The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(70)

Another inelegant snort escaped Cleo. “You’re taking umbrage with a gent watching after his sister?”

“Yes.” He puzzled his brow. “No.” Bloody hell. “Yes. In this instance I am. He merely sought a place alongside Reggie.”

“And you gathered all that from?” Shaking her head, she stared expectantly back.

In the way Cavendish had, with his eyes, stripped that emerald creation off Reggie’s willowy frame. “Pfft.” He adjusted his immaculately knotted gold satin cravat. “I know men.” His father had been a scoundrel, and Broderick had made his fortunes catering to other men’s vices.

Cleo studied a finger and picked at a jagged nail. “Seems a lot of information to note about some nobs and Reggie. The same nobs,” she pointed out, “who have spoken with her as they did any other worker at the Devil’s Den.”

“Yes, but this is different.” And that had also been before.

“Oh?” That syllable hinted at one who saw absolutely nothing.

“Now she looks like this,” he hissed.

Cleo tossed her hands up in exasperation. “Like what?”

As if she were one of those mermaids who’d traded her fins for long, graceful limbs and moved amongst mere mortals like the siren she was. “You know what I’m talking about,” he clipped out, doing another search for the taller-than-most-guests lady with flame-red curls.

“No, Broderick,” Cleo confirmed. “I really have no bloody idea what you’re saying.”

“Her gown,” he said distractedly. Where in blazes had she gone?

“Her gown?” Cleo repeated. “I have it on account from Gertrude that you were the one who insisted Reggie trade her brown dresses for her current wardrobe.”

He curled his hands into fists. And what a blasted mistake that had been.

“And furthermore . . . what do you think? She was lured off by one of those rogues to some clandestine meeting?”

Broderick opened his mouth and closed it. He tried again.

Except Cleo’s droll query roused unwelcome images. Unwanted ones. A rake luring Reggie off. Tempting her. Running his hands over those exposed, creamy-white shoulders.

Tendrils of something potent, something that felt very much like jealousy, slithered around his chest, making words impossible.

His entire body turned to stone.

By God. Surely, he was not jealous over—

Cleo jabbed him hard in the side with her elbow. “I was jesting.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “And furthermore, why are you, of a sudden, so concerned with where Reggie is or isn’t?”

His mind stalled.

Of course he was not jealous. It was nonsensical and irrational.

Mindful of the attention even now being paid as he and Cleo, two of the most lethal members of the former Diggory gang, stood there, Broderick spoke in hushed tones reserved for his sister’s ears. “She’s here to serve as Gertrude’s companion.”

“Gertrude, who is even now speaking with Ophelia and Connor,” Cleo pointed out.

He continued over her. “Any scandalous actions on Reggie’s part will be a reflection on Gertrude.”

Cleo eyed him like he’d sprung a second head. “And all of a sudden you’re so very concerned with what people might say about us?” She moved closer. More than a foot shorter than his own height, only Cleo was capable of looking down the length of her nose at a taller man. “You never cared about how our past or reputations might impact our future amongst the nobs. I suspect, deep down, you know why you’re really searching for Regina.”

He pleated his brow. What was she suggesting?

“Now,” Cleo said, taking a step back. “If you’ll excuse me? I’ve dragged Adair here far longer than either of us wish to be.”

That was it?

She turned to go. “Oh, and Broderick?” she tossed over her shoulder. “If you are looking for Reggie, she’s in the alcove at the corner of the ballroom.”

His gaze automatically shot to the curtained alcove in question. When he glanced back, Cleo had gone, disappearing into the crowd with the same fleet-of-foot skill she’d had as a girl picking pockets. All the while his sister had known precisely where Reggie had been, and yet she’d allowed him to panic about . . .

What? As she’d taunted, what reasons had he had to be agitated? She’d spotted the lie through his expectations for Reggie’s conduct.

Shifting his attentions back to the very person he’d spent the better part of thirty minutes now searching for, Broderick started through the ballroom, passing men just a smidgeon below royalty and weaving around the leading lords and ladies of London’s ballrooms. It was the realization of a long-held goal, and yet all his focus remained on a pair of thick brocade curtains.

Broderick reached the corner of the hall, and with his back kept deliberately to that hiding place Reggie had made for herself, he stepped back and entered.

As soon as the curtains fell back into place, the hiss of a blade sliced through the darkened space. And its tip pricked his throat.

He’d gone lax. There was no other way of accounting for his being caught off guard. He made himself go absolutely motionless. “Is this to be my repayment for forcing you into the role of companion?” he drolly asked.

“Broderick?” Reggie demanded on a furious whisper. She drew the knife away from his throat. “What in blazes? I could have killed you.”