Page 14 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
Amusement played around his expressive mouth in a beguiling way that she struggled not to notice. She’d heard so much about the wicked Duke of Evesham. She’d imagined someone oily and worn out with lechery, not this vigorous, humorous man with laughing brown eyes and a smile that set her heart on fire.
She refused to burn for Evesham. She outright refused.
With luck, Granville still intended to propose and her golden future would unroll exactly as she’d planned. This unfortunate weakness for Evesham would prove a mere bump in the road, not a detour into uncharted wilderness.
Feeling more in charge of herself, she approached the summerhouse. She nodded to Haynes, the head gardener, who responded with a bow from where he supervised replanting the annuals around the gazebo.
“Papa wants us to run through our lines.”
“Then by all means, let us start.” Evesham pointed to the wooden steps. “Perhaps if you stand at the top to give the impression of the balcony? I’ll stay on the path below.”
“Good idea.” She positioned herself in the summerhouse doorway and tried to place herself in the scene. A young girl in the throes of first love with an unsuitable young man. A girl trembling on the threshold between childhood and maturity.
Juliet Frain had been thrust too early into a mother’s role. Perhaps she related so well to Juliet Capulet because the part offered her a chance to experience all the heady emotions denied to the real Juliet.
Heady emotions that led straight to a tragic end.
Much better to maintain control and follow the ton’s rules and stick to the tried and true.
But wise counsel fell on deaf ears, when she stared down into an unforgettable face and met a gaze alight with desire.
He’s just playacting. He’s just playacting, she reminded herself in desperation, as her hands snagged in her filmy green skirts. Hands that ached to reach out and snatch forbidden pleasures.
Nor did it help when that infernally appealing baritone launched into the famous lines. “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”
***
Somehow Juliet survived her rehearsal with Evesham and the afternoon’s practice onstage under her father’s direction. At first, she’d feared that she’d melt into a puddle under the ardor that the duke aimed her way. But reminding herself that it was pretense bolstered her defenses. She wouldn’t let the Bard’s magic sweep her away.
She’d been so guarded, in fact, that her father had criticized her portrayal as wooden. Whereas to her vexation, he’d gushed with praise over His Grace’s Romeo.
It was almost a letdown that once they’d started their run-through, Evesham had behaved with perfect decorum. Granville himself couldn’t have been more urbane.
Except…
Except attraction hummed beneath every word. She’d never been so aware of anyone’s physical presence. It was as if the duke soaked up all the air in the world and left her breathless and giddy in his wake.
Now with the approach of evening, she trudged up to her bedroom. She was exhausted and in dire need of some solitude to soothe her shattered nerves. The day already felt like it had lasted for a year, and she still had to get through dinner.
So it was a blow to open her door and find Portia serving herself from the tea tray that Juliet had requested earlier.
Red the beagle and Scratch the lurcher observed their mistress with hopeful eyes, as she picked up a chicken sandwich. Ella, the old collie, had trouble with the stairs these days and would be hanging around the kitchen.
“So do tell all.” Portia’s avid curiosity made Juliet feel tarnished. Even though she told herself that she’d done nothing to be ashamed of.
“There is no all.”
“Don’t be mean. I nearly died of shock when I realized that Papa’s mysterious Romeo was the infamous Duke of Evesham. Who looks like he’s fallen like a bag of beans for your charms. Perhaps you’ll go down in history as the lady who enchanted three dukes.”
“Don’t be a hen wit, Porsh,” Juliet said with a snap. “He’s not enchanted.”
“He looked it. I loathe Shakespeare, and even I felt a thrill when he said all those marvelous things to you at the rehearsal.”
“That’s the play.”
“Henry Bell never looked like that.”
“Well, the play, and His Grace proving that he’s quite the actor.” Evesham’s skill with his lines had surprised her. And left her unwillingly impressed. She’d expected him to be tone-deaf to the poetry. “I suppose it goes along with a total disregard for morality. If one juggles a crowd of wanton ladies, it must pay to be a convincing liar.”
