Juliana stood in front of a small mirror, adjusting some wayward strands of hair. She arched an eyebrow at him through her reflection. “I told him all about your roast duck, and he begged me to let him join me. Said he hadn’t eaten a decent meal in months.”
Brogan narrowed his eyes, but allowed Mrs. Forster to pull him into the dining room. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said. “You tell all the boys of the agency that anytime they want a good, home-cooked meal to stop on by. Ever since my Harold passed, I’ve no one to cook for except when someone stays in these apartments.”
“That’s most kind,” he murmured.
“I’ll just go check on the soup.” Mrs. Forster pointed to the sideboard where bottles of liquor stood. “Be a dear and pour yourself and Lady Juliana some wine, would you? I’ll be just a moment.”
Wine seemed like a good idea. He strode to the sideboard and poured himself a glass, taking a healthy chug. Something about Lady Juliana was… unsettling, and if he were to spend the evening with her, alcohol would help.
“Are you going to share or is that bottle yours?” She smiled, like eating with the help was a normal occurrence in her life.
Perhaps it was. Perhaps her dotty father invited all the servants into the dining room to eat with the family. Probably thought it made him a man of the people, or some other such shite.
Placing his own glass down, Brogan picked up a clean one and filled it near to the brim. “Here.” He shoved it at her. When their fingers brushed, he jerked his hand back like he’d touched a porcupine. She’d removed her gloves, and the feel of that velvety skin wasn’t one he wanted to become accustomed to.
“Whoa.” She lifted her hand where a few drops of wine had splashed and licked it clean. Her tongue looked soft and pink, and it was all he could do to drag his gaze away.
“Shall we sit?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the chair at the end of the table out, holding it for her. After she settled herself, he took his own. At the other end of the long table.
Juliana pressed her lips together before taking her own healthy swallow. She placed her glass down and gave him another bright smile that seemed only partially forced. “I am optimistic that Mr. Pickens will tell us what we want. I think he knows his sister will spend his money. He had been living on false hope before.”
“Yes.”
She took another sip. “And once we get a name from him—”
“If.”
“If we get a name from him, how quickly will the magistrate have that man arrested?” She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table, exposing interesting shadows in her bosom. “Could this all be over this week?”
“Depends what name is given.” He stood as Mrs. Forster bustled in, a large soup tureen in her hands.
She shooed him back to his seat when he tried to relieve her of the burden.
He cleared his throat and let her ladle the consumé into his bowl. “If a high-ranking person is named, there will be complications. And delays.” Her father was an earl, so she did have that going for her. An attempt on the life of a titled person would be prosecuted more strenuously regardless of the status of the perpetrator. But Lord Withington wasn’t a wealthy earl, and, more often than not, the wealthier party won the day.
“Thank you, Mrs. Forster.” Juliana waited for the woman to leave the room before returning her gaze to him. “You think our judicial system so corrupt? My father will have justice.”
She dug her spoon into the broth as if digging someone’s grave.
Brogan pursed his lips. She was a determined woman, of that there was no doubt. Even considering her impulsive and naïve nature, he wouldn’t want to be on the opposite side of any battle she decided to fight.
“And what would you do if the courts dropped the case?” His tone was part mocking, part curious.
She flushed. “Well, I…”
“Yes?”
“I…I would start a public campaign. Yes, I would lay out the evidence against the scoundrel, stir up public sentiment until the courts had no choice but to give us justice.” She nodded stoutly. “I know people atThe Times. Don’t discount public opinion.”
“Never.” He wanted to laugh at her, but her idea could work. Governments tended to ignore the people until it was no longer possible, and then became most accommodating.
He watched her as Mrs. Forster served the main course. Juliana was so sure of herself, of her own power. She was oblivious to the fact that she enjoyed her style of living only because society allowed it. She was soft. Intelligent, yes, but weak all the same. Without the protections of her family, of the aristocracy, she would be exposed to what the world truly was.
Days of hardship while you waited for death.
He stabbed the duck, tearing a chunk from its breast.
She tilted her head, her dark eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Is there no one cooking for you at home?”
