by Laura Landon
“Come in, Murdock.”
Stepmoore rose from behind his desk and pointed to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Briggs sat in the opposite chair.
Stepmoore acknowledged his defiance with a lift of his brows.
A maid followed the butler back into the room and poured tea. After she served them, she left the room. The butler followed, then closed the door behind him.
They were alone.
“I find this difficult, Murdock,” Stepmoore said after he’d taken a sip of his tea, then set his cup and saucer on the desk.
“What exactly do you find difficult, my lord? Facing the son of the man whose life you ruined? Being in the same room with a man you know despises you above all other men? Or, speaking with a man with whom you cannot abide seeing your daughter associate?”
Stepmoore sat back in his chair. “You’re a very blunt fellow, aren’t you?”
“I’m used to facing and evaluating every situation as I see it.”
“Yes, well…” Stepmoore lifted a pen from his desk and turned it in his fingers. “I’d like to explain what happened between you father and—”
“I’m not interested in hearing your excuses.” Briggs stood. He didn’t want to hear lies from the man who was responsible for his father’s death. “Your words come too late, my lord. Far too late.”
Briggs turned and took his first step away from Stepmoore.
“Wait,” Stepmoore said.
Briggs spun back and glared at the man who’d ruined his family. “Why? So you can give me one last order to stay away from your daughter? Well, you don’t have to concern yourself on that score. Your daughter and I hardly run in the same circles. I have no intention of seeing her again.”
Briggs strode to the door in long angry strides. He couldn’t wait to be out of Stepmoore’s sight.
He reached the door and grabbed the knob. Then turned it.
“Wait, Murdock.” There was a long pause before Stepmoore’s next words. “Please, I need your help.”
Time stood still. His fingers still gripped the handle of the door. All he had to do was pull the door open and he could be away from here. But Stepmoore’s words refused to leave him. Please. I need your help.
He released his grip on the door and turned. “What could you possibly need my help with?”
“My daughter.”
Stepmoore pick up a folded piece of paper from the desk and held it out.
Briggs walked across the room and took it from Stepmoore’s hand. He unfolded the paper and scanned the words. When he reached the bottom, he read them again.
Stepmoore,
You have a lovely daughter. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to her. Don’t pursue your Railway Act or your daughter will pay the price for your foolishness.
Briggs’ blood ran cold. Someone was threatening to kill her because of a bill her father wanted to introduce in the House. Briggs’ temper soared.
He walked across the room and faced Stepmoore. “Do you know what this is about? More importantly, do you know who is behind this?”
Stepmoore nodded, then sank into the chair behind his desk. “I have an important bill that I intend to introduce before the House later this month. The intent of the bill is to protect and expand railroad commerce.”
Stepmoore propped his forearms on the desk and turned a glass paper weight in his fingers. “Today we have more than six thousand miles of railroad track that connects our major manufacturing cities. But more tracks need to be laid. We are experiencing a soaring export industry, but only if we can provide the steel to build ships that can get those goods to foreign ports.
“British exports consist almost totally of manufactured goods. Without the expansion of the railroads, many industries will have no way to get their products where they need to be. Steel mills need the railroads to provide steel to the growing shipping industry.”
“What does this have to do with the letter?”
“Not everyone agrees with the need to expand exports. Many in the House have a vested interest in stopping foreign trade.”
“So they want to stop your bill from being introduced.”
“Yes.”
Briggs lowered himself to his chair. “So you want to hire the Bedford Street investigators to protect your daughter,” he said.
“Not exactly. I’m afraid trying to protect Pauline in London would be nearly impossible. She has a very full social agenda. She is quite popular, you know. There’s no way she can be watched both night and day.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to hire you to take my daughter to one of our smaller, lesser known properties, and keep her there until after my bill has been voted on in the House.”
Briggs thought of the ramifications of being alone with Lady Pauline for that amount of time. He wasn’t sure he wanted to put himself in such a position. Just being in the same room with her caused his body to react in ways he wasn’t used to combatting. How the hell would he survive being close to her for weeks?
He wiped his damp palms on his jacket.
Lord Stepmoore continued with his stipulations. “I would, of course, insist on an adequate number of chaperones to ensure nothing harms Pauline’s reputation,” Stepmoore said, “including my sister, the Dowager Countess of Plainsworth, and a good friend of hers, the Dowager Viscountess of Shillingsham. You will find both of them quite diligent in their duties.”
“How long do you anticipate it will take to get your bill heard and voted on?”
“Three weeks. Possibly four.”
Briggs swallowed a groan of frustration. A month. One month of being alone with a woman whose very presence made his blood boil. A month of having to behave like a monk when all he’d wanted to do from the moment he saw her was hold her, and touch her, and kiss her. Briggs wasn’t sure he could survive the torture of being near her for a whole month.
“What do I get out of this if I agree? Doing anything to help you will not come cheaply.”
Stepmoore closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “Name your price.”
Briggs didn’t even have to think. The words spilled out as if they’d waited more than a decade to find their voice. “I want what you took from us.”
He leveled Stepmoore with an icy glare. “My mother lives in a home that is barely habitable. I want you to provide her with a stylish home either here in London, or on any one of your estates. She also lives on a meager income. You will provide her with enough money so she can live in style for the rest of her life.”
“How much money?”
“One hundred and fifty pounds annually,” Briggs demanded. “And one hundred pounds to each of my sisters as a dowry.”
Stepmoore frowned. Then nodded. “Agreed. But ruin my daughter while you are protecting her and I’ll see to it that your mother is no better off than she is now.”
Briggs thought of the home in the country his mother had always dreamed of having and knew he’d move heaven and earth to get it for her. “Your daughter will be returned to you exactly as she left you. Don’t worry on that score.”
“When do you intend to leave?”
“Tomorrow morning. At dawn.”
“Tomorrow morning? Pauline can’t possibly be ready—”
“At dawn. If the lady cannot rise in time to dress, she can go in her night dress. But we will leave at dawn.”
“But my sister and her friend—”
“They can follow later. You can send an army of maids to make sure your daughter is adequately protected until her aunt arrives.”
“Is there anything else?” Stepmoore asked after a lengthy silence.
“Where are we going?”
“The estate is called Redwood Manor. It is located two days’ ride north of here. The manor house is quite isolated, and almost no one knows of its existence.”
“Is it staffed?”
“Yes.”
Briggs nodded. “I will see you in the morning.”
/> Briggs got up from his chair and walked to the door. He stopped before he opened it. “Does your daughter know about the threat to her life?”
Stepmoore shook his head.
“Tell her.”
“Bloody hell, man. Why?”
“So she realizes we’re not going to the country for a summer party. When I issue an order, I expect it to be obeyed. Her life may depend upon it.”
Stepmoore looked like a man in agony. Briggs knew he undoubtedly was. Someone had threatened to kill his daughter and he had to rely on a stranger—a stranger who hated him—to protect her.
After several moments, he nodded. “I’ll tell her before she leaves.”
Briggs turned to walk out the door, then stopped “Why me? Why not one of the other investigators?”
“Because Wallace said you were the best.”
Briggs gave a sharp nod, then walked out the door and down the street. He tried to keep his thoughts from running wild. He tried not to think of the days and weeks he’d be alone with a female who made his blood boil.
Instead, he concentrated on the home in the country his mother would have to live in. And the money she’d have so she never went without again.
That would have to be his constant thought for the next month. That and nothing more.
CHAPTER 4
Polly tried to stifle another yawn but couldn’t. She’d been forced from her warm, comfortable bed earlier this morning than she could ever remember being roused in her life. She was usually just getting home at the hour Millie woke her. Never getting up. But Briggs Murdock insisted they be on the road by dawn, and true to his word, they were.
Polly looked out the carriage window and searched for him. He was riding a large chestnut steed, and moved from one side of the carriage to the other as he surveyed the surrounding countryside.
Her father had sent three other servants as guards, but Briggs kept watch as if he were the only one there to protect them. Polly still couldn’t believe she needed protection.
Her father told her why he was sending her to Redwood Manor. At first she argued with his decision. But when she saw how upset he was at her refusal to go where he thought she’d be safe, she relented, and agreed to go. She couldn’t imagine anyone would use her to blackmail her father, but his concern was proof enough that they had.
“Would you like something to eat, my lady?” her lady’s maid, Millie, asked. “Mr. Murdock said we wouldn’t stop for another hour or more.”
“He did?”
“Yes, my lady. Mr. Murdock said we were to eat whenever we got hungry since we wouldn’t be stopping for lunch.”
Polly looked out the carriage window and studied him. They’d already ridden for hours, yet he seemed no more fatigued than he’d been when they’d taken their first step out of London. Unfortunately, she and Millie and the other maids her father had sent with her didn’t have the stamina Briggs Murdock had. They needed to stretch their legs. They needed to relieve themselves. At least Polly did.
Polly rapped on the carriage ceiling, then hollered. “Barnes, would you please pull over near those trees?”
“I’m sorry, my lady. Mr. Murdock gave specific orders not to stop for anything.”
“I’m sure he did. But this is not anything. This is a necessity.”
Polly waited for Barnes to make a decision. It didn’t take long.
“Mr. Murdock,” he yelled. “The ladies are asking to stop for a moment.”
There was a long period of silence, then Briggs Murdock’s deep voice responded. “Make your way to that grove of trees, Barnes.”
The carriage turned, then slowed when it neared the grove of trees. Mr. Murdock was waiting for them when the carriage stopped. He opened the door and helped them to the ground.
Polly let the three servants get out first, and when it was her turn, she took the hand he held out for her.
She knew when he grasped her hand the warmth of his flesh pressed against her palm would travel up her arm. She knew a special connection would overwhelm her even through the gloves she wore. And it did.
Being held by him, looking into his dark eyes, standing close to him caused a rush of confusing emotions to surge through her body. She wondered if he felt it, too, and thought he did because he pulled out of her grasp as if her touch burned him.
“Your servants went through there.” He led her to the edge of the trees. “Stay within calling distance.”
Polly nodded, then left him.
It didn’t take her long to complete her business and return, and when she did, he was waiting where she’d left him.
“Do we have time to eat a bite before we continue?” she asked.
He clasped her elbow and escorted her back to the carriage. “Time doesn’t concern me, my lady. Being out in the open does.”
“Surely you don’t think we’re being followed?” Polly looked around as if that wasn’t such an absurd possibility.
“I don’t think we are, but I don’t want to take chances.”
“Where are we going to spend the night?”
“There’s an inn a couple hours ahead. I sent one of the men to make arrangements for our lodging for the night.”
“That must be The Whistling Thistle.”
“Yes, I believe that’s what your father called it.”
Polly smiled. “It’s a strange name for an inn, isn’t it?”
A smile formed on his face and for the first time she noticed two dimples that dented inward on his cheeks. She didn’t know what affected her more, the dimples on his cheeks, or the two deep creases that formed on either side of his mouth.
A spinning whirlpool swirled in the pit of her stomach.
“Yes, a strange name. But there are many inns with strange names in England.”
“Yes, there are.” Polly laughed. “There’s a pub near Redwood Manor called The Bumpy Pig. I can’t imagine who came up with that name.”
“Perhaps someone who’d spent too much time drinking The Bumpy Pig’s ale.”
“No doubt.” She looked at the carriage. Millie and the two servants who’d accompanied her were walking back and forth at a determined pace. They looked as reluctant to get back inside the coach and continue the journey as she. But she knew that the sooner they continued on their way, the sooner they’d be able to get a warm meal and a soft bed.
“May I ask you a question?” she said as they made their way back to the carriage.
His silence seemed to give her permission.
“I have a hard time believing I could possibly be in danger. Do you really think someone intends to harm me, or did they just say so to frighten Father?”
“It hardly matters,” he answered. “Neither your father nor I were willing to take the chance that the threat was real.”
Before Polly had a chance to react to his answer, he continued on their way back to the carriage. He helped her step inside, then assisted the servants. When he remounted his chestnut, he gave the order for Barnes to continue on their way.
Only when she had a moment to consider what he’d said did she realize that nothing anyone had ever said to her before meant as much.
“Neither your father nor I were…
. . .
Briggs didn’t think they’d ever arrive at The Whistling Thistle.
She’d been right. The Whistling Thistle was an absurd name for an inn. Just like the Lumpy Pig, or whatever it was called.
He made his way to a small dining room where the innkeeper’s wife had insisted the lady eat her evening meal. Which meant he would have to eat with her, too. Thank heaven, he’d convinced the innkeeper to put two small tables close to the open door for the servants, so he and Lady Pauline could be observed at all times.
He didn’t relish the idea of being alone with her. It had been hard enough knowing that she was just inside the carriage and if he rode a little closer, he could carry on a conversation through the open window. Now he was forced to spend the next hour or more with her.
He walked through the open doorway. She was already in the room when he arrived, and platters of food were already on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked to be served. Mrs. Thistle refused to serve the others until I’d been served. I could hear the three outriders’ stomachs roaring all the way in here so I asked to be served.”
“I’m glad you did.” Briggs sat in the chair opposite her and smiled. “Mrs. Thistle?”
“Yes, of The Whistling Thistle. Seems her husband’s family is renowned in these parts for their talent at whistling.”
Briggs helped himself to the food. If he didn’t eat something soon, his stomach would growl as loudly as the other men’s.
“Are you satisfied that the area is safe?” she asked between bites of food. “I assume that’s what you were doing. Did you find any signs that we were followed?”
“No, everything looks normal.”
“Good. Then we can all sleep well tonight.”
“Yes. I’ll guard the area tonight.”
Lady Pauline continued with her meal. When she paused, she lifted her wine glass to her mouth. She drank a swallow, then set the glass down and looked at him. “You and my father aren’t on good terms, are you?”
“I work for your father. Nothing more.”
“I think there is a lot more. I saw the intense dislike in your eyes and the change in your disposition the second you recognized him at Mr. and Mrs. Wallace’s dinner party the other night. What happened between you and my father?”
Briggs tried to ignore her question, but she wouldn’t let him. She kept her gaze honed on him as if she intended to wait him out until he told her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask your father that question.’
“I already did.”
Briggs’ fork stopped midway to his mouth. “What did he say?”
“He refused to answer me.”
“And I intend to do the same.”
Briggs lifted his ale and took a hearty swallow. He had no intention of being the one to tell her what her father had done. That would have to come from her father’s mouth. Not his.