The Lady Who Knew Too Much Page 2

  Lady Juliana shoved his chest, and he stepped back, giving her room to climb from the bed. “I am trying to impart the seriousness of my situation to this…man.” She scowled at him. “He isn’t taking liberties. He’s trying to take my liberty.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Butters. There is absolutely nothing untoward going on here,” he hastened to add.

  For some reason, that only caused Juliana’s scowl to deepen.

  “Now if you will excuse us, Lady Juliana is going home.” He took her elbow, careful not to hurt her but with enough strength she wouldn’t be going anywhere but where he willed.

  “How can you be so heartless?” the lady in question asked.

  “Am I the heartless one?” He nodded at Miss Butters. “You’ve placed your friend in an untenable position. What do you think will happen to her if you are discovered?”

  Miss Butters paled. “My mother would kill me.”

  “And have you no thought for your brother?” he asked. “The man is out of his mind with worry for your safety.” Out of his mind was an exaggeration, but Brogan would take any advantage he could get. “And your father…”

  Brogan sniffed. Her father didn’t seem concerned his daughter was traipsing about unsupervised. The man did have a lot to answer for in the raising of his children. “Well, if your suspicions about your father are true—”

  “All right. I’ll go.” Lady Juliana pointed to a coat hanging over the back of a chair. “But we have to leave unnoticed. I won’t have Hyacinth in trouble for aiding me.”

  He released her to fetch the coat.

  “Thanks, Juliana.” Miss Butters blew out a breath, her shoulders sagging. “Of course, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but…”

  “But it would be easier if I left.” Lady Juliana gave her friend a smile. “You’ve done more than I have any right to expect. I can’t thank you enough, Hy.”

  Miss Butters hustled over and gave her friend a kiss on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

  Lady Juliana gave her one more smile before leading Brogan from the room.

  He guided them to a back staircase. “She doesn’t know of your suspicions.”

  “That someone is trying to kill my father?” She slid into her coat and buttoned it. “No. Hyacinth is very sweet, and very simple. She wouldn’t understand.”

  “Plus, if you convinced her there was a killer afoot, she might not have allowed you to stay in her room.” No girl was that daft.

  Lady Juliana sniffed. “She’s a friend. Of course, she would have let me stay.” She turned left at the bottom of the steps, and Brogan took her arm and guided her right.

  “Friendship doesn’t extend that far,” he muttered.

  She waited as he peered around the corner of the hallway. “You clearly don’t have any true friends if you believe that.”

  He grunted. This discussion was pointless. He led her toward the kitchen, heard the sounds of a party from within, and switched direction. He found the door to the side garden and pushed it open.

  Her feet planted themselves in the entryway, and he practically carried her across the threshold. He gritted his teeth. “Lady Juliana—”

  “Is that the problem? Do you have so little care for my safety because I have a title in front of my name?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve met who despises those of a different rank.” A yellow cat circled about her ankles, and she bent to pick the beast up.

  The back of his neck prickled. What was she on about? It was the aristos who looked down on his kind, considering them inferior in birth and taste. Was she trying to act the victim with her title? “Your rank has nothing to do with it. This is my job. I only receive payment if I complete it. And I was only pointing out how unladylike you’re acting.”

  He ran his gaze over her. “You don’t even look like a Lady Juliana.” Other women of her class wore their fancy clothes like armor, starched and adorned to meet standards only they cared about. Those women wouldn’t look him in the eye as Lady Juliana did. Wouldn’t deign to argue with someone such as he. If Brogan hadn’t recognized the quality of the silk of her gown, he would be hard pressed to think of her as the daughter of an earl.

  Lady Juliana looked…touchable.

  She looked away, her shimmering eyes catching the moonlight. “Very well, if it’s money you care about, I can pay you. To not return me to Bluff Hall. To investigate who is trying to kill my father.”

  Brogan scraped his palm across his jaw. She didn’t give up.

  He relented. Somewhat. “When we arrive at your home, I’ll speak with your brother again. I’ll impress your concerns upon him. You will be safe.” And hopefully he could do so in a manner that wouldn’t anger the viscount to such a degree he’d leave a bad reference with Brogan’s employers.

  Juliana buried her face in the cat’s fur. “That’s a kind offer for you. And I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He took a step closer. “Though you did lead me on a merry chase, this is my job, after all.”

  She laughed. “That wasn’t what I was apologizing for.”

  He frowned. “Then what?” It wasn’t her fault she was irritating, not really. She’d been given free rein her whole life. She’d—

  A mass of fur and claws flew at his face.

  “Gah!” He caught the cat as it scratched at his throat. It hissed, completely ungrateful that Brogan hadn’t just batted the beast aside. “Lady Juliana,” he thundered, “you…”

  A shimmer of blue silk swished around the corner of the house.

  “Son of a bitch.” He dropped the cat and ran after the infuriating chit. When he hit the front of the house, he paused, chest heaving.

  She was gone.

  He turned a circle. Carriages lined the street, awaiting their ball-goers return. A hansom cab slowly wheeled out of sight. A driver tossed his cheroot to the ground.

  But no infuriating young lady met his eye.

  He clenched his hand. He’d told Wilberforce, the manager of the Bond agency, he’d have her tonight. That he should expect payment from Lord Snowdon in the morning. And now he was returning to the office empty-handed.

  Again.

  He cracked his knuckles.

  When he did find her, he was going to wring Lady Juliana’s neck.

  Chapter Three

  “Thanks, Bertie.” Juliana shifted the large screen so it no longer blocked the narrow bed from view. “I truly appreciate you letting me stay here again.” Especially as the last time she’d been at his apartments, her father’s crazed secretary had roughed him up trying to get to her.

  Bertie Huddleson folded a blanket and tossed it on the sofa he’d slept on last night. “After all you’ve done for me? I owe you my life.”

  Juliana shook her head. Introducing the set designer to the manager of Covent Gardens when he’d needed employment didn’t qualify as life-saving, but theatre people tended to be dramatic.

  “What are you going to do, Jules?”

  She plopped onto the foot of the bed. “I don’t know, but I can’t keep hiding.” Especially not with Brogan Duffy on her tail. The man would give her no respite. He refused to listen, to even try to understand her side, and there was little she detested more than a closed mind.

  “The monthly meeting of the Rose Salon is today.” She adjusted the cuff of her gown. She’d left Hyacinth’s without any of her clothes, and she was looking a bit wrinkled this morn.

  Another reason she didn’t resemble a Lady Juliana, she supposed. She sniffed. She knew she didn’t have the grace of her peers. The sloping shoulders and delicate cheekbones. The trim waist and deferential attitude. Such things had never mattered to her. They didn’t matter to her friends and acquaintances in the societies she belonged to.

  But because of Mr. Duffy, for the first time, she wished she had a bit more grace. More beauty. Something to stand out from being the plain daughter of a lessor earl
.

  “Are you planning on attending?” Bertie’s eyebrows drew together. “Your brother might be there.”

  “Yes.” She pulled her slippers from under the bed and slid her feet inside. “I think it’s time to speak with Snow. He might think me mad, but in a room full of our acquaintances, he’s hardly likely to try to drag me home. I need to convince him that father is still in danger.”

  And have him call off his dogs. She couldn’t very well investigate with Mr. Duffy one step behind.

  Bertie rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, do you want me to come with you? I will if you want me to, you know I will, it’s just that…”

  “There is someone there you’d rather not face.” She stood. “Hiding from him isn’t the answer.”

  “Neither is facing him and getting my heart broken. Again.”

  “Bertie—”

  He jumped to his feet and grabbed her coat. “I know you want me to face my problems head-on, Jules, but I can’t. Not now, not with him. The world doesn’t always provide the happy endings you think it does.”

  She pressed her lips together. The world had plenty of happy endings, but they wouldn’t come unless a person worked for them. Sitting at home sulking would accomplish nothing.

  But Bertie had to lead his own life. One thing she’d learned from her father and brother, no matter how much guidance she provided, men would make their own decisions. Poor as those decisions might be.

  “Will you be coming back here after?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She chewed on her lip. “It depends on Snow. If I can convince him, he might put me up at our normal London lodgings, if they’re available.” Unlike many of the aristocracy, her father didn’t own a home in the city. He preferred the country and Bluff Hall, and didn’t see the need for the added expense of a London residence.

  That, and his banker wouldn’t give him a loan to purchase one.

  She bussed Bertie’s cheek. “I will speak to you later, regardless. Save me a seat at the performance tonight?”

  He grinned. “Always.”

  She hustled out of his rooms and down the uneven staircase. The meeting of the Rose Salon was on the other side of town. The hansom cab dropped her in front of a neat row of townhouses, and she made her way to the one with the blue-checked awning.

  She knocked, and the butler opened the door, nodding. “M’lady. Everyone is in the back sitting room.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Watkins.” She handed him her hat and gloves. “Do you know if my brother is arrived?”

  “Not yet, m’lady.”

  She nodded and made her way to the back of the house. A group of fifteen or so attendees lounged on every available seat, glasses of liquor in many hands, lit cheroots in others.

  She received a warm chorus of ‘Juliana’s!’ but no one seemed surprised to see her. Which meant Snow had kept her running away quiet. Or else this lot saw nothing remarkable about a daughter of an earl striking out on her own. As eclectic as this group was, either was equally possible.

  She poured herself a small drink and sank onto a cleared side table, the tension in her shoulders easing.

  This salon had become like a second home. Founded by Rodger Rose, he held monthly meetings discussing anything from his latest poem to politics to philosophy. Her father had encouraged her and Snow to join, wanting them to be exposed to unorthodox ideas and people.

  A man with paint-stained fingertips and a glass of green liquid rolled onto his stomach on the carpet. “And I say it’s possible. Once we find a way to reach the asteroid, it will take us on a journey through the stars.”

  Her father had certainly gotten his wish when it came to introducing her to unorthodox people.

  She leaned over to the woman next to her and whispered, “What are we discussing?”

  “We were talking about the Herschels and which sibling deserved the most credit for their astronomical discoveries, but the discussion has degraded into fantasy.”

  Rodger Rose twirled his unlit cheroot between his fingers. “We were originally discussing the riots in Stanhope last year. I don’t know how we got to space.” He frowned. Juliana knew he didn’t like when discussions became disorderly. From his expression, this one bordered on being just that.

  She bobbed her leg up and down. She’d sent Mr. Rose one of her essays, but he likely hadn’t received it yet. Would he enjoy it? Find it shallow and banal?

  “Sibling rivalry,” another guest, James Masters, said. He gave Juliana a familiar smile, one that used to warm her insides. Now she compared his face to the stern visage of another. The image of Mr. Duffy’s set jaw made her stomach flutter. The inquiry agent probably didn’t know how to smile.

  James crossed one leg over the other. “There were rumors that one of the miner’s sisters urged him on to start the rioting, which led to a discussion of other sisters who were trouble for their brothers, which led us here.”

  “And is it only the sisters who are culpable in these instances?” Juliana asked mildly. “I personally know that brothers can be just as incorrigible.”

  The room laughed.

  “Especially when it’s your brother,” Mr. Rose said. “Where is Snowdon anyhow? Has he become too good for us now that he’s found a new crowd of friends? I haven’t seen your father in what feels like ages. Am I to lose the society of the son, as well?”

  “His new friends?” Juliana ran a jerky hand over her hair. She needed to speak with Snow. If he wasn’t attending their usual salons, she didn’t know how she was to talk to him without going to their home, which was something she very much wanted to avoid. She needed the safety of acquaintances about them when they spoke. Snow wouldn’t dare try anything in public, not if his actions would cause a stir.

  “I saw him at the Turk’s Head Tuesday last when I went for my morning coffee. He was surrounded by an unwashed group of louts, and didn’t bother to acknowledge my presence.” Rose’s voice was all amusement, as though being snubbed by a viscount was a common occurrence.

  Which was why Juliana enjoyed the man’s company so much. Aside from being brilliant, he truly didn’t care a whit how people liked him. His poetry wasn’t for the faint of heart, and had made him infamous just as much as famous. But it was his new debate society that Juliana truly admired. As soon as this business with her father was resolved, she would double down on her efforts to be invited onto it.

  “It was Wednesday, and I was trying to be kind.” Snowdon swept into the room, running a hand through his shaggy, dark hair. “If those blighters had known I was acquainted with the Rodger Rose, they would have swarmed you like locusts on wheat. And expected you to buy the next round of coffee and cake.”

  Her brother’s gaze landed on her, and he stilled. “Juliana.”

  Giving him an even smile, she stood and crossed to him. She kissed his cheek. “Good afternoon, brother. I hope you are well.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to his chest. “I was so worried.”

  Feeling too many pairs of curious eyes on them, Juliana grabbed her brother’s hand and tugged him to the door. “Do you mind if we use the front sitting room?” she asked Rose. “We’ll just be a moment.”

  The poet waved his hand. “Go, go. Have your secrets. Perhaps we’ll be past talk of traveling the stars by the time you return.”

  She tugged Snow down the hall and enclosed them in the empty room. She smoothed the stomach of her gown and put some space between her and her brother. Now that she had an audience with Snow, she didn’t know where to start. “How are you?”

  “How am I?” He fisted his hands on his hips. “How bloody am I? I’ve been worried sick wondering how my sister fares, or if she was even alive.”

  “I did write.” She narrowed her eyes. “It was most unseemly of you to send out detectives to hunt me down. I’m a grown woman.”

  “You are my sister, my responsibility.” He paced the room. “An
d after Pickens went mad and attacked you, I wanted you back home, safe where you belong.”

  “Father is still head of this family,” she pointed out.

  Snow snorted. “In name only, as you well know. He spends nearly all his time with those damn chickens, leaving me in charge of Bluff Hall.”

  Juliana chuckled, both at the picture her brother created and at her brother. Their father was inordinately proud of his chickens, though, to his credit, his breeding program had created some fine birds. But for Snow to think he managed Bluff Hall was equally laughable. Their father wasn’t the most attentive steward, but he did his duty.

  Her brother enjoyed the appearance of his duty rather than the work itself.

  “Come home.” Snow stepped forward and took her hand. “We’ve missed you.”

  “Have you questioned the servants? Made any attempt to discover who wants father dead?”

  He shifted his weight. “Come now, Juliana. We’ve indulged your imagination too long. No one is trying to kill father.”

  “And Mr. Pickens’s attack on me? Just a coincidence, I suppose.”

  “He was stealing from us,” Snow said. “With all your ravings about murderers, he most likely thought you had discovered his thefts. Now that he’s in prison, all is well.”

  Then why did her skin crawl just thinking about returning home? She wasn’t one normally subject to flights of fancy. But she also wasn’t one to discount her inner convictions.

  And her convictions were telling her something was very wrong at Bluff Hall.

  “No.” She rubbed her arm. “I’ll continue staying with friends.” Hopefully out in the open. No more hiding in bedrooms. “Now, about this detective—”

  “You’re coming home, Juliana.” Her usually easy brother’s face was drawn in stern lines. He strode to her and took her arm. “No more nonsense. Come along.”

  She sputtered as he propelled her forward. “What are you doing? Unhand me this instant.”

  The door swung open. James peered in, a frown creasing his face. “Is everything all right, Juliana? We’ve started discussing Mrs. Siddons. I know how you enjoy her performances.”