Brogan smiled, all teeth. “I can stop her. The only question is whether you’ll be happy with my manner in which I do so or not.” He cracked each knuckle in his hand. His fist longed to strike flesh. It had been too long since he’d had a real fight, even as an agent for an inquiry agency. There was too much talking in this job, not enough bruising.
His body had been swirling with unmet need for days now. Juliana had been an aggravating temptation he’d barely refrained from succumbing to. If he couldn’t pound out his frustration in a more pleasurable way, he’d take a fight over nothing.
Barbour’s smile faded. “Come now. You’re not going to use violence— gah!” He stumbled from his chair, just avoiding Brogan’s hands. “It’s the nineteenth century,” he yelled. “Men don’t resolve disputes through beatings.”
Brogan’s fist put proof positive to the opposite of that sentiment. Perhaps other men didn’t. Finer men. Noble men. He landed another blow, reveling in the solid crack of bone meeting bone. But this was his way. When a man deserved a good thrashing, he was more than happy to deliver it.
It didn’t take long to receive Barbour’s promises. He had taken Sally into his home on a lark, and the situation had ceased to amuse him. Brogan hopped down the stairs to the street in a much better temper than when he’d ascended.
Sally hurried to him when he emerged, casting a worried glance behind her at Juliana. “Are you satisfied? Charles and I are going to marry as soon—”
The window above them screeched open. Brogan pulled Sally aside as a tumble of clothing was shoved out. Two ladies’ boots, one after the other, followed.
“What…?” Sally picked up one of the boots. “My things.”
“And good riddance to the lot of you.” Barbour leaned out the window. “You’ve been nothing but trouble, and I’ll be glad to have some peace.”
Hurt flashed across his sister’s face before being replaced by a scowl. “You bounder!” She threw the boot up at the window.
It came nowhere near close to hitting its mark, but Barbour jerked inside all the same.
“The nerve of that man,” Sally fumed. “Coward.” She caught Brogan’s satisfied smile and narrowed her eyes. “And you! You’re no better. Interfering, meddlesome brother. It will be a cold day in hell before I speak to you again.” She gathered up her belongings, refusing his attempt to help with a lift of her chin. Wrapping the bundle up in one of her gowns, she held it to her belly and stamped to Juliana’s side.
“You’re better off than with a man who won’t fight for you,” Juliana said as they made their way down the street, Brogan following. “Now, as I was telling you, the commonly expected moralities of women have been fairly dissected by Mrs. Jones’s latest monograph. Her works—”
Sally gave her a tight smile then drifted back to join her brother. “You brought a missionary to save my soul? And an odd one at that. She has yet to mention God.”
Brogan didn’t comment on the brevity of his sister’s silent treatment. “She’s not a missionary.” He pointed out the next turn for Juliana, slowing his steps to stay behind her. His gaze dropped to her bum. Her gown and pelisse did a decent job of hiding it, but he remembered how it felt in his hands. If feel was anything to go by, she had a superior arse.
Regret swirled through him that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to look upon it.
“Then who is this Mrs. Jones she keeps talking about? And Mr. and Mrs. Percy? She said their marriage was a bit uncertain and an example for why women shouldn’t be so eager to join themselves in wedded matrimony, not without a true meeting of minds.”
Brogan took her bundle of clothes and dropped his other arm around her shoulders. The clenching in his chest eased with each step closer to home he took his sister. “Those are her high saints. Don’t worry, Sally, she won’t convert you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Juliana folded one of her shawls into a triangle and laid it on the back of Brogan’s sofa. There. That bit of color quite spruced up his sitting room. “I’m happy to loan your sister some of my books about sex and women’s role in society,” she called. “She might learn not to value her worth by a man’s affections. She seemed interested when I spoke of them.”
Brogan minced into the room, balancing trays and dishes on his arms. “I think she’ll be too busy with whatever punishment my father will devise for her to read.”
“Oh!” She hurried forward and took the plate of mutton and the dish of green beans from him. “I do hope he won’t treat her too harshly. She was young and in love.” An emotion she wasn’t certain she had ever felt. She had certainly felt tenderly toward James, but when they had agreed to part, her heart hadn’t been injured. What would it be like to fall in love?
She cast a glance at Brogan as she set the plates at the small table in the corner of the room. His apartments didn’t have a separate dining room, consisting only of a bedroom, a small kitchen, and this sitting room. A bachelor’s rooms.
Had he ever been in love? Ever thought about ending his unmarried state? She couldn’t quite picture him professing words of love to a woman, either. Perhaps they were alike in that regard. Perhaps neither of them were destined to feel such deep emotion.
She swallowed, the back of her throat thick. But he would marry eventually. Of course, a man like him would marry. And he would be devoted and steady and everything a husband ought. And she would be…
She cleared her throat. “Tomorrow we speak with Mr. Pickens. This should be a celebratory dinner. Tomorrow we learn all, and you’ll be rid of me.” She tried to make it sound like a jest, but the truth in it made her chest ache.
Seeing Brogan with his family hadn’t helped. He was such a caring son and brother. What would it feel like to be someone this man cared for? Her brother had paid people to find her, true, but she couldn’t imagine him ever coming to fisticuffs over her honor.
“Yes,” he agreed. He set a plate down then nudged it a couple inches over then back to its original location. For once, Brogan seemed uncomfortable.
“I like your family.” She took a seat and started serving. “There is true affection between all of you.”
She would have preferred if Brogan’s father had discussed Sally’s behavior with her instead of a gruff, ‘go to your room,’ when they’d returned, but she could tell he loved his daughter.
