His Adam's apple bobbed. “Juliana,” he said, his voice low, “you do not know what you ask. You think life is something from a novel, or like one of your salons where an eclectic group can mix and meet. But that's not real.” His feet slowed, until they were hardly moving to the music. “Real life is judgmental. It's hard for a man like me, and for any woman I would take as a wife, it would be doubly so.”
“Shouldn’t that be a choice made by the woman?” she asked, her voice tart.
His eyes darkened to a stormy sea. “You might think you would be happy, but you wouldn’t be. You'd grow tired and bitter.” He jerked his gaze away. “That is something I couldn’t bear to see.”
She stared at the glint from his gold cravat pin. His agency spared no expense when it came to its agents’ disguises. Her skin flushed hot, whether from anger, humiliation, or despair, she didn’t know. “I would make a man, any man, a good wife. I'm not as demanding as you seem to think. My happiness isn’t bought with houses and jewels.”
He inhaled sharply. “That is because you think the only difference in your circumstances would be between wearing a ruby or a garnet, between wearing silk or cotton. You don't know how the other half live in London. How they struggle not to walk upon the streets with holes in their shoes, the effort needed to get food on the table.”
“That’s absurd.” She frowned at the couple who nearly bumped into them, and forced her feet back into motion. “I've seen your apartments. You might not be wealthy, but you are hardly the pauper you are describing. That caricature isn’t how you live.”
“Not now. But my parents didn’t always live in the apartments I took you to. My sister did not always have gowns enough to throw out of windows.” Brogan’s boot kicked her slipper, and he frowned. “And I'm always just one job loss away from finding myself right back in that place.”
She shook her head. “You delight in being a pessimist.”
“You delight in ignoring the problems we would face.” His hand at her waist tightened. “I will not have you lower yourself to be with me. I don't want a wife I'd have to struggle to keep happy.”
She pushed on his shoulder, putting even more space between them. “You don’t get to tell me what makes me happy and what does not,” she hissed.
Another couple swirling next to them glanced over, and Juliana forced a grin between gritted teeth. Their pretend fight was turning all too real.
“In this matter, I do,” he said, much too calmly for her taste. If she was getting riled up, he damn well should be as well. “I, also, get to decide what best suits my happiness, and having a wife who was raised getting whatever she wanted would suit me ill.”
“We're back to my being spoiled, is that it?” Pins and needles stabbed her chest. “I might be the daughter of an earl, but I wasn't raised in this great wealth that you seem to think I was. I had a budget. There were trips I couldn't take, things I couldn't buy.”
Brogan snorted, and her face grew hotter. “My father is not wealthy,” she insisted.
“Your father is a nobleman. He has land, a large home. He has the kind of money most people in England could only dream of seeing.”
Another pair of dancers looked at them with interest.
They were curious, and her life was falling apart. She’d never felt such anger before. So mad she wanted to spit or yell or stomp on Brogan’s foot.
She did none of those things. “That's it then? You have it all figured out. I will marry some soft nobleman who will keep me content with chocolates and books and bore me out of my senses. You think that will protect my happiness. And you will marry...”
She didn't want to think about the kind of woman Brogan would end up marrying. It wouldn't be some creepmouse. Brogan needed someone strong to stand up to him, and he was smart enough to know it. His wife would be tough, used to a bit of hardship.
She'd be someone Juliana would probably like, if she didn't feel obliged to hate her on sight.
“You know what I think?” she said. “You’re a snob, Brogan Duffy. A reverse snob. You pretend that my place is higher than yours, that you would never deign to dirty me with your lifestyle. But you actually think the working class are better than my kind. Nobler somehow, through their suffering. Smarter. Tougher.”
Her lungs shuddered. She wasn’t what Brogan wanted. All her education, her modern ideas about society, and where had they got her? The man she loved didn’t want her.
His wife would be useful, she could see that now. Someone who wouldn’t waste her time talking about the world’s problems, but just dig her hands in and get to work.
She raised her chin. He might be right. She might be of no use to a man like him. But she had her pride. “You've made a pretense of saying that you're not good enough for me, when in actuality, you don't think I'm good enough for you.”
“Right.” He stopped dancing and glared down at her. Turning on his heel, he stalked off the dance floor.
And since he was holding her hand, she was dragged along behind him, sputtering and calling him every creative oath she could think of.
Oh yes, they were garnering plenty of attention. Her plan was a stunning success. Everyone in her peer group and beyond would hear of this fight.
“Where are we going?” she snarled, tugging at her hand in vain.
“Going?” He pulled her out of the house, ignoring the gaping footmen. He sighted their carriage and headed towards it. “It's time Lady Juliana learned just how the other half lives.”
He threw open the carriage door, gripped her waist, and practically threw her inside. “It's time you realize just how different we truly are.”
