She rolled her eyes. That hardly sounded likely. But men did so need to protect their egos.
“Is your brother here?” he asked.
“Uh…” She rolled onto her toes and scanned the room. “I don’t see him. Why?”
“Nothing.”
Juliana cocked her head. “Did you need to speak to him?” Perhaps it would be good to talk to Snow again. He’d had some time to digest the news of Pickens murder. He might think differently now.
“No.” Brogan held himself stiffly, not looking at her.
Her stomach turned. “You don’t suspect him, do you?” She laughed, but it sounded distorted, as though she was standing in water. “That would be absurd.”
He said nothing.
“Brogan.” She turned to stand in front of him. “You don’t suspect him?”
He scraped his palm over his jaw. “I think your brother is too eager to be admired by his crowd. That makes him easy to manipulate. Hisfriendscould be trying to install him as earl without his knowledge and hope to profit from the connection.”
Juliana blinked. He was serious. “Is this because they spoke of revolutions and equality? Some revolutions are needed in order to progress. Not all of them devolve into bloodshed.”
“Most of them do.”
She pressed her lips together. Was he so determined to maintain the boundaries between classes that he would condemn those who would fight against them? “To be honest, I’m a bit envious of Miss Lynn. She is passionate about changing the world. She’s someone who will actually work towards that end. I only discuss it as philosophical theory.” She traced a seam in the wood plank floor with the toe of her slipper. “I do hope becoming a member of Rose’s debate society will change that for me.”
“You don’t have to change the world to live a life of value.” He placed his finger under her chin and tipped her face up. “You’re worth a hundred Miss Lynns.”
Her shoulders sank. The words were sweet, but what she read behind them left her cold. Of course, he’d think she didn’t have to actuallydoanything. He’d put her on a pedestal, someone he could enjoy but not hold.
But she’d show him her actual worth. “We came here to cause a stir.” She held out her hand as the first notes of a waltz filled the room. “There seems no better place for a public disagreement than the dance floor.”
Brogan squared his shoulders, looking like he was facing a firing squad rather than a dance. “Very well.” He gripped her hand, striding to the dance floor, making Juliana hurry to keep up. He took her in his arms, holding himself stiffly, keeping the proper amount of space between their bodies.
Juliana could almost see him counting the steps in his mind as they moved across the floor. But though he held himself rigidly, his steps didn't falter. He moved with the sort of grace that came with being an athlete.
“You dance well,” she said.
“I dance. The quality of it is irrelevant.”
She sighed. “Is it so hard to you to come to a ball, or a musicale, like the other night?” The couple next to them swung in a dizzying circle, the woman’s skirts brushing Juliana’s legs, her laugh lighting up the room. Juliana stared at them wistfully. “Is my life so distasteful to you?”
He started. “Nothing about you is distasteful.”
Well, that was something. Something to build upon, perhaps. “Do you think you could ever see yourself living a life like this?” She held her breath. His next words were important. His answer could determine her future.
Sometime during their affair, she’d realized she didn’t want it to come to an end. Aside from their attraction, which only seemed to grow, she’d discovered how much she liked him. She’d realized she wanted to keep him.
Their lives could merge together, she knew they could. It only remained to convince Brogan.
His nostrils flared. “That's a foolish question. This isn't my life, unless it is as part of an investigation. It can't be my life.”
“You use the word ‘can’t’ very easily.” Her chest heaved. “You're here now. No one has given you a second look.” Well, that wasn't quite true. A man as intimidating looking as Brogan garnered plenty of looks, but nothing to call the magistrate over. “My life isn't all parties and salons, you know. It's quiet evenings by the fire, reading a book curled up next to someone I care about.”
She swallowed, the back of her throat burning. “I could be quite content living a quiet sort of life, with only the occasional appearance in society. Don’t you think, that is, could you not meet me half way?” Her heart beat a rapid tattoo. She was used to speaking boldly, but that might have been the most courageous words she’d ever said.
She’d laid it bare, her desires to be with him. There was no artifice, no double-speak to hide behind if he didn’t want her.
Her stomach twisted, and she thought she might cast up her accounts. What if he didn’t want her?
