Dunkeld stepped beside him. “She’s dropping her left shoulder with each swing.”
“I see that.” He could work on that with her later.
Snowdon pressed one hand into the floor, pushing his upper body upright. “Jules, please…”
Juliana threw the cane down and made a fist. “You don’t have the right to call me Jules.” She pulled her arm back.
Brogan leapt forwards and caught her hand just in time. He kissed her knuckles. “You’re more likely to hurt your hand than his head with an untrained punch, my love.”
Her chest heaved. Her eyes were wild. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“It’s over,” he told her. “You did it. Your father is safe.” Brogan darted a glance at the man. Withington was slumped in his chair, his face grey and haggard. He looked caved in, broken, but such a shock would do that to a person. Juliana would help him recover.
“While I’m quite happy no one is going to get shot, what do you think you were doing hitting my husband?” The marchioness planted her hands on her hips and glared at Brogan.
Dunkeld rubbed his face. “I believe I was the unwitting distraction he provided for Lady Juliana to grab Rose’s cane.”
Brogan shrugged. “You’re big enough to take a punch.”
Lady Dunkeld’s eyes went even squintier. “How dare—”
Her husband ran his hands up and down her arms. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve been hit harder by children,” he said archly.
Brogan ignored the insult. “Will you send for a doctor?” he asked Rose. “There’s a chance Snowdon and Miss Lynn put something in Withington’s food or drink that affected his health.”
Rose stood and shuffled to the bell pull. “And the dramatics continue.” He made his way to Withington and squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Of course, I’ll send for a doctor. Along with the magistrate.”
A servant entered. Over much protesting on Snowdon’s part and sneering on Miss Lynn’s, Rose directed the servant to have them held in the stables until the magistrate arrived. The appearance of several burly grooms as escorts put an end to their complaints.
Brogan shoved his hands in his pockets. His job was done. As was his short-lived career as an investigator. When he returned to the ring, there was an even smaller chance of ever seeing Juliana again than he’d had before.
His employers were aristocrats. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d thought perhaps he might run into her while performing a task for them. See her at an opera if an investigation took him there. But as a boxer, their paths would never cross.
He let himself enjoy one more moment of weakness and tucked an errant strand of Juliana’s hair off her cheek. His fingers lingered on her smooth skin. “You’ll be all right now. Goodbye, Juliana.”
She blinked. “What?”
“My job is over. It’s time I got back to London and looked for new employment. Your life is here, with your father.”
“New employment…” She looked at the raising bruise on the marquess’s face, her face clearing with understanding. She pointed a finger at the Scotsman. “You’d better not be thinking about dismissing Brogan. I don’t care how high up you and your friends are, if you end his employment, I will make it my life’s mission to destroy your agency’s reputation.”
Brogan rocked back on his heels. “Uh, Juliana, that’s not necessary. I’ll just—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” She included Brogan in her finger jabbing. “If you think I’m going to let you lose your job for such a trifle—”
“A trifle!” Lady Dunkeld huffed.
“—then you haven’t been paying attention to the kind of woman I am.” Juliana whirled on Rose. “I know you don’t like scenes. I suggest you leave now if you don’t want to witness the one I’m about to make.”
Rose grunted. “You saved your father. I suppose your behavior can be excused just this once.”
“Juliana…” Withington reached out, and Juliana took his hand, kissing it.
“Don’t worry, Father. I’ll take you home soon and we’ll work together to get past this.”
Brogan’s chest went tight. This really was the end. She’d sputter and fight for his job a few moments longer, then she’d disappear into Bluff Hall and he’d…
He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d be fine. His life had been tolerable before he’d met Juliana; it would be tolerable after she was no longer in it.
