“You’re coming home, Juliana.” Her usually easy brother’s face was drawn in stern lines. He strode to her and took her arm. “No more nonsense. Come along.”
She sputtered as he propelled her forward. “What are you doing? Unhand me this instant.”
The door swung open. James peered in, a frown creasing his face. “Is everything all right, Juliana? We’ve started discussing Mrs. Siddons. I know how you enjoy her performances.”
Snow loosened his grip on her arm. “Everything is fine. Juliana isn’t feeling well and I’m taking her home.”
She pulled free. “I’m feeling much better. Hyacinth’s family will see me home when I’m ready to return.” She gave the men a bright smile, knowing Snow wouldn’t want to cause a scene. “I’ll be home when the diversions of London have ceased to entertain me. Goodbye, Snow. James. It was lovely to see you again.” And she flew from the room.
“Juliana!” her brother called.
The low voice of James followed her down the hall. “Snowdon, now that I have you, I’ve been meaning to ask…”
She gathered her hat and coat and hurried from the townhouse. She owed James a gift for that bit of diversion. He’d always been able to read situations and people well.
She hailed a cab. She used to think she was good at reading people, too. Unconventional though it was, she’d thought her brother considered her his equal. A confidante, a friend.
Not someone he could order home like a dog.
But Snow wasn’t a man who stood on principle. For him, the means justified the ends. And if he truly feared for her safety, perhaps his heavy-handedness could be excused.
But his refusal to see the danger their father was in bordered on unforgiveable. If their father scoffed at his near-death events, and her brother refused to acknowledge them, then it was solely down to her to catch a killer.
And for once in her life, Juliana didn’t know if she was up to the task.
Chapter Four
Brogan’s knife whisked over the bit of silver birch in his hand. The blade caught the Bond offices’ lamplight, a subtle flash every time he scraped downwards. He didn’t know what form would appear from this carving; the wood hadn’t told him yet.
Two fellow agents laughed from their desks in the corner of the open main office.They’djust concluded their latest case, successfully he might add. Their laughter was most likely over him, his failure in capturing one small, strange woman.
A pair of scuffed boots entered his field of vision. Brogan looked up, into his boss’s face. He nodded. “Wil.”
Wilberforce, the manager of the agency, looked at the hunk of wood in Brogan’s hands, at the row of carved figures lining the edge of his desk, and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we had so little to occupy you that you turned to whittling.”
“Helps me think.”
Wil nodded. He grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it up to Brogan’s desk, his left foot dragging slightly with each step. The manager had never told Brogan how he had been injured to suffer the limp.
And Brogan had never asked.
“We’ve had another message from Lord Snowdon,” Wil said. “He’s in London. He saw his sister at some philosophical meeting at a Mr. Rodger Rose’s home, but she ran again.”
After making an obscene amount of money writing frilly poems, Rodger Rose had turned to more intellectual pursuits, creating a salon for open conversation in many fields. As uninterested in the lives of the Beau Monde as Brogan was, even he knew of the man’s influence. “Did Snowdon know she was a member of the Rose Salon?”
Wil ran a hand through his black hair. “Apparently they’re both members.”
“And he didn’t think to tell us this when we asked about her interests?” Brogan snorted and tossed his wood and blade on his desk. “Does he still want us to bring her home?” His gut swirled. If the agency lost this job because he was too slow to get his woman, that could be the end of his employment.
He stretched his right hand, feeling each ache from the lesson he’d had to give a man that afternoon. If he lost this job, his hands would be feeling a lot more pain. He’d have to go back to boxing.
“Yes.” Wil picked up the swan he’d carved last week. “His note was adamant. He wants her home.”
Brogan nodded. That was good. He still had a chance to redeem himself. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. So why were his insides still twisting about like eels in a bucket? “The sister…”
“Lady Juliana? What of her?”
“Could there be a valid reason she shouldn’t return home?” He flexed his hand again. “There’s something about the brother I don’t like.”
