“It’s not your title, not yet.”
“Soon.” He gazed around the gardens.
“You tried to kill father,” she whispered. Her skin crawled, like hundreds of spiders skittered across her body. It was monstrous, beyond her comprehension. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “I don't understand.”
His eyes snapped to her face. “You wouldn't. You wouldn’t understand how infuriating it is being smarter than every man in the room yet still hearing them talk down to me like I were a child. How can they expect me to have any accomplishments when I’m only a viscount? It’s not fair. Society sets up all these expectations for men like me then throws up barriers to achieving them.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. If he had stamped his foot, he couldn’t have presented a better picture of a spoiled child in leading strings defying his nanny.
He slipped a small pistol from his coat pocket and waved it in front of her. “We're going to Bluff Hall. Don't make a fuss. You won't like the results.” He slipped his hand back into his pocket but kept his fingers wrapped around the pistol grip.
She placed her hand on a stone column, leaning against it. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be true. There had been affection between them growing up. It still existed, at least on her part.
“Oh, Snow, what will come of you?” She’d thought Pickens had met an ignoble end in prison. How much worse would her brother, a viscount, fare? Would he hang? Would her father hush it up, send Snow away somewhere?
“Come on.” He jerked his head toward the front of the house. “The carriage is waiting.”
She stumbled down the steps of the folly, her mind swirling. Perhaps he was ill. A disease could affect the mind as well as the body. There was no other explanation for a man to try to kill his father. Their father had given them everything they needed, never had a harsh word for anyone.
“This is going to devastate Father,” she said. His son, his heir, trying to kill him.
Snowdon grabbed her elbow with his free hand. He tugged her along the garden path that ran the side of the house. “Don't worry. He won't even know what hit him.”
Her knees gave way. She would have fallen to the gravel if Snow hadn't jerked her upright. Here she'd been thinking of the awfulness of her brother's actions. Of their family’s shame and heartache. She hadn't thought ahead to where he might be successful.
“I won't let you hurt him,” she said. Her voice sounded far away.
Snowdon pushed her against the garden gate, freeing the latch before grabbing her again. “What are you going to do, little sister?” He pushed her through the opening. “Write an essay to stop me? Give a little speech like you do at the salon?” He snorted. “No one there likes to hear them. They won't be any more effective now.”
A couple in a small curricle laughed as they rolled past, the man flicking his whip in the air.
Juliana saw his wrist moving, saw the cat’s tail snap, but didn’t hear the crack. It was like a wet blanket had been thrown over the sounds of the city, leaving only a dull rushing sound in her ears.
Another man hurried down the street, his face buried in a paper, swerving around her and Snow as he passed.
She blinked. How did the rest of the world keep moving while hers was falling apart? Brogan had been more right than even he knew.
“You're all right, mum?”
Snowdon’s fingers dug into her flesh as they turned to face the agent striding down the pavement. It was Mr. Hurst today. A nice enough man, but when all she wanted to see was Brogan, he was a poor substitute.
“Everything's fine,” Snow said. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.” He towed her toward the carriage which stood ten feet away.
Juliana recognized the driver on the box. Surely the servants wouldn't help Snowdon with his plot. They all respected her father.
But doubt rooted in her breast. If even Snowdon could be so evil, who was to say who else could be involved? What a little bit of money wouldn’t seduce someone into doing?
“Lady Juliana?” Mr. Hurst shifted his hand to the back of his trousers.
Snow cut her a look. “You know him?”
“An investigator for the Bond Agency,” she said. “I haven't cut all ties as you thought.”
A giggle burbled up her throat. Their plan had worked. They’d uncovered the villain. And now she wished she’d never had this harebrained idea. She wanted nothing more than to go back in time fifteen minutes, when she didn't know the truth.
“Tell him everything's fine,” Snowdon hissed in her ear, his grip on her arm going even tighter.
“Everything's fine,” she repeated. “My brother and I are just...”
