She smoothed her skirt. “Still, I'm sure wherever he is now, it'll be fine for us to call. He is my brother and I have something urgent to speak with him about.”
Brogan shrugged. “As you say.”
They found the tea shop and, ignoring the delightful smells of fresh bread, they climbed the steps to the apartments above.
Brogan knocked.
Expecting a maid servant to answer the door, Juliana’s eyes popped wide when it was her brother’s face that appeared instead. “Snow?”
His posture stiffened. “What are you doing here?”
“I've come to speak with you.” She peered over his shoulder. “I don't want to interrupt your… meeting? But it is most important.”
He pressed his lips together. “It’s a small gathering from the Rising Sun Society.”
Her brother had taken her to one of that society’s meetings. There had been a lot of shouting and anger over the inequalities in England, but no productive ideas. Juliana had only attended once. She’d forgotten Snow was a member.
“Snowdon, who’s there?” a woman's voice called.
Juliana had also forgotten that the Rising Sun was where Snow had met Miss Lynn, and then brought her into Voltaire and the Rose Salon.
“My sister and her…” Snowdon narrowed his eyes at Brogan.
“Her friend.” Brogan folded his arms across his chest.
“Well, let them in,” Miss Lynn said.
Her brother sighed, but did as he was told.
Juliana stepped into a small room, made even more confining by the abundance of furniture, knickknacks, and rugs piled everywhere. At the far wall, a striking cerulean blue settee drew the eye. Arranged on top was Miss Bella Lynn, wearing nothing but a silk robe. Her calves were bare, along with one shoulder as she lay on her belly, posing.
A man sat across from her, an easel before him, painting the image.
Another man sat scowling in the corner.
“Lady Juliana, Mr. Duffy,” Miss Lynn said, “how lovely of you to join us.”
Brogan stiffened beside her. He studiously kept his gaze everywhere but on Miss Lynn and her partial nudity.
Juliana’s heart melted. He was a dear man.
“We don't mean to intrude,” she said. “I came to speak to my brother about some important news.”
“By all means.” Miss Lynn waved her arm. “We were merely discussing the constitutional rumblings being heard in Spain, and how such an uprising might sweep across England, as well. Nothing too important we can’t spare Snowdon.”
Juliana bit the inside of her cheek. Insolent woman. How did Snow stand her company?
“Well?” Snowdon said. “What is it?” He tapped his foot and looked longingly over his shoulder, back at Miss Lynn.
Juliana shook her head. Brogan had been right. He had seen something that she had not. Her brother was most definitely infatuated.
She drew him into a corner of the room and used Brogan’s large body to block them from view. And hopefully from hearing.
“It's about Mr. Pickens,” she whispered.
“Pickens,” he exclaimed, loud enough for the patrons of the tea shop below to hear. “Why would I care about that man?”
Juliana sighed. “He's dead. Killed. He said he wanted to speak with me and Bro— Mr. Duffy, and then was murdered the next day. Do you not find that suspicious?”
