The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(54)

“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.