Wil brought Juliana a cup of tea as she sat before Hurst’s desk. Her head was high, her shoulders back, but she was pale. More shaken than he had ever seen her.
“Tell me what he said again.” Wil crossed his arms over his chest. “Try to repeat your brother’s words as exactly as possible.”
Hurst sat across from her, his pen poised above an inkwell. He'd already written down her statement, but Brogan knew it was effective to have the witness go over it several times. Memories were funny things, and shock had a strange effect on them.
“I told you.” She put the cup on the desk, untouched. “He wants to be earl. He thinks he’ll be able to do great things as Lord Withington.” She swallowed, her throat rolling. “I guess he's no longer willing to wait until nature takes its course. I must get to my father. I must tell him.” Her voice broke on the last words.
Wil squeezed her shoulder, and Brogan squeezed the handle of his knife.
He should be the one offering her comfort. But comfort led to other emotions, to an increase in her expectations. Comfort led to heartbreak later.
“Your father's up in Leeds?” Wil asked. “With this poet fellow?”
Juliana fiddled with the lace on her left cuff, her fingers ceaselessly moving. “They’ve been good friends for twenty years now. And Mr. Rose is more than a poet. He’s written political essays and given lectures to several members of the House of Lords. His ideas could change England forever.”
Hurst looked up from his notes. “I'll take her. Verity and I can both go. I’ll make sure this gets sorted.” He scowled. “I knew I didn't like the look of that brother.”
Brogan stabbed his blade into his desk, leaving it upright in the wood. All right, that was it. He stood. “I'm taking her.”
Yes, this idea was stupid. Yes, it went against everything he’d just been telling himself about keeping his distance. But no way was he trusting Juliana’s safety to anyone but himself. Even the past few days, when other agents had taken their turns at her friend's house to watch over her, he had remained close by, always ready to intervene.
Juliana started, as though she'd forgotten he was there. Which was something else that got under his skin. He didn’t want her to be heartbroken now they were no longer together, but did he slip her mind that easily? There wasn’t a moment she wasn’t invading his thoughts.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you still working my investigation?”
“Of course, I'm still on your investigation,” he said sharply. “I was never off it.” She had received a large shock, been betrayed by a close family member. That could be the only excuse for her thinking he would leave her security to anyone else.
“That's true.” Wil tilted his head and eyed Brogan. “Mr. Duffy is still lead investigator. He just had some personal matters to attend to these past couple days.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain the personal matters are now resolved? We do have other agents who are more than capable of—”
“I'm sure.” He circled his desk and went to stand in front of Juliana. “Your brother has returned to Bluff Hall?”
“That's where he said he was going.”
“We have some time then.” Brogan rubbed his temple. “Tomorrow morning we'll leave for Leeds. Have a chest packed and be ready for me. Early.”
She nodded and stared at her hands. “This will devastate my father. I don't know how he'll ever recover.”
“Will he believe you?” Wil asked. “You're a very sensible sort of woman, but if it came down to your word against your brother's, who will your father believe?”
She blinked. “I… I think me.” She licked her lips. “Snow said Father respects me more, and much as I hate to think a parent plays favorites, I think he’s right. Father does ask my opinion before Snow’s. It’s one of the reasons he h-hates me.” A shudder ran through her body, and Brogan fought the urge to drop by her side, pull her into his arms.
He flexed his hand instead, and visualized the broken nose he would give Snowdon. The meaning of her words filtered through his anger, and he frowned. “Your father trusts your judgment over your brother's?” The man hadn’t when Juliana had told him she thought his life was in danger, but suspicions were different than relating a first-hand conversation with her brother. Withington might think Juliana was mistaken about the attempts on his life, but if he trusted her to not outright lie about what she’d learned…
“Yes, that's what I just said.”
Brogan didn't mind her testy tone. He liked that a bit of temper brought some color to her cheeks. “Then is it likely that your brother would return to Bluff Hall, give you time to speak with your father, time to bring the authorities down upon him? If I had admitted to such a dastardly plan, I would hardly kick my heels up at home, waiting for my end to come.”
“What are you saying?” Juliana asked.
Wil ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll send a messenger ahead. He’ll ride like the wind to get a warning to the man.”
“What would the message say?” Juliana jerked out of her chair and started pacing. “Ithinkmy father will believe me, if I talk with him, face-to-face. If the information is relayed in a letter, that his son is trying to kill him, even if signed by me?” She shrugged. “He won’t accept the seriousness of the situation from a message. Why would he when he doesn't even believe anyone has tried to kill him before?”
“Do we have any men around Leeds who we can send to watch over him?” Hurst asked.
Wil rubbed his thigh, then found a chair to sink into. “Perhaps. But to what end? If Withington won’t believe him, and our man doesn’t have access to the house the earl’s staying in, our avenues of protection are limited.”
“I need to speak to him,” Juliana said. “If Snowdon is trying to get to him first, we must leave now. Immediately.”
