Her plain face gazed up at him, mouth open wide with shock. A bit of pride unfurled in his chest, replacing his irritation. She should be surprised. It had taken some doing discovering the Lady Juliana Wickham’s location. His employers at the Bond Agency for Discreet Inquiries would be pleased. He had only worked there four months, and finding Lady Juliana was the first case he’d been assigned to as principal agent.
A fortnight to resolve an investigation seemed like an effective resolution…if his employers ignored the fact that he’d found her once before and she’d manage to slip away. The back of his neck heated.
She stumbled, and her full bosom pressed against his chest. She jerked away as though scalded, and he tightened his grip on her waist.
“I’m not…what are…” She blew out a breath, a strand of her brown hair lifting and drifting back to her cheek. “How did you find me?”
“I had a man watching Bluff Hall. He saw your letter to your father. Or should I say, Miss Butters’s letter to your father.” And he’d seen Lord Withington’s butler refuse delivery. Because it was from an unknown sender? From a chit he thought would write nothing but nonsense? If he knew Miss Butters was a friend of his missing daughter’s, wouldn’t he welcome any correspondence?
No matter. His job was to deliver Miss Juliana, not analyze her father’s correspondence habits. “Would you like to finish the waltz or are you ready to leave?”
She tried to step back, tugging at his grip. He thought about holding on, but restrained or free, she was no match for him. She would go where he wanted. Hopefully without kicking and screaming. He disliked causing a scene.
He released her, and she took a quick step back. She rubbed her arms. “Leave? Why would I leave?”
She was going to be difficult. He sighed. He’d only laid eyes on her that one night, but he’d known she was trouble right away.
The case should have been easy. A brother worried about his missing sister had hired an inquiry agency to find her. Brogan had discovered her first at the apartments of a set designer she’d befriended. From the intelligence he’d received, Lady Juliana adored the theatre, and tracking her from there had been simple.
Attempting to be kind, he’d allowed her to remain with her friend until the next morning when Brogan would deliver her home. She’d needed comforting after the attack by Mr. Pickens.
He should never attempt kindness. It wasn’t a trait he excelled at.
“An unmarried woman of your station doesn’t just flit about London without supervision. It isn’t proper.” She should know this. He reached for her arm. “Let’s go.”
She skittered away, putting the bed between them. She crossed her arms under her bosom, giving him an arch look. “Proper? You’re going to have to give me a better reason than that. In fact, if you want to discuss propriety, how proper is it for your agency to accept a commission from a lady’s brother when it is my father who is my legal guardian. If he takes no issue with my ‘flitting about,’ then my brother can’t, either.”
Brogan inhaled sharply. It was her eyes. That was how he knew she was going to be trouble. Much too assertive than a lady of her years should be.
“Your father isn’t well.” According to his peers, he hadn’t been for quite some time. After the death of his wife, he’d become disinterested in affairs of state. Taken on some queer ideas. Let his children run wild. At least so said His Grace, Duke of Montague, one of the co-founders of the Bond Agency. And the result of such poor parenting was a daughter running about London like a harridan.
“Your brother worries for you.” A fact Lord Snowdon had seemed eager to impress upon him. He most likely didn’t want his sister to embarrass the family. His reasons were his own. Brogan circled the bed. “Now, we go.”
She hopped up on the mattress, scuttling to the center. “You’ll have to carry me, kicking and screaming through the ball. Mr. Butters will stop you.”
“Mr. Butters doesn’t know you’re here.” Brogan planted his hands on his hips. He wouldn’t have to take her through the ballroom. He’d ascertained all the possible exits. The one through the kitchens would work best.
She flushed. “That is irrelevant. You can’t be such a monster that you’d abscond with an unwilling woman, taking her back to her doom.”
He glared at the ceiling. She would have to be dramatic, too. Consorting with aristocrats was going to be an annoying corollary to his new job. “You’re safest with the people who love you best. Your brother. Your father. I don’t want to argue about this.”
She picked up a pillow and held it to her belly. “Someone tried to kill my father.”
“There is no evidence of that.” More dramatics, he presumed. Perhaps it was a natural reaction for one of her kind to have after her ordeal.
His stomach hardened, remembering her cowering before her father’s secretary. The man had deserved a much worse thrashing than he’d received for attacking a woman. But what reason would he have to kill his employer? He’d admitted to being a thief, no more, and his attack on Lady Juliana had been an attempt to escape detection.
And having a passing acquaintance with the woman, Brogan could understand the impulse to throttle her.
Her brother had given him some hints of her character. An indulgent father had led to a spoiled upbringing. She looked upon her flight as some grand adventure. Even now her eyes sparkled with excitement.
He held out his hand. “Take it up with your brother.”
“Snow doesn’t see what’s happening.” She huffed. “You’re an investigator. Can’t you help me find the truth?”
“No.” If he was found indulging a chit’s delusions, he’d never hear the end of it at the Bond Agency. Although the five founders of the business never made mention of it, Brogan knew they weren’t the usual toffs. They each had backgrounds assisting the Crown in delicate operations. Word in the agency was they’d saved the prime minister’s arse on more than one occasion. Brogan wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of them, not when he had a decent job for the first time in his life.
“Lady Juliana, if you do not come—”
