Page 11 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“I know my lines already. That was part of the infamous deal. I was to arrive word perfect and willing to work.”
She’d returned to studying him, as if he was some exotic beast who had wandered onto her path. A beast that she feared would gobble her up. “You did what you were told?”
That had a deuced governessy ring, but he nodded. “A bet is sacred, don’t you know?”
“Commendable.” More of that sardonic tone.
Evesham didn’t really blame her. He was renowned for flouting the codes of his class.
He sighed. She didn’t trust him. Plenty of reasons why she shouldn’t. But he wanted to find out more about her, and right now a wall of thorns discouraged genuine intimacy.
“You know, if we intend to make a half-decent fist of this performance, you’ll have to stop treating me as if I have a contagious disease. We have to convince our audience that we’re madly in love. You need to stop jumping every time I open my mouth.”
“I don’t jump.”
“Yes, you do. I know that I’m not your choice of Romeo. It’s not exactly my dearest wish either, to make an utter fool of myself in front of society.”
“I don’t know why you’d care. You can just go back to the Continent. Running away from your difficulties is nothing new for you, after all.”
He winced theatrically. “You’ve been listening to too much gossip.”
“I know who you are. I know what you did, and the damage it caused.” She had a melodious voice. He imagined that she had a gift for speaking the Bard’s poetic language. But right now, her low contralto was as cold as ice, cold enough to make him shiver. “I can’t help fearing that you’ll end up doing damage here. I wish Papa hadn’t invited you, however picturesque you are. Henry Bell may not be the world’s greatest actor, but I’ve known him since we were children. He was my first dancing partner. He’s kind and steady, and I can already tell you’re neither.”
“Your father is relying on me.”
“If you leave, he’ll get over the disappointment. The reality is you’re far too old to play Romeo, just as I’m too old to play Juliet. Given all the rules that you’ve broken, Your Grace, what does it matter if you break one more by wriggling out of this bargain?”
“I gave your father my word.” His answer emerged with uncharacteristic hauteur. “Whatever other sins I’ve committed, I’ve never broken an oath.”
She didn’t credit him with an ounce of honor. Usually he didn’t give a rat’s arse for what people thought, but half an hour in this girl’s company and her opinion already mattered.
“Who will care about that when you’re back chasing French courtesans or losing a fortune at some Italian casino?”
“You’re mighty ready to exile me, my lady.”
“You haven’t seen your home in nine years. I can’t imagine that you’re pining for it.”
There she was wrong. He’d been twenty-one when he left England, brimming with self-righteousness and a thirst for adventure. At thirty, he wasn’t nearly so immune to the pointlessness of his current existence.
Over the last couple of years, memories of Lancers, his estate in Devon, had begun to nag. He wanted to come back to his country. To be an Englishman at home, rather than an Englishman abroad.
When he discovered the unholy mess that his once-trusted bailiff had made of managing the estate, he found the perfect excuse to return.
“Perhaps I’m ready to settle down with a good woman and father the next generation. As you pointed out, I’m not as young as I once was.”
She failed to hide her disbelief. “I suppose you’d like an apology for that remark.”
He shrugged. “Your candor is refreshing – if a little bracing. Like standing outside in a winter gale. Definitely clears the head.”
“And threatens to freeze one to death.”
“All this honesty augurs well for our artistic enterprise. Now you just need to pretend that I’ve stolen your heart.”
“You’d need to find a better actress,” she said in a dark tone that made him burst out laughing once more.
“Juliet, some consideration please,” Portdown shouted from the stage below. “Take His Grace to the summerhouse. The chatter is putting us off.”
Juliet scrambled to her feet before Evesham could offer assistance. He caught an intriguing hint of snowy petticoats and two trim ankles in fine white stockings. She was a tall woman, built to match a big fellow like him. In his experience, tall, curvy women often had spectacular legs. And he had more experience than was good for him.
