“Is that the problem? Do you have so little care for my safety because I have a title in front of my name?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve met who despises those of a different rank.” A yellow cat circled about her ankles, and she bent to pick the beast up.
The back of his neck prickled. What was she on about? It was the aristos who looked down on his kind, considering them inferior in birth and taste. Was she trying to act the victim with her title? “Your rank has nothing to do with it. This is my job. I only receive payment if I complete it. And I was only pointing out how unladylike you’re acting.”
He ran his gaze over her. “You don’t even look like a Lady Juliana.” Other women of her class wore their fancy clothes like armor, starched and adorned to meet standards only they cared about. Those women wouldn’t look him in the eye as Lady Juliana did. Wouldn’t deign to argue with someone such as he. If Brogan hadn’t recognized the quality of the silk of her gown, he would be hard pressed to think of her as the daughter of an earl.
Lady Juliana looked…touchable.
She looked away, her shimmering eyes catching the moonlight. “Very well, if it’s money you care about, I can pay you. To not return me to Bluff Hall. To investigate who is trying to kill my father.”
Brogan scraped his palm across his jaw. She didn’t give up.
He relented. Somewhat. “When we arrive at your home, I’ll speak with your brother again. I’ll impress your concerns upon him. You will be safe.” And hopefully he could do so in a manner that wouldn’t anger the viscount to such a degree he’d leave a bad reference with Brogan’s employers.
Juliana buried her face in the cat’s fur. “That’s a kind offer for you. And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He took a step closer. “Though you did lead me on a merry chase, this is my job, after all.”
She laughed. “That wasn’t what I was apologizing for.”
He frowned. “Then what?” It wasn’t her fault she was irritating, not really. She’d been given free rein her whole life. She’d—
A mass of fur and claws flew at his face.
“Gah!” He caught the cat as it scratched at his throat. It hissed, completely ungrateful that Brogan hadn’t just batted the beast aside. “Lady Juliana,” he thundered, “you…”
A shimmer of blue silk swished around the corner of the house.
“Son of a bitch.” He dropped the cat and ran after the infuriating chit. When he hit the front of the house, he paused, chest heaving.
She was gone.
He turned a circle. Carriages lined the street, awaiting their ball-goers return. A hansom cab slowly wheeled out of sight. A driver tossed his cheroot to the ground.
But no infuriating young lady met his eye.
He clenched his hand. He’d told Wilberforce, the manager of the Bond agency, he’d have her tonight. That he should expect payment from Lord Snowdon in the morning. And now he was returning to the office empty-handed.
Again.
He cracked his knuckles.
When he did find her, he was going to wring Lady Juliana’s neck.
Chapter Three
“Thanks, Bertie.” Juliana shifted the large screen so it no longer blocked the narrow bed from view. “I truly appreciate you letting me stay here again.” Especially as the last time she’d been at his apartments, her father’s crazed secretary had roughed him up trying to get to her.
Bertie Huddleson folded a blanket and tossed it on the sofa he’d slept on last night. “After all you’ve done for me? I owe you my life.”
Juliana shook her head. Introducing the set designer to the manager of Covent Gardens when he’d needed employment didn’t qualify as life-saving, but theatre people tended to be dramatic.
“What are you going to do, Jules?”
She plopped onto the foot of the bed. “I don’t know, but I can’t keep hiding.” Especially not with Brogan Duffy on her tail. The man would give her no respite. He refused to listen, to even try to understand her side, and there was little she detested more than a closed mind.
“The monthly meeting of the Rose Salon is today.” She adjusted the cuff of her gown. She’d left Hyacinth’s without any of her clothes, and she was looking a bit wrinkled this morn.
Another reason she didn’t resemble a Lady Juliana, she supposed. She sniffed. She knew she didn’t have the grace of her peers. The sloping shoulders and delicate cheekbones. The trim waist and deferential attitude. Such things had never mattered to her. They didn’t matter to her friends and acquaintances in the societies she belonged to.
