldn’t.”

  She stared at the way he gripped the glass in his hand. The knot that hardened on either side of his jaw. The short clip of his heated words.

  “Would you like me to leave you alone?” she asked quietly.

  He turned from her. “Yes.”

  Polly felt a stabbing of anger. Of regret. Of…loss. She turned from him and walked toward the house.

  “Wait. Don’t go.”

  She stopped, then stepped back to where he was.

  “I’m sorry. That was terribly rude of me.”

  “Yes, it was. But I forgive you.”

  “Thank you.” He set his glass down and extended his arm. “Would you care to walk through Cora’s garden? It’s not terribly large but it’s really quite peaceful.”

  “I’d love to.”

  She hooked her arm through the bend in his elbow, then he escorted her from the terrace and down a path.

  “Are you working on a case right now?” she asked. She wanted to question him further about his association with her father but knew that topic was off limits.

  “I wrapped up the case I was working on earlier this afternoon.”

  “Have I heard of it?”

  That question elicited a smile. “Perhaps.”

  When he didn’t answer right away, Polly stopped in the center of the path. “Well, are you going to tell me about it? Or can’t you?”

  “I suppose I can tell you about it, since it will be in the papers tomorrow.”

  He hooked her hand through his elbow again and continued along the manicured path. “It was the robbery at the Mercantile Bank.”

  Polly stopped. “The robber was one of the tellers, wasn’t it? That’s where Father and I bank and we’ve argued about it since it happened. I think the robber had to be someone inside the bank. And Father insists the thief was from the outside. Which one of us is right? Oh, I can’t wait to hear.”

  “Well, Lady Pauline. You both are.”

  “Both?”

  “Yes. As you will read in the news sheets tomorrow, the mastermind behind the robbery was one of the tellers who worked at the bank. His partner was a thief who was well known by the police.”

  “Oh, I knew the thief had to be someone who worked at the bank.”

  “And just how did you know that?”

  “Why, because the robbery occurred at the perfect time.” Polly stepped over to a wrought-iron bench and sat. Mr. Murdock sat beside her. “Anyone who banks at the Mercantile and pays attention to the daily bank routine knows that the day’s transactions are removed from each teller’s drawer at precisely two o’clock each afternoon. Therefore, the ideal time to commit a robbery would be shortly before. That’s when each drawer would have the most money in it. The average robber would think the most advantageous time to rob a bank would be right before the bank closed. But only someone who worked inside the establishment would know that’s when the drawers contained the least amount of money. The robbery at the Mercantile Bank took place at precisely one-forty-five in the afternoon. Which means the robber knew the best time to commit the robbery.”

  Mr. Murdock lifted his chin and laughed. The sound was deep, and rich. One that warmed her to her very core.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said, turning on the bench so they sat face to face.

  “What don’t you believe?”

  “How you deduced all that information. It must be amazing to be inside your mind.”

  Polly looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”

  “You certainly have.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry about what?”

  “Sorry that I voiced my opinion. I know it’s not at all seemly.”

  “Why on earth would you think saying what you think isn’t seemly? I’m impressed.”

  Polly lifted her gaze. “You are?”

  “Of course I am. Do you know how long it took Hugh and me to deduce that?”

  Polly lifted her gaze slowly. “You didn’t just automatically know?”

  “Of course we didn’t automatically know.” He looked into her eyes. “Why did you think you had to keep your thoughts to yourself? Why would you think coming to such a brilliant conclusion would offend anyone?”

  “Because in my world, it would have. Father says I must keep such opinions to myself. Men aren’t attracted to women who have a mind.”

  “Do you agree with him?”

  “Unfortunately, I do. I’ve seen examples of it time and again. I seem to get along quite splendidly with the male species until I forget myself and voice my opinion on some topic.”

  “Does it anger your father when you are outspoken on certain topics?”

  “Heavens, no. He often discusses bills in the House to get my opinion. But he also warns me that not all men think as he does.”

  He looked at her for several moments before he spoke. “I wish I could disagree with your father, but I can’t.”

  “You don’t like him, do you?”

  Mr. Murdock rose to his feet. “We should get back before you’re missed.”

  Polly rose, but when she took her first step, she turned her ankle and pivoted forward.

  Briggs Murdock reached for her and pulled her against him.

  Polly wasn’t sure what happened when her body touched his. Her flesh tingled everywhere they connected. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Blood pounded inside her head, and she found it difficult to find enough air to breathe.

  He held her for several long moments and instead of calming, the effect of being held in his arms intensified.

  She’d never felt like this. Never realized that a man’s touch could cause such turmoil to rage inside her.

  She lifted her chin and looked into his dark eyes
. They’d been a dark brown before, but now they seemed black. She couldn’t imagine why his expression seemed so intense.

  Her gaze moved to his lips, and she suddenly wondered what it might feel like if he kissed her.

  His gaze followed hers and focused on her lips. For a moment Polly thought he might.

  But he shook his head and whispered. “We can’t. I want nothing more. But we can’t.”

  And he took her back to the bench and helped her sit.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Was it your ankle?”

  “It was, but it’s all right. I just lost my balance.”

  He knelt in front of her and wrapped his fingers around her ankle. “It seems all right.”

  “It is,” she assured him. “Thank you.”

  He helped her to her feet and they walked back to the house.

  Polly looked up when they reached the terrace and stopped. Her father stood at the edge of the cement. His expression wasn’t one of pleasure.

  “Hello, Father. We were—”

  “Go to the house, Pauline.”

  “But, Father, I—”

  “Now.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  She stepped past Briggs, then past her father, then across the terrace to the house. The last words she heard were those spoken by her father.

  “I’ll expect you to call on me tomorrow morning, Mr. Murdock. Early.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Briggs dismounted from the hack he’d hired to take him to Stepmoore’s town house and looked up at the impressive brick home. It was grand in both size and stature. But he knew it would be. Stepmoore was a very wealthy man.

  Briggs opened the gate that lined the edge of the property, and walked to the house. The door opened before he lifted the knocker.

  “His lordship is expecting you,” an austere-looking butler informed him. “If you’ll follow me.”

  Briggs followed the man down a hallway on the right. He stopped before the third door and knocked.

  “Come,” Stepmoore said from behind the closed door.

  The butler opened the door and Briggs entered.

  Briggs wasn’t sure what he expected, but the open spaciousness of Stepmoore’s study surprised him. So did the general décor. It wasn’t the dark, overly masculine look of so many rooms used by the males of a household. There was an orderly, understated elegance and most surprising, a welcoming air about the place.