The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(29)

And he hadn’t. He’d trusted Regina Spark implicitly in every way. Had expected her to say yes because he needed her to, and because she’d been like a member of their family. But then, Stephen’s revelation had proven that to be a lie several times over.

How wrong he’d been on so very many scores where Reggie was concerned.

A guilty blush pinkened his sister’s cheeks. Having been kept largely from acts of treachery and crime as a girl because of her partial blindness, she’d not developed the same ease at subterfuge and dissembling as the rest of their clan. “Broderick . . . ,” she began.

“Am I incorrect?” He leveled a probing stare on her.

Her silence marked her answer.

“And all the while I was foolish enough to believe her devoted enough to be there for you.”

Gertrude winced. “Broderick,” she chided. “That’s unfair. Reggie’s never been anything but loyal to us.”

Cheers went up, and Broderick silently cursed the jubilant gents gathering winnings at that table.

After the celebration died down, he spoke casually in hushed tones reserved for Gertrude’s ears. “I don’t believe you comprehend the gravity of our situation.”

“How dare you.” His sister pursed her lips. “I understand precisely what is at stake.”

“Do you, though?” he asked crisply. “Have you given thought to all the men, women, and children who’ll find themselves out on the streets of Seven Dials, living like animals?” The color bled from her cheeks. “Do you realize my very neck”—both literally and figuratively—“is on the damned line?”

Gertrude caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Surely you know a Season is a waste of our efforts.”

Not for what he sought for her. A sound of impatience escaped him. “Do you believe that because you’re a Killoran?” For each of his sisters’ strengths, they had never seen their true worth. They hadn’t realized that for their lack of noble blood, they may as well have been born queens for the strength in them.

“I never doubted Cleo or Ophelia could or would make a match.” Gertrude paused. At her silence, he glanced over. “It is you who doubted me.” He flinched. “Don’t try to deny it,” she said before he could speak. “It is because I am blind, Broderick,” she said matter-of-factly. “Gentlemen don’t want a blind bride. And you—”

He scoffed. “That is rub—”

“Know it, too,” she spoke over him. “Or you would have sent me first instead of Cleo or Ophelia. They were the ones who could secure you that connection.”

His neck heated. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said tightly, doing a sweep of the floor.

“Don’t I?”

Of course she would see every prior decision he’d made in that light. Because Gertrude, just like all his siblings, knew when he set his mind to something, it was not a matter of if it would happen, but when. As such, she would see only the surface of that decision to not send her. She’d taken it as an indictment against her, hadn’t seen that his had been a bid to protect. A truth he’d never admit, for it would only hurt her for altogether different reasons. Either way . . . “You’ll have what you requested.” Or rather . . . who.

Gertrude sharpened her gaze on him. “What?”

He tugged at his lapels. “I’m insulted. That you’d doubt my—”

“What. Did. You. Do?” she bit out.

Over the top of her head, Broderick caught sight of MacLeod at the doorway that connected the gaming hell floor to the corridor leading to the private suites. The burly guard lifted a folded sheet in his hand.

Whipping her head back, she followed Broderick’s stare. “Broderick?” she demanded.

“You’re determined to have Miss Spark as your companion for the Season, and as such, I intend to see you receive what you require. If you’ll excuse me?” He stepped around her.

Sputtering, Gertrude rushed after him. “But . . . but . . . what are you doing to secure her assistance?” She knew him. The fear in her eyes spoke of one who knew the ruthless practices he’d employed over the years to secure what he wanted when he wanted.

“Does it matter?” he drawled, not breaking stride, forcing her to match his longer steps. All the while, patrons lifted their hands in greeting and made way for Broderick and Gertrude.

Ever the consummate host, Broderick returned those greetings and waves.

“Yes,” Gertrude snapped, slightly out of breath. “It very much does.”

They neared the back of the club, and he lifted his finger. “Ah, then you should have indicated there were limits to what you’d do to have Miss Spark.”

Gertrude gripped his arm, forcing him to a stop. “Since when has Reggie become Miss Spark to you?”

Since she’d offered him lies and then placed her own desires before the good of the Killoran family. Broderick was unendingly loyal . . . so much so that one crack in that devotion revealed itself. At which point, anything went in terms of Broderick’s dealings with him . . . or in this case, her. “I’m merely meeting your demands.” Glancing dismissively past her, he gestured MacLeod forward.

From where he’d lingered in the wings, allowing Broderick and Gertrude privacy, the guard sprang forward. He handed over a note.