The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(36)

Her eyes darkened. “Stop playing games with me,” she snapped. She might not have gleaned the reason for his being here, but she would be astute enough to fix on the formality he’d erected between them. Her eyes glittered with outrage. “I’m not one of Diggory’s former street thugs who you’d intimidate.”

No, she was the woman who intended to steal his staff and negotiate for herself better rates and prices on liquor, while keeping it all a secret between them. Betrayal stung his throat.

He tossed his arm wide, drawing her attention to the table. “Why, I’m merely here to conduct our transaction.”

All the color leached from her cheeks, and her freckles stood out starkly in her horror.

“That is,” he went on, settling into the wobbly wood seat, “if you’d still like to move forward with the purchase of this”—he flicked his gaze about the run-down hall—“fine establishment?”

“You own it,” she whispered.

“Oh, only just recently.”

Reggie’s thick, fiery lashes swept down. “How recently?”

He smirked. “I found myself the proud owner just last night.”

A shuddery gasp exploded from Reggie’s lips. Her legs swayed under her, and she sank lifeless into the seat across from him.

Broderick made a show of studying the contracts his solicitor had hastily written up. Ones that would turn this place from his hold over to Reggie’s. He drew out the moment, feeling her eyes on him, taking in his every movement. That mastery of any exchange he’d learned not from Diggory, the gang leader who’d taken him under his wing, but from the earl his late father had once served. From that influential member of the peerage, Broderick had appreciated the power of silence and had come to use it as a tool to unsettle his opponents. At last, he shifted his attention briefly to the tense spitfire opposite him. “Shall we begin?”

Except . . .

Reggie seethed, the fury emanating from her aquamarine irises threatening to burn him. “Let’s,” she clipped out.

Knocked briefly off-kilter by that show of resolve, he attended his documents. “Now.” Gathering the stack of papers in hand, Broderick flipped through, searching for one item in particular. “I understand you had terms agreed upon with the previous owner? What was the sum of the purchase price?”

Tension crackled in the room.

He glanced up.

And if looks could kill, he’d have been smote before Reggie Spark’s feet. “Come, the all-powerful Broderick Killoran knows all.” She dropped her palms on the table and leaned forward, striking in her fury. “Surely you gathered how much I intend to offer for this place.”

Not what she’d negotiated. Not the price settled on between her and the previous owner.

But rather, how much she intended to offer . . . which spoke of a woman who had no intention of moving away from that payment amount. One who intended to go toe to toe with him despite his having secured the upper hand.

And through his outrage an appreciation flared.

“Three thousand pounds,” he murmured. “An impressive sum for any woman to amass. For anyone, really,” he added. “But especially so for a woman in a society that limits her opportunities and options.”

A low, throaty growl worked its way up Reggie’s throat. “I earned those monies.” She thumped the table with her fist. The folders and papers still littering the surface jumped from the force of that knock. “It was never charity.” Her cheeks went flush with a palpable anger that highlighted the lines of her high, prominent cheekbones.

Fearless.

She was fearless in every way. None dared go toe to toe with him. And Reggie, who’d been his right arm through the years, he’d expected at the very least remorse from. Never . . . this. This passion. This strength.

And through his earlier appreciation, Broderick felt something more.

Desire stirred . . . for Reggie Spark. Of course, his body had no appreciation for logic or the wrongness of that response to this woman who had served in his employ and who’d even now betrayed him. Rather, his was a primal response to the spirit that emanated from within her.

“How indignant you are,” he purred. Her thin eyebrows with their natural arch snapped together. Broderick held her gaze. “But if you believe I couldn’t have found someone to do precisely what you’ve done for significantly less payment, and with a good deal more loyalty than to make off with my best staff, you’re as naive as the day I brought you into the Killoran fold.”

Her body jerked like he’d run her through.

I will not feel bad . . . I will not feel bad . . . He knew she’d brought them to this moment. Even telling himself that, replaying the mantra and reminder in his mind, guilt sat low in his stomach. For everything that had come to light these past twenty-four hours, he’d shared more with this woman than he had anyone outside of his sisters.

“What do you intend?” she spat. “To stop me from purchasing this place?” He heard the worry there. It lent the faintest quake to the question that another might have missed. But he’d built his empire off gathering any hint of a person’s weakness.

Tilting back on the legs of his chair, Broderick rested his hands behind his head. He scoffed. “Of course not. What kind of monster do you take me for?”

Distrust remained sharp in her aquamarine eyes. “One who’d snoop about and buy this place out from under me.”