Miss Lynn narrowed her eyes. “My life isn’t over yet.”
“No, and you might even get to enjoy some of it if you provide the courts with information,” Brogan said. “Your brother was involved in the Durham riots?”
“I already told you that.” Miss Lynn gripped the bar in the window. “Lord Stanhope was starving his tenants, not letting them hunt on his land. That riot was the beginning of the end for England’s aristocracy. Mark my words.”
Brogan leaned his shoulder against the wall. “And does your brother hunt with a firearm?”
“No. Bullets are much too dear…” Miss Lynn pressed her lips tight. The glare she sent Brogan would have made lesser men turn tail and run.
“He hunts with a sling, does he not?” Brogan waited for an answer, but when he turned to Juliana with a shrug, it was clear he hadn’t expected one.
At least the woman had loyalty to someone. For Snow’s sake, it was too bad it wasn’t him.
“So, he’s the one who tried to take off my head.” Juliana shoved her hand in Brogan’s coat pocket, hoping to warm it.
“It will be hard to prove.” Brogan took her hands and chafed them between his own.
She rested her temple on his shoulder. “I don’t even care any longer. As long as he stays away from me and my father, I don’t mind that he’s not in prison.”
She rubbed his chest as a low grumble vibrated through it. Of course, he wouldn’t agree. Brogan would want to hunt down anyone who had tried to hurt her.
And she didn’t mind that, either.
“Jules, you’re my sister.” Snowdon stretched his hand out to her. “You can’t leave me in here. People like me don’t belong in places like this.”
She took a last look at her brother. She would remember the affection she had for him as a child. Remember the times they’d laughed together, and nothing else. “Goodbye, Snow.”
Brogan wrapped his arm around her waist as her brother’s shrieks filled the basement. He nodded to the magistrate as they left his house. He helped her into a cart and turned the wagon for Rose’s home.
It was a quiet ride back. Instead of a groom, Lord Dunkeld met them at the stables. He helped Juliana down then turned towards Brogan when he jumped to the ground.
Her muscles tensed. She had hoped she was done fighting for the night. There wasn’t much left in her. But if the marquess thought he could—
Dunkeld stuck out his hand. “I’m happy to know my and my friend’s little agency is doing some good.”
Brogan rubbed his jaw before slowly reaching out to shake. “Does that mean I’ll get a reference?”
The Scotsman crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Are you looking for new employment?”
“I thought, after hitting you, that I’d have to look for another job.”
Dunkeld laughed. “My wife is still hopping mad, but I hold no grudges. It was a good play. And you,” he said to Juliana, “wield a mighty fine cane.”
Juliana bounced on her toes.
Brogan tapped his fingers against his leg, as effusive a sign of excitement as he was liable to give.
She wouldn’t have minded marrying a boxer or a woodworker or whatever Brogan had decided to do, but marrying an investigator…
They’d worked well together on her case. Would he let her work with him again on others?
She’d have to work on her debating skills if she was to convince him.
Dunkeld turned for the house, and they fell in step beside him. “My wife and I will return to London with you, Duffy. I know Wilberforce will want a full report of this investigation, and I want to speak to him and the others about improving communications at the Bond Agency. I was here with Withington, one of the subjects of our cases, and I didn’t know. I could have been protecting him.” The marquess’s nostrils flared.
Juliana placed her hand on his arm. “The doctor says my father will be fine. He wasn’t poisoned. It was just too much plum pudding.”
Dunkeld nodded tersely. “Nonetheless, we need a better system. At least one person who knows where all agents are located and the elements of each current case so nothing like this falls through the cracks again. We were lucky this time.”
