Someone thumped at the doorway.
Bloody hell with this foreign staff who didn’t know the rules on interrupting a Killoran meeting.
“Enter,” he thundered.
Nerrie ducked his head inside, his cheeks ashen.
“What is it?”
“It’s Miss Spark, sir.”
“She’s been here but a day,” he barked. “Are you telling me she’s making trouble already?” And should he really expect anything different from the spitfire?
“No, sir. That is . . .” Nerrie gulped. “She’s gone.”
“Oi knew it,” Stephen cried, slamming his fist against his opposite palm.
All of Broderick’s muscles jumped. “Gone?” That slipped out on a steely whisper. Reggie, who was rot at subterfuge and taller than most of the males on his staff, had slipped out in the middle of the damned day?
Nerrie gave a jerky nod. “Y-yes, sir.”
Bloody hell. “The meeting is concluded for now.”
Ophelia was already on her feet. “I’ll find Connor.”
“You are all being ridiculous,” Cleo cried as her siblings rushed off. “Reggie would not betray us.”
Broderick stormed around his desk, but Cleo stepped into his path, blocking him from leaving.
“What?” he snapped.
Cleo settled her hands on her hips. “You’re punishing her when you know nothing about the reasons for her decision.”
“I’m treating her as I would anyone who threatens our club.” Nor would he make apologies for it.
Cleo was unrelenting. “Why do you think she’s done what she has?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” she countered, giving him pause. “You live a life based on logic and reason. Look and see that which is in front of you.”
He frowned. “If you know something, have out with it.”
She immediately went tight-lipped. “It’s not my place to say. Ask her yourself.” Cleo gave her head a shake. “And when you discover her motives, then tell me it doesn’t matter. You bastard.”
With that cryptic warning, Cleo left.
“Her motives,” he muttered under his breath as he strode through the double doors opened by his butler.
A short while later, his sister’s warning forgotten, Broderick guided his horse through the fashionable London streets. As he wound past fancy lords and ladies in their elegant attire, fury pumped through him, burning with its ferocity. He’d been clear in his orders, and not even a day in her new assignment, she’d bolted. Of course, she’d shown her true colors these past days. She isn’t the loyal, devoted friend you’ve taken her for but one as ruthless in her goals as . . . me. She’d proven not unlike him, in this. Gnashing his teeth, Broderick forced back the unwanted comparison and focused on finding the woman he’d handed his darkest secret over to. He scoured his gaze over the streets.
And yet . . .
She wouldn’t be here. Broderick frowned. She’d been clear that she’d no desire to accompany the Killorans to London’s high end.
Which of course could only mean . . .
Broderick tugged on the reins of his mount, bringing him to a stop so abruptly that Chance did a quick circle to slow his steps.
She’d be in the Dials.
Alone.
And with that realization, his anger lifted, and a memory trickled in of their first meeting: Regina as she’d been, her eyes wild, her skin pale and faintly bruised as he’d approached. Had she not accompanied him back, she would have perished.
She was not, however, that same scared woman she’d been. She’d become a fearless warrior unafraid to go toe to toe with him.
Nay, Reggie Spark could take care of herself in these streets better than most grown men. He told himself that over and over again.
That didn’t stop the grim possibilities from buffeting at his logic: Reggie on her own, fending off assailants. Reggie being dragged down an alley—
Oh, God.
His stomach churned, and clicking his tongue, Broderick wheeled his horse onward to the Dials.
He’d taught her to take care of herself. He’d taught her everything she needed to survive. Telling himself that did nothing to diminish the terror clutching at his insides.
Half-mad with panic, he rode his mount hard.
Where could she be?
Chapter 14
Is today the day that vengeance is mine?
“He’s going to murder you,” Clara drawled from the opposite end of the single-drawer tea table.
Reggie didn’t even pick her head up from the calculations she was currently completing. “He won’t even notice I’ve gone.” She directed that at the page. She paused and silently counted the monies saved with the adjustment to the liquor contract. Bloody hell, where in blazes was she going to make up the lost funds?
“His guards will, and then he will, and then he’ll murder you,” Clara amended.
“Pfft. Broderick’s men were otherwise engaged.” Those lax guards had been too busy charming the new parlor maids to notice Reggie making use of the servants’ stairway. “He was visiting with his siblings. There was a . . . family meeting.” Meetings which she’d always been part of . . . until now. Now she was the source of the discussion. Reggie’s fingers tightened, and the pencil snapped in her grip, shattering into two neat pieces. She tossed the remaining scrap in her hand aside. “And then they have their first foray into Polite Society this evening.” What Reggie was or was not doing would be the least of Broderick’s focus this night. Rubbing shoulders with the nobility was all that would matter . . . any night, really.
“Brava,” Clara praised, managing an awkward clap with the floral teacup in her fingers. “Sneaking past his guards while all the Killoran siblings were otherwise occupied. Some would say that is an insurmountable feat.”
Reggie bristled, tired of yet another challenge to her integrity. “Part of the arrangement I made with him was that when my services are not engaged, I’m granted time to see to my own business.”
With a snort, Clara toasted Reggie with the cup. “Something has me believe that this freedom”—she motioned to Reggie and the work laid out before her—“is not what he intended.”
Reggie caught her lower lip. No, her slipping between Mayfair and the Dials in the middle of the day when anyone might see was likely not the agreement he’d had in mind. Not while any missteps she made would have disastrous consequences for Gertrude’s reception amongst the ton. Guilt needled at her conscience, but she forcibly thrust it back. She’d spent years putting the Killoran family first before everyone, including herself. Now she faced ruin far greater than that of her reputation if she didn’t succeed in her plans. “Then he’ll need to be more specific in his future transactions.”
Clara’s shoulders shook with her amusement as she filled the half-empty cup in her hands to the top. From behind the rim of her teacup, Clara blew on the piping brew. Laughing softly, she offered Reggie another small salute.
She was the only person in all of England to take her tea hot and not lukewarm. Reggie dropped her elbows on the French satinwood table. “May I ask you a question?”
Clara gave a slight nudge of her chin.
She pointed to the steaming floral porcelain pot. “Why do you always drink your tea hot?”
The other woman leaned forward. “Truthfully?”
Reggie nodded.
“Because everyone expects I should drink it one way.” She shrugged. “To hell with them.”
“Hmph,” she said with a dawning understanding. “I . . . can appreciate that.” Reggie picked up another pencil. For years she’d been Broderick’s loyal assistant. The expectation was that she’d place his wants, wishes, and needs above all . . . including her own interests. And for so long . . . she had. She’d done precisely that. Reggie’s gaze fell to the last number she’d tabulated. What a pathetic fool she’d been.
She resumed her new calculations based on the additional expenses they’d lost to Broderick’s increased price of the building. The loss of one thousand pounds required adjustments to every other detail that had previously been worked out.