He caught her gaze. Her eyes were a lovely shade of brown, coffee mixed with cream, like his morning drink.
“I think I figured that out the moment I found you hiding in Mr. Huddleson’s apartments.”
“Mr. Duffy. Brogan. About last night—”
“Last night didn’t happen as far as you and I are concerned.” He shifted, parts of his body remembering quite well that the kiss had happened. And those parts wanted more.
She turned to look out the window. “People of my station tend to believe the working class are immoral when it comes to relations, but you’re actually the prudes, aren’t you?”
“There is nothing prudish about keeping things professional. About understanding one’s place in the world.” He arched an eyebrow. “And there is certainly nothing wrong with not debasing members of the fairer sex, of any station.”
She laughed. Out and out laughed at him. “Oh, how simple it must be in a man’s mind, placing women into neat little boxes. Purity, innocence, motherhood, all those ideals we’re wrapped in.” She leaned forward and whispered. “I have news for you. I’m no longer pure. And I have very little innocence left to protect.”
He blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again. After that kiss last night, he’d had his suspicions that she’d had at leastsomeexperience. But experience or not, whether he’d be ruining her or not, it made no matter.
He stared at the hat on her head. At the slight crack in the wood at the back of the carriage. Anything but at her. His body might be eager to explore with this new knowledge, but the circumstances hadn’t changed.
She was a client. He was a new investigator who needed to earn his place.
She was the daughter of an earl. He was one step up from the streets.
Nothing could come of their attraction.
“I don’t pretend to be an experienced woman. I’ve only had one lover,” she said casually. “The affair lasted all of three months. But it was enough to show me that there is a whole world outside of society’s expectations that I want to explore.”
Brogan dug his fingers into his thigh. It was that damned education her father had given her, treating her just like her brother. Taking her to salons and who knew what else. Most women didn’t talk like this.
Most women didn’t make him want to shut them up with his tongue down their throat.
“You actually met him,” she continued. “James Masters, the sculptor. He was very kind. And instructive.”
His fingers had to be leaving bruises the way they dug into his flesh. Had he thought Masters one of the more normal people at the salon? The man deserved to be shitting out his teeth.
“We’re here.” Thank God. He couldn’t take more of this conversation. He’d see her settled in the apartments and get the hell out of there.
He didn’t wait for the driver to open the door but hopped down himself. Twilight had fallen, and the boy lighting the gas lamps was making his rounds. Brogan cracked his neck then lowered the steps for Juliana.
She took his hand and descended with more sway in her hips than he thought the occasion called for. She was trying to provoke him, and damn it, it was working.
“Tomorrow I’m going back to Newgate.” He gritted his teeth. “Would you like to come?” Did he want her to come? No. But with Juliana he was learning that keeping her within eyesight was preferable to letting her loose on London.
A slight whirring sounded, and he flapped his hand in front of his face. He couldn’t see any insects, but they weren’t shy about making noise.
“Yes.” She shook out her skirts. “I also wish to speak with Sir Thomas Miles. Lady Mary said he and my father had a falling out. It was some time ago, but leave no stone unturned and all that, right?”
The whirring grew louder.
Brogan frowned. “Let’s get you inside before you get eaten alive.”
Juliana took a step then paused. “One moment. I have a pebble…,” she said as she bent at the waist to adjust her slipper.
Something crashed into the stone building above Juliana’s shoulder.
Brogan didn’t think. He rushed forwards, wrapped an arm around Juliana’s waist and took her down. He twisted, trying to take the impact, but from her cry of pain he knew she had hit the pavement, too. He rolled, putting her body beneath his, and squinted up the street, looking for any movement.
The driver jumped down, pulling a pistol from his greatcoat. “A horse just went racing back up the street. What happened?”
Brogan waited for his heart to calm. For all his senses to assure him the danger had left before he picked himself off of Juliana. He pulled her to her feet then dropped to a squat, searching.
