She narrowed her eyes. “You will do no such thing. Besides, I only had trouble with that one rule. It’s ever so difficult keeping my mouth shut when I want answers. But I wrote my father like you asked. I can follow rules when they’re reasonable.”
Brogan closed his eyes. “That wasn’t a rule, but a request to make sure he made it to his friend’s home all right. Let’s go over the rules again. One, you let me do the talking. Two, you do what I say—”
“Those two could be combined into one rule. If you tell me not to speak, that would also be doing as you say.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Three, if I decide no one is after your father, you go home and leave this nonsense behind.”
She sniffed. “That one seems like you are already prejudging the outcome.”
He cracked open one eye to see Lady Juliana in a delicious sulk. She sat wedged in the corner of the carriage, arms crossed beneath her bosom, forcing the swells to crest the square neckline of her gown, eyes squinty and lips pursed.
He dragged his gaze from her bosom, irritated with his hardening cock. That one is not for you, he told it. Aside from being too forward, too demanding, she was in a class so far removed from his she might as well have been queen.
“Rules only exist for those who can’t think for themselves.” She sniffed again, a habit he either found irritating or endearing. He hadn’t decided yet.
He grunted. “Regardless, I’m dropping you at the apartment. This next stop isn’t a place for women in any case.”
“Really?” She scooted forward. “But those are the best kinds of places. Where are we going?”
“I am going to Newgate Prison to speak with Pickens. See if I can’t get the information we want straight from the horse’s mouth.”
She shook her head. “When I went there the guards said only attorneys and magistrates could enter. And family, but I couldn’t bring myself to say I was related to him.”
Brogan blinked. And he blinked again. “You went to Newgate?”
“Of course.” She frowned. “That was one of my first stops. I told you I was investigating. Did you not believe me?”
He didn’t know what to believe when it came to Lady Juliana Wickham, except that she was the most foolhardy, falsely confident woman he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. And he decided to tell her just that. “Newgateis not a place women should visit, especially not gently bred women. The ideawas asinine, foolish, and reckless. And to go there unattended, completely—"
“Being born with a bosom and without some dangly bits down yonder,” she swept her hand over her lap, “has no bearing on my ability to walk into a building. My feet and my mind work as well as any man’s. Well, I wasn’tbornwith a bosom, but you take my meaning, I’m sure.”
Brogan sagged into the carriage seat. No words came to mind, not after a statement such as that. He stared at the creature across from him as though she were a newly discovered species. Her hair was done up in the way of most woman, with some scattered curls grazing her shoulders in a charming manner. She had the requisite number of eyes and nose as other females, the rounded figure common to her sex. And her lips were averagely formed, with perhaps her bottom lip being more full than typical.
But the words that came out of said mouth didn’t belong to those of a lady. If one of those talking birds he’d heard sailors to the East Indies describe had said the same thing to him, he couldn’t have been more surprised.
“I’ve shocked you senseless.” She sighed. “How disappointing. My father, bless his heart, found no reason to raise his daughter differently than his son. I was treated to the same education, encouraged to speak my mind just as often. And if you think my speech shocking, I shall never take you to one of my salons. What you hear there could make you faint dead away.”
He watched her, making sure this new form of woman didn’t make any sudden moves, and slowly reached up to pound on the ceiling. “New direction,” he shouted to the driver. “Newgate.”
Juliana squealed and clapped her hands together. “There is hope for our investigation yet.”
He didn’t know about that. Brogan couldn’t remember ever feeling an emotion akin to hope. He’d grown up used to the feeling of an empty stomach before bed, of walking around with holes in his shoes. He worked hard, helped feed his family, and kept his head down. With his new employment, he thought perhaps he would be able to save a bit of money. But hope never entered the equation.
He did know Lord Withington deserved a good thrashing for the way he’d raised his daughter. “Nothing of the sort,” he told her. He ran his hand up the back of his head. “But with the mouth you have on you, you just might stun Pickens into a full confession.”
***
Juliana tipped up her chin as she marched past the guard at the front gate of Newgate. Of course, he would accept a bribe to let unauthorized people into the prison. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
Also, why hadn’t she thought to wear her worst pair of boots? The soles of her lovely kid leather ones stuck to the floor with each step, some substance she didn’t want to identify making the floor tacky. The idea of a visit to a prison had been thrilling; the reality not so much.
She tugged on the hem of her glove. But she was here to save her father. A sticky floor was nothing to that.
“Follow me.” The stocky, and unethical, guard grabbed a ring of keys from the wall and led them into a dank hallway. He nodded at another guard, who didn’t even raise an eyebrow at their being inside the prison.
Brogan was a warm presence at her back, perhaps walking a bit too close for propriety’s sake, but his nearness was comforting. And she was never one to care for propriety.
“You have twenty minutes, no more.” The guard unlocked one thick wooden door, leading them down another corridor. “And if I were you, I’d stay back from the door. Some of the prisoners like to throw things, if you get my meaning.”
