“Where were you when it happened?”
“The stables.” Which wasn’t altogether untrue. They just hadn’t been his stables. “It was a horse, Broderick,” she said with a sigh. That much was true. It was just the foreign stables she’d been in and the boy she’d been chasing after that truly mattered.
“A horse?” He shook his head. “Horses do not bite.”
“Oh, I assure you, they do. I’ve been bit on the thigh. That hurt like the Devil but didn’t bleed nearly as much. Another nipped at my shoulder.” She motioned to the spot of a long-ago wound. “My—”
He arched an eyebrow.
She abruptly stopped, hating that age-old penchant for rambling when nervous. It had been the curse of her childhood and just one of her many struggles in trying to fit in with the people of the Dials.
“My horses do not,” he clarified.
No, they didn’t. They were as obedient as any other member of his staff. Bloody hell, he was unrelenting. He wouldn’t give in until he had an answer. She waged an inner battle with herself. Stephen would never forgive her for sharing his secret with Broderick. But Broderick was deserving of the truth. Bloody hell. “It happened when I was following Stephen.”
All his muscles tensed. “What—”
She interrupted him and proceeded to provide a vague telling of Stephen’s actions and how she’d come about an injured ear. She took care to avoid mention of the fancy end of London he’d been wandering around.
When she finished, Broderick cursed. “I told him he wasn’t to be out on his own.”
“But he’s accustomed to it. One cannot simply just change their ways and habits.”
“He can,” he said bluntly. “He no longer has a choice.”
Reggie searched his face. “What do you mean?” She knew this man enough to know there was more at play. He’d never limited the boy’s actions before this. Not even after the fire he’d set that had destroyed their rival’s gaming establishment.
Broderick immediately veiled his features and presented that mask he donned with everyone else in the clubs. “I meant nothing by it.” He pushed his sleeves down. “I want you resting.” Next, he collected his cloak and jacket. “I still intend for the doctor to see you. Regardless of the seeming innocuity of the wound,” he spoke over her protestations. He started for the door. “I’d have you remember Jack Spier,” he said, reaching for the handle.
Reggie snorted. “Jack Spier was stuck with a rusted blade, covered in dirt. I hardly think the two wounds are the same.”
He inclined his head. “Ah, yes. And the mouth of a horse who eats shite and hay is a good deal cleaner,” he drawled.
“Do you know your sister’s equine books indicated that if a horse eats dung it’s an indication there is a problem with his diet. In fact, it is known as coprophagy and—”
“Reggie.”
She sighed. “Very well. Send him.”
He flung his garments over his opposite arm. “Take the remainder of the day to rest,” he instructed, starting for the front of the room.
“Broderick?” she called after him. He spared her a glance over his shoulder. “He needs to be more carefully guarded . . . but go easy on him.”
Reggie stared at the oak panel long after he left. Broderick had been upset with the information she’d sought to keep from him this day.
What would he say when he learned just what she’d kept from him all these months . . . and the plans she had for her future?
Chapter 4
Which would you prefer? To spend out your days in Newgate? Or a hanging? Either way, your fate is the same.
She’d been looking after his brother.
Not a single sane man, woman, or child would go dashing through the streets of the Dials, and certainly not for a miserable, surly boy like Stephen.
And yet . . . that is precisely what Reggie had done.
Mayhap it was that the end was rushing up quick to meet him. Or mayhap it was the early-morn hour and the days without sleep, but an appreciation stirred for the courageous spitfire who’d throw reason and caution aside to look out for another.
Nay, not just appreciation. This went far deeper. People didn’t put other people’s well-being before their own. Why, his own coward of a father was testament to that. And then there was Reggie: fearless. Courageous. Undaunted. And beautiful. She was that, too. He just hadn’t noticed that inconvenient fact—until now.
Walking briskly through his private suites, Broderick choked. You bloody fool. The noose was tightening. His future had all but been decided a short while ago in the alleys of the Dials, and here Broderick was, lusting after Regina Spark. Swamped with self-disgust, he loosened his cravat.
Nay, it had been a momentary lapse in sanity that had very nearly seen his mouth on hers. The reality of his own mortality . . . of the impending doom about to rain down upon him . . . had chased off all reason.
Knowing that, however, didn’t make him feel any less caddish.
Focus on your bloody situation.
After all, he had far greater matters to set to rights.
Broderick strode past servants still hard at work cleaning the bloodstains from the carpets. Whether he’d almost kissed Reggie, wanted to, or dreamed the entire interlude was irrelevant in the scheme of the peril that faced him: Walsh and Lucy.
Nay, more specifically . . . the Marquess of Maddock.
I cannot make this go away.
He dragged a shaky hand through his hair. He was at a loss. Just as he’d been when he and his father had been turned out by his father’s employer and Broderick’s godfather, the Earl of Andover.
Broderick’s father had proven himself useless in helping them survive.
And if I do not see all my family cared for and looked after . . . I’m very much his son.
He hardened his jaw. No, he’d not leave his family in the same sorry state his miserable excuse of a sire had left him. Each sibling would be looked after and their futures settled. Broderick neared the stairway where his head guard stood on duty.
At his approach, MacLeod straightened.
“Where is my sister?”
“She was called to the stables.” The burly man’s lips twitched. “Problem with one of the barn cats.”
Yes, that had forever been Gertrude. She was the most tenderhearted of his sisters. Absent of the same pitilessness that drove Broderick, Stephen, Cleo, and Ophelia, she was the only soft one of the Killorans. The one who’d always required protecting . . . and I failed her.
Just as I’m failing her again, now.
A sick sense of shame gripping him, Broderick found his way through the mews.
All the hands and grooms stood in a circle outside the stone stables, smoking cheroots and quietly talking.
Harry, the most recent street urchin rescued by Ophelia and set to work at the Devil’s Den, immediately snapped to attention. Following the boy’s focus over to Broderick, the well-clad servants immediately tossed down their cheroots and cigars and pocketed their flasks.
Broderick motioned for them to continue as they’d been as he let himself in through the wide, curved white doorway. The scent of hay and horses immediately filled his nostrils.
He blinked, attempting to bring the darkened space into clarity, searching for Gertrude . . . and finding her at the far end of the stables.
Back presented to him, she lifted a finger warningly.
With a careful tread, he picked his way over the errant pieces of hay that littered the floor.
He stopped beside his sister.
“How is Reggie?”
“She will be fine.” Intractable as always, but her wound would heal. “I see you’ve given my entire stable staff the morn off.”
Gertrude again touched a silencing finger to her lips. “He’s being mulish,” she whispered softly, ignoring that droll jest on Broderick’s part.
Broderick followed her stare overhead.