Page 12 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“Papa, it’s not proper,” she protested.
“You won’t be alone. The gardeners are doing the flower beds. If you don’t want to go to the summerhouse, take His Grace up to the house.”
“Do you think he’s trying to engineer a romance?” Evesham asked in a lazy voice.
It was possible. Despite Evesham’s woeful reputation, he was a rich man and a duke. Every girl dreamed of marrying a duke, in England at least, where the princes were boorish and spoiled.
Juliet’s faced betrayed her complete rejection of that idea. “Good heavens, I hope not.”
“Don’t spare my feelings, my lady.”
She blushed, suddenly looking as young as the fictional Juliet. “You must think I’m a complete hobbledehoy.”
“Haven’t you worked it out yet, Lady Juliet?” He rose and bent to collect his coat. “I want you to be natural.”
“I don’t know why.”
He tilted one eyebrow at her. “Yes, you do.”
Again, her usually direct gaze avoided his. Interesting.
She was nervous, and nothing she said was complimentary. Nor was she acting like the doyenne of propriety that he’d been led to believe she was. But he was sure –almost– that dislike wasn’t at the root of her prickliness. Much as she might wish that was the case.
No, Lady Juliet Frain found him of abiding interest. This immediate and powerful attraction was mutual. It was apparent in her barely controlled edginess and her attempts to keep him at a distance.
“Papa goes into a world of his own when he’s working. I doubt that he’s trying to maneuver you into proposing. Anyway, we both know that you’ve been caught in that trap before and you escaped, at the cost of the lady’s reputation. There’s no reason for things to be any different this time.”
That dig went a little too deep. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” he said sharply.
Her face flushed as red as a ripe strawberry. “I just wanted to reassure you that Papa is too involved in the production to worry about making me your duchess.”
“Count me as reassured,” he said dryly. “Anyway, theon-ditis that you’ve already got a duke dangling after you. By all reports, His Grace of Granville is smitten. You can’t marry both of us.”
It was her turn to look annoyed. “Nothing has been finalized. An eligible man just has to dance with a single female for rumors of an engagement to fly. It doesn’t mean anything. You know how people love to talk.”
“I do indeed.”
She wasn’t being entirely straight. Several reliable sources had told him that a betrothal was in the offing. His confidants had all pointed out that Granville and Lady Juliet were the ideal match. Both mature, well-intentioned, capable, principled. “I’m just letting you know that I’ve heard plenty about you since I returned to London.”
Most of what he’d garnered about Lady Juliet had been positive. What hadn’t been was grounded in jealousy, he’d soon realized. She was beautiful and rich and had a clear understanding of her duty. She also had a knack for attracting dukes. She’d been engaged to Bolton, another dry stick, before his unfortunate death. Now she’d captivated Granville. Why wouldn’t people envy her?
“I’m sure most of it was twaddle.”
“Perhaps if I give you the benefit of the doubt, you could return the favor.”
That luscious mouth flattened again, as did her voice. “Perhaps we should concentrate on the play.”
“Juliet, I’ve asked you once…” Her father sounded impatient.
Evesham couldn’t blame him. The acoustics in this dell were excellent and while she and Evesham kept their voices low enough to hide the subject of their discussion, the constant murmur must be annoying.
Not to mention that Lady Portia was more interested in watching her sister fend off an encroaching duke than in her performance. Several times, Evesham had noticed her golden head turn in their direction.
“The summerhouse is this way,” Juliet said in a subdued voice.
Eager to continue his tête-à-tête with this haughty beauty, Evesham followed her over the brow of the hill and onto a path leading through a woodland.
Chapter 4
