Despite Bridget’s vehement protests, declaring that she wished to go immediately inside the shop and confront the owner about his employee, they left Bond Street soon after. She even offered to march upstairs and drag Lionel Hosey out from his lodgings, into the street, and give him a sound public flogging.
Stephen, of course, wasn’t having any of it.
A showdown was the last thing he wanted. The resultant scandal would not only stand to ruin Bridget, but it would jeopardize his future business dealings. His whole livelihood depended on him being able to handle his client’s problems with discretion.
It took quite an effort for him to haul her away from the print shop. “Let us discuss this in private. I suggest we go to your house,” he said.
As they headed up the street, she fumed at him. “I can’t believe you made me leave. How much more evidence do you need?”
He stopped suddenly and rounded on her. This was his case, and he was going to take charge. He angrily wagged a finger in Bridget’s face. “You will hold your tongue. I am not going to go stomping around accusing a man of blackmail until I am certain he is the perpetrator. I don’t have the time nor money to be fighting a legal suit brought against me for slander. You are paying me to handle this matter—let me do my job.”
Bridget huffed. “I’ve a good mind to terminate our contract here and now. What are you going to do about him? And don’t you dare tell me I must stay silent. This scoundrel has threatened my family.”
He held his breath and counted to five. “Can we please go to your house and talk about this where the rest of London cannot overhear? I am not trying to undermine you, Bridget. In fact, at this very moment it is you who is putting this whole operation in jeopardy.”
To his bone-deep relief, his words seem to finally hit home. Stephen followed a seething Bridget all the way back to Berkley Square and in the front door of her house.
She was angry, blisteringly so. And for some unknown reason—it turned him on. As he followed Bridget up the stairs to her drawing room, Stephen was forced to stuff his hands into his coat pockets. His fingers were itching to grab a hold of her delightfully rounded ass and pull her hard against him.
And if she slapped him, that would be even better.
The moment the door was closed behind them, and they were in private, his lust-filled thoughts of what he wanted to do to Bridget quickly fled.
“Do you have any idea?” she cried, then promptly burst into tears.
She attempted to bat his hand away as he drew close, but Stephen was a big man, and her efforts did little. As his strong arms wrapped around her, Bridget’s head fell forward, and she buried her face in the front of Stephen’s coat.
Women crying all over him was an occupational hazard. He had dealt with this situation many times before. But the emotions which she stirred within him were not the usual ones. His well-practiced efforts at kind indifference failed.
Why does she get to me this way? I have always been impervious to the emotions of feeble females. But I’ve absolutely no defense against this. I am the one left struggling.
He rested his head on top of hers. Bridget was far from weak. Her brother would not have chosen her for the task if she had not been up to saving their family.
So, this is what family loyalty is truly about—putting everyone ahead of yourself, sacrificing all for the greater good. I don’t understand why you would do it.
Bridget eventually fell silent, her breathing returning to a steady, even rhythm. When she drew back, Stephen reluctantly loosened his hold. “I don’t have personal experience of what it feels like to know that someone is trying to do harm to those whom you love. I have little to no understanding of what a family is, but what I do have is years of dealing with these sorts of situations. Of solving my client’s problems without them getting hurt. I don’t want you hurt, Bridget. It would kill me.”
She met his gaze and slowly nodded. Good.
“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I just want this over with,” she replied.
He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it. Stephen raised her fingers to his lips and placed a soft kiss on them. “This is what we are going to do. Tonight, you and I will be attending one of the regular parties where cribbage games are played. From what we now know of Lionel Hosey, there is every chance he will also be a guest.”
“And then what?” she replied.
“Bridget, do you trust me?” he asked.
She sighed. “Yes, of course.”
“Good. You and I are going to sit and watch this evening. If Hosey is indeed the blackmailer, which, I think, is quite likely, then observing will give us enough evidence to move against him.”
Bridget frowned. It was obvious that in her court of opinion, Lionel Hosey had already been tried, convicted, and the hangman was just waiting to place the noose around his neck. But Stephen was slower when it came to passing final judgement. A mistake made at the eleventh hour could well be costly.
“I am going to tell you something that happened to Harry a little while ago. Before he married Alice, he used to be in the business of managing scandals. It was quite a lucrative career. But one day he was too rash when it came to closing out a contract, and he made a grave error. It cost an innocent man his life.”
The tragic event had haunted all the rogues of the road ever since. No one wished to see such a terrible thing ever repeated.
If things went according to plan, they would know the truth about Lionel Hosey within a matter of hours. The price of success was to be patient and sure.
She managed a wan smile. “When I first saw your business card, I was perplexed. Now that I know you and how you deal with clients, I understand about the words you have printed on it. Discretion and results. It is all someone like me should ask of you, and it is precisely what you promise to deliver.”
“Bridget, I have always been honest with you. I won’t ever try to offer more than what I am prepared to give. That goes for both our business arrangement and anything which comes after.”
“I know.”
Her words said one thing, but from the way she looked at him, Stephen sensed Bridget would beg him to tell her all the pretty lies her heart wanted to hear.
He could never do that to her. His truth might be painful, but at least it was honest.