He saw her as an accomplice to Duncan, and that wounded Maggie more deeply than anything he could have said or done. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, trying to shake free of Reeve’s grasp on her chin and failing miserably. “Jamie isn’t dead—that blood is Duncan’s, not his—”

There was a flicker of relief in the aquamarine eyes, but no compassion and no forgiveness. “You would have gone to your grave without telling me that you’d seen my brother,” he marveled, “when you knew how hard and how long I’ve looked for him!”

Maggie had no defense. What could she say beyond telling Reeve that Jamie had made her promise to keep their encounter a secret? “H-he said you would be in d-danger if you knew—”

Reeve set Maggie free with a force that terrified her. Then, after giving her one scalding look of utter contempt, he left the compartment, the door crashing shut behind him.

Chapter 15

MAGGIE HAD HALF EXPECTED TO BE LEFT TO HER OWN devices at Sydney Station, so cold had Reeve’s manner been since his accidental discovery of Jamie’s medallion the night before in that tiny train compartment. Instead, she was shuffled into a carriage and whisked off to his town house overlooking Rushcutter’s Bay.

In the entryway of that grand house, Reeve spoke to Maggie for the very first time since he’d stormed out of her compartment. “The housekeeper will see that you’re properly settled,” he said, his eyes avoiding hers, his voice tense. “Report to the Victoria Theatre tomorrow morning and Philip Briggs will tell you what to do.”

Maggie sucked in her breath. “I—I have to work with Philip? But I thought you’d given him the sack—”

Now the aquamarine gaze was fixed on Maggie, Seeming to pin her to the elegantly papered wall. “Hired him back,” was the succinct answer. “As for working with Briggs: beggars, as they say, cannot be choosers, Miss Chamberlin.”

It hurt terribly to be spoken to in such a way, as intimate as Maggie had been with Reeve. But she had pride, if nothing else, and she returned his glare with one of her own. “Very well, Mr. McKenna,” she said icily, turning to start up the broad stairway, her pitiful reticule in hand.

Reeve stopped her by grasping her elbow. She flinched, the skin was so tender there, and he loosened his hold slightly, though he did not release her. “The servants’ quarters are reached by the rear stairway,” he said.