The Lady Who Knew Too Much Read online

  She loosed a breath. “Good.” At his glance, she looked down at her plate, flushing. “I’m glad I’m not keeping you from anyone.”

  He shoveled in another forkful. Just because there was no one waiting for him didn’t mean he didn’t want to leave.

  She slumped back in her chair. “Is it so awful, spending time with me? To discuss the case, I mean.”

  He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

  She cradled her glass to her abdomen, like it was a shield. “You’ve made it clear you wouldn’t willingly spend time with someone like me, that you don’t find me appealing, but can we not at least enjoy a pleasant conversation together?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Lady Juliana,” he began.

  “I just don’t want things to be awkward between us.” She pushed a bit of vegetable around her plate with her fork. “We will be working together and—”

  “Juliana!”

  “Hmm.” She kept her gaze fixed on her plate. “Yes?”

  He glared at her. “Whatever gave you the foolish idea that I don’t find you appealing?” He should keep his mouth shut. He should let her go on having her delusions about his indifference. But he didn’t care for how she closed up, went from being a roaring fire to a dim ember. Didn’t like the false smile she sent his way, or the way her skin puckered between her eyebrows as though she were in physical pain. And besides, deceptions of any sort never sat right with him.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She tossed her silverware down. “Perhaps it is the way you flinch away as though I’m diseased when you touch me. Or that you sat yourself as far away from my person as possible.” She nodded down the long distance of the table. “Or maybe it’s the way you’ve treated most of my attempts to aid the investigation with contempt. I first thought that was merely because I’m a woman and you have backward ideas about my sex’s abilities, but now I see your disdain is saved solely for me.”

  “Are you done?” A burning sensation started in his stomach and rose to his chest. She truly was a fool.

  She held up her hand and pointed to her fingers as she spoke. “Dislikes my touch, physical avoidance, and disgust. Yes, I think that paints a pretty fair picture.”

  He tossed his napkin to the table. His feet itched to move, but he forced himself to keep his seat. “The Bond Agency for Discreet Inquiries is a somber business. Professionalism and dedication are required of all its agents. I am treating you in the only way I can treat a client.”

  Although from the stories he’d heard, the founders of the agency hadn’t been as dedicated to separating business from pleasure. But they were all toffs. Different rules applied to that lot. He glared at Juliana. Different rules applied to her.

  “Are you saying that if I weren’t a client—”

  “No.” He stood. “You’re the daughter of an earl. I’m the son of a woodworker. I’d be run out of town for even looking at you. And I’d deserve it.”

  She pushed to her feet. “Mr. Duffy. Brogan. I know English society likes to impose nonsense ideas of class structures on to us, but you cannot believe that you are any less worthy because of your parentage.”

  He huffed. “I don’t. I’m a free man, equal to any other. But I’m also a realist. Some things aren’t possible. Some people aren’t possible.” He strode for the entry closet and gathered his coat and hat.

  Juliana hurried after him, needing to take two steps for each of his. “I don’t understand you. I was raised to believe that it is a person’s character that mattered, not their wealth. And…” She bit her lip and looked to the side. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I also learned that not every affair needs to end in marriage. I was hoping to enjoy your company. No expectations besides pleasure.”

  He scowled even as his cock thickened. This education of hers had a lot to answer for. “Very free with your favors, are you? Or is this a bonus for your investigator?”

  The look she gave him was full of disappointment with a hint of anger. “My favors, as you call them, are only bestowed on those I deem worthy. You are looking less and less so. Perhaps it is best if we keep this relationship purely on a business footing.”

  He slapped his hat on his head. “Now you’re talking sense.”

  “Pick me up at ten tomorrow.” She crossed her arms under her bosom. No matter how much she wanted to deny the class system, her voice had perfected the proper tone in which to order a servant about.

  The muscles of his body strained, screaming at him to take what had been offered. But his brain pushed his feet a step back.

  She stared at a point over his shoulder. “We can continue our questioning then.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He reached for the door, yanking it open. “I won’t be late. I wouldn’t want to delay your entertainment.”

  Her gaze cut to him. “My entertainment?”

  “The intrigue. The excitement of the hunt. You enjoy it.”

  She went pale. “My father’s life is in danger. That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  “But true nevertheless.” He wanted to soften his words, but this was good for her. Good for the both of them. “You were bored. The spoiled little aristocrat. And while I don’t doubt you care for your father, this was an opportunity you took for yourself, not for him.”

  She stepped up to him and poked his chest. “How dare you. You know nothing of my life, of who I am.”

  She went to poke him again, and he grabbed her finger. “I know enough,” he growled.

  He knew better than to dally with a rich girl who thought it thrilling to have a romance with a bruiser like him. Knew that his career would be over if they were caught. That he’d have to return to the poverty of woodworking, or eke out a few more punishing years in boxing until his body gave up.

  And Juliana… She would be shunned from society. She might think she didn’t care about such things, but she would when every friend turned their back on her.

  She yanked her hand from his, her chest heaving. They were so close her nipples brushed against his chest with every angry inhalation.

  So close that her wine-scented breath caressed his own lips.

  “Go back to your poets and philosophers.” He didn’t know when, but his hand had found its way to her hip, and he squeezed it. “Go back to your refined men and stop playing with the commoners.”

  “Playing?” She pushed his shoulder, her fingers tangling in his coat’s lapel. “Playing?” Her next push somehow managed to tug him closer. “I would no sooner play with a man such as yourself than I would a pig in the mud. You, Mr. Brogan Duffy, are—”

  His anger, his lust, it all served to make his brain desert him. He cut off whatever nonsense words she was about to say by kissing her.

  His palm flattened on her lower back, holding her close. He gripped the back of her head with his other hand.

  At the first touch of his lips, she sighed into his mouth. And pulled his hair, not letting him forget she was still angry.

  Well, that made two of them. The kiss was just a continuation of their fight, a battle using teeth, and lips, and tongues as their weapons.

  It was the best damn kiss of his life.

  Pleasure gathered at the base of his neck and rolled down his spine. Nothing but the taste of Juliana, her scent, the feel of her soft body against his own, registered in his mind. He rocked his hips against her, needing the friction against his aching cock.

  When he came up for air, the dazed look on Juliana’s face sent a stab of pride through his chest.

  Until he remembered it was Lady Juliana he had just kissed the starch out of. Lady Juliana who could end his employment with one word.

  He shoved away from her. “This was a mistake. It never should have happened. I don’t want a woman like you.”

  And it was definitely Lady Juliana whose chin went up with pride even as her face went red at his rejection.

  “Get out.” She clenched her hands, her bo
dy trembling with rage. Better anger than seductive little glances. Anger he could manage.

  She pointed at the door. “Get out of here. I can’t stand to look at you a moment longer.”

  He nodded and pulled the door shut behind him. His shoulders sagged, whether from relief or disappointment he didn’t know. He had finally convinced Juliana of their incompatibility, made her so disgusted with him she would never think about an affair between them again. Perhaps now he could focus on his work.

  Perhaps now, there would be no danger of him doing the stupidest thing in his life.

  Chapter Eleven

  His note shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not after last night. But still it hurt.

  Juliana read the lines again.

  It will be better for the investigation if I conduct it myself. I will notify you of any developments.

  She pressed her fingers against her lips, ignoring the heat behind her eyes. She could still feel his kiss. Still imagine his taste. Last night had been amazing.

  And then he’d run like a scared little boy.

  She tossed her spoon into her porridge. If anyone should be angry, it should be her. He had no call to cut ties. He was the one in the wrong.

  She pushed from the breakfast table, her knees not quite steady. Well, she was almost entirely certain Brogan was the one in the wrong. He wasn’t right about her enjoying this investigation. Her father was in danger, for pity’s sake. It would take some kind of monster to enjoy that.

  She paced the small but neatly appointed room. Like everything else owned by the Bond Agency, it was tasteful, expensive, and understated. Brogan was the only part of the agency that lacked taste. He was the fly in the ointment. She’d gotten the bad apple in the barrel. Perhaps she should ask for another detective. One who would treat her with respect. One who would appreciate her insights.

  One who wouldn’t challenge her on her lies.

  Her shoulders slumped. She’d tossed and turned all night, not because she was angry at the gall of the man. She’d slept fitfully because he’d been right.

  Partially.

  She did enjoy the investigation. It was thrilling. A challenge. A bit like a puzzle but with high stakes. If it wasn’t someone she cared about in danger, the employment would be just about perfect. It was exciting, important work, something someone in her position had little claim to.

  “You finished then?” Mrs. Forster bustled in and began clearing the table. “It’s a bit drizzly today. Be sure to bundle up and take your umbrella when Mr. Duffy comes for you.”

  Her throat went thick, and she cleared it. “Mr. Duffy isn’t coming today. He felt his investigation would proceed apace if he did it alone.”

  Mrs. Forster balanced three bowls along her arm. “Well, I’m sure he knows what he’s about. All the boys at the agency do. I’ll make a fire in the sitting room, and you and I can enjoy a nice cup of tea. I have some knitting needles if you’d care to keep busy.”

  Yes, staying in and knitting would be what most would expect of her. The daughter of an earl, she wasn’t expected to provide value above that. Even her father, who was generous enough to provide her with the same education as her brother, had never expected her to actually do anything of import. Be anything. Nothing but become a more interesting conversationalist for her future husband.

  Mrs. Forster was a kind woman, but the idea of a day stuck indoors while someone else investigated her claims was unbearable.

  “Thank you, but I’m still going out.” She turned and called over her shoulder, “I’ll be back for supper. I think.”

  She made quick work donning her overcoat and gloves, picked an aubergine-colored umbrella from the large vase by the front door, and hurried outside before she could change her mind.

  She had no plan, no idea how to conduct an investigation, but what she lacked in knowledge she made up for in determination.

  She picked a direction and started walking.

  Only to spin about when an idea struck her.

  She wasn’t completely untaught in how to conduct an investigation. Brogan had shown her just yesterday how he went about questioning suspects. And she knew one other place where she might learn more about Mr. Pickens.

  She hailed a hansom cab. “Take me to the Hardmeat Employment Agency, please.” She blushed as she said it. The owner had such an unfortunate surname, poor man. Hyacinth hadn’t been able to stop laughing after Juliana had explained the innuendo to her.

  The driver leaned down. He spit something Juliana didn’t want to identify onto the dirt. “What street?”

  Her mind blanked. The agency was one her father had used for years to hire his staff, but she’d never actually gone there. She tried to recall the address from her father’s letters but nothing came. “I don’t know. What street are most employment agencies on?”

  He rolled his eyes and heaved a large sigh. “Hold on.” Sitting back up, he slapped the reins, urging the horse into a slow walk. He waved down another cab. “Ho. You know where a Hardcock—”

  “Hardmeat!” Her cheeks flamed hotter.

  “Hardmeat Employment Agency is at?” He jerked a finger in her direction. “This one wants to go but don’t know the directions.”

  “Never heard of it,” the new cabbie said. He waved at another. “Mike! You heard of Hardmeat Employment?”

  Juliana settled back into her seat, wanting to cover her face in her hands. Two more cabbies were drawn into the discussion, and finally, a location was discovered.

  “But if you need a job,” one of the cabbies said, a leer on his face, “I’ve got a position I can put you in. And my meat is more than— Oy!” He rubbed the back of his head where another cabbie had swiped his crop. “What was that for?”

  “Keep your filth to yourself.” The cabbie with the crop saluted her. “Have a good day, miss.”

  She nodded her thanks and waved goodbye as her cab pulled into the street. This investigation business wasn’t that hard. Her first challenge of the day, and she’d discovered where she wanted to go by… throwing herself on the mercy of kindly cab drivers for an entirely embarrassing discussion.

  She slouched down. When she retold the story to Brogan, she would gloss over this part of the investigation.

  The cab pulled to a stop in front of a two-story brick building. A large sign on the second floor cheerfully proclaimed she’d reached the agency. She paid and thanked the driver, then stared at the door. Well, there was nothing for it. She pushed inside. She might not know the right questions to ask, but indecision never solved anything.

  A young man of not more than twenty sat behind a desk in the center of the room. Two benches lined the walls, three men in various levels of stylish dress occupying them. Three doors led to private offices and a stairwell to the side went to the second floor.

  The young man at the desk looked up, a sketch of a welcome smile on his face. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

  She dug her fingers into her pocketbook. “Yes. I’m Lady Juliana Wickham. My family uses your agency often, and I was hoping to speak to someone about a former secretary. Is Mr. Hardmeat available?” She ignored the snigger from one of the men on the benches behind her.

  “The senior Mr. Hardmeat is not available.” The boy raised his voice, directing his words to one of the offices. “The senior Mr. Hardmeat likes to espouse the value of hard work to the younger Mr. Hardmeat, but never seems to actually partake in said hard work on his own.”

  Muffled cursing erupted inside the office. The door was flung open. “Boy! I’m going to…” He caught sight of Juliana and adjusted his cravat. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize there was a lady present.” He glared at his son. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  The younger Mr. Hardmeat rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait.”

  Juliana pressed her lips together, fighting her smile. Young men were the same the world over. “My father is Lord Withington. I’d like to speak to you ab
out Mr. Pickens.”

  Mr. Hardmeat shook his head. “Terrible business that was. Just terrible. But we aren’t responsible for what goes on after the man starts work. We ran all the necessary background checks, told your father all the pertinent information. If Mr. Pickens went bad later, it isn’t our fault.”

  She forced her smile to remain on her face. “Of course, we don’t hold you responsible. But I would like to know a bit more about the man’s background and how he came to us. Do you have any records on him I can read?”

  “Well…” He scratched his grizzled jaw. “I can’t see a reason why not.” Though from his expression it looked as though he had tried hard to find one. “I’ll go see what we have in our files.”

  She started to follow him to his office, but he stopped and pointed at a bench. “Wait here, if you please. Mrs. Hardmeat wouldn’t like me having a woman in my office. I’m sure you can understand.”

  Not really. Juliana didn’t understand the point of jealousy. Either you trusted your partner or you didn’t. But she settled herself on a bench, keeping a good two feet between her and the other occupant. He smelled of onions, a vegetable she particularly detested, and she didn’t want to encourage conversation.

  But her space meant nothing to him. He planted a hand on the bench and leaned closer. “Oy. You looking to hire another secretary?”

  She examined his work trousers and the dirt underneath his fingernails. He didn’t look like the professional sort, but appearances could be deceiving.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re not looking to replace him at this time.”

  The man loosed a deep belly laugh. “Me as a secretary. That’s a good one. No, I’m a thief-taker. Looking to get hired by the Bow Street boys, I am.”

  “A thief-taker?” Those were investigators of a sort. They didn’t have the best reputations, however. As likely to extort a fee from the criminal they were after than bring him to justice. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and without Brogan to guide her, she would take what she could get.