The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(76)

Stephen tugged at his sleeve. He spoke, his breathless words hushed, rolling together. “She’s causing trouble. Told ya, ya can’t trust her. Gert’s got herself a suitor, and she’s interfering. Doesn’t want us to—”

Broderick held up a staying hand. “Enough.”

“Survive. It’s her revenge. I know it.”

“I said, enough,” he said more firmly, cutting into Stephen’s ramblings. “Who is causing trouble?”

Stephen slammed his fist against his open palm. “Damn it. Didn’t ya listen to a bloody word Oi said? Spark.”

Spark, whose name had become synonymous with “trouble.” Broderick scrubbed a hand over his eyes. And then one of the things his brother had uttered registered. He dropped his hand to his side. “Gertrude has a—”

“Damn it, Killoran. Keep up,” the boy cried. “Oi said she has a suitor. Not just any suitor.” He paused. “A real live duke. Fancy looking. Wants to speak to you. Reggie just went in to see him.”

A duke? “Who?”

“Duke of Glaston-Something-Or-Another. Dukes are more powerful than marquesses, ain’t they?” Stephen whispered. “One of the whores said they’re more powerful than anyone except a prince or a king.” He slammed his fist down again. “And Spark is trying to stop it.”

Bloody hell on Sunday. Why in blazes would she do that? He was already striding for his office.

Stephen hurried to keep pace. “Why do you think she’d do it?” Stephen whispered. “She’s trying to destroy us. She knows we need that match. Only thing that makes sense.”

No. That wasn’t Reggie.

But then, neither did you believe she’d plot to steal your best staff and guard out from under you, either.

His brow dipped. “Is the gentleman a patron?” Reggie had been clear she’d never support a match between Gertrude and any lord in debt to Broderick.

“No.” Stephen gave his head a shake. “Never seen ’im in the Devil’s Den even once. Didn’t recognize his name. Glastonbury,” he blurted. “His name was Glastonbury.”

His frown deepened. Then why should she interfere in the gentleman’s courtship?

“She told me to not allow Gert near the gent. Told me to keep her in her chambers.”

He continued past his brother, heading for his office. A pair of parlor maids stepped aside, allowing him to pass. With every step came more and more questions. Why would Reggie turn away a suitor? What motives could she possibly have? Or was it as Stephen said and her actions were driven by malice?

Impossible.

Broderick reached his office, and his gaze quickly took in everything.

The first thing he noted was the gentleman’s nearness to Reggie. His bulky frame, angled toward hers, hinted at a familiarity between them.

Broderick hated him on sight.

The pair at the center of the room spun to face him.

Relief swept over Reggie’s expressive features.

“Your Grace, how may I be of assistance?” Broderick asked, coming forward, deliberately omitting a bow for the pompous peer.

“I thought I might speak with you about a matter of personal importance pertaining to your sister.” The duke glanced pointedly from Reggie to the doorway.

At that slight but telltale directive, Broderick narrowed his eyes on the visitor who’d order anyone in his household about. Those orders came naturally to one of his rank and bespoke . . . a ducal arrogance. That arrogance of Polite Society was the pomposity Reggie had spoken of and hated so much.

Reggie, however, remained fixed to the center of the room. Her lips moved, but no words came out. And then: “No.”

The duke swiveled his stare in her direction.

Reggie drew in a slow breath and then brought her shoulders back. “His Grace would not make Gertrude a suitable match.”

A ruddy flush marred the duke’s slightly fleshy features. “Have a care, Miss Marlow,” he warned.

“Get out,” she ordered, leveling that order on the duke.

“Miss Spark?” Broderick gave her a warning look.

“Miss Spark?” the duke jeered. “You’ve not even given him your real name.”

The color leached from Reggie’s cheeks.

Broderick straightened. They knew one another.

The duke faced him. “I’ve come with honorable intentions to court your sister. And this one?” he said in nauseatingly affected tones. “She seeks revenge against me for crimes she is guilty of.”

Reggie flinched but stood, her carriage as proudly erect as any military commander. “I’m guilty of nothing.”

The duke turned his back dismissively. “Miss Marlow, otherwise, known as your”—he slashed a gloved hand in her direction—“Miss Spark.” Numb, Broderick looked to Reggie. A stranger to him, with this man privy to her past. “She was my sister’s governess,” the duke said.

Broderick flexed his jaw. “Is this true? Did you serve in the duke’s employ?” It was widely accepted and understood that every person in the Dials possessed secrets. But that this man should have them and Broderick find himself sitting an outsider, learning those secrets not from her but another, brought his hands curling into tight fists.

She wet her lips. “No. Yes.” She tried again. “I was employed by his father.”