Page 15 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“But what did you talk about on the hillside when I was with Papa? I tried to listen, but I had to keep rabbiting on about rue and rosemary. Honestly, that scene may as well be a page out of a recipe book. It would make more sense if it was.”
“Nothing special.” Juliet wandered close enough to pour herself a cup of tea and pick up a ham sandwich. Evesham had maintained his suave demeanor through lunch, but the knowledge that he was watching had stolen her appetite. Now she was hungry. “Will you undo me please?”
The day had been warm, and her dress was as tired as she was. Tonight she intended to wear something with plenty of starch.
“Turn around.” Portia began to unhook the back of the gown then loosened the corset strings.
“You looked like you wanted to hit him,” Portia said as Juliet finished her tea and moved toward the screen that hid the washstand.
“The person I really wanted to hit was Papa. He must know Evesham isn’t good ton and that he and Granville have a long and nasty history.”
“He mightn’t, you know. He pays very little attention to tattle. And you can’t argue that Evesham will make a much more dashing Romeo than poor Henry. Whatever else you may say about Papa, he has a great instinct for casting.”
Juliet ground her teeth and scowled at the blowsy pink peonies painted on the screen that separated her from her cursed chatty sister. At least now she didn’t have to guard her expression. “I wish he had a marvelous instinct for who was a proper person to invite to the house.”
“Oh?” Portia said on a rising inflection. “So the duke did make unsuitable remarks? I was sure he did. He must make an exciting change from Granville.”
Portia wasn’t in favor of Juliet’s marital plans. She thought Granville was the dullest man in England.
“Granville is always polite.”
“Granville is always a first-rate bore. Honestly, don’t you swoon when Evesham gives you that lazy smile that’s all teeth and temptation, as if he could eat you up in one bite?”
Juliet was grateful that the screen hid her blush. Because the lamentable truth was that she knew exactly what Portia meant. And, yes, it did give her a frisson, curse the man’s brilliant dark eyes.
“Portia Frain, you need to stop reading all those books from the Minerva Press.”
“And you need to read a few more. They might help you to loosen up a bit. You need to convince an audience that you’re in alt over Evesham.”
“That’s asking too much.” Juliet’s hands shook, as she tugged off her limp gown and undergarments. “He doesn’t appeal to me at all. I admire men of principle, not silver-tongued cads who believe they leave a trail of swooning women behind them wherever they go.”
Liar, liar, liar.
Because the unpalatable truth was that some hitherto unruly element in her nature thrived in Evesham’s company. It was infuriating. It was unacceptable. It was terrifying.
Portia, drat her, responded with a disbelieving snort. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Juliet poured warm water from the blue-and-white ewer into the bowl and began to wash. This was such an everyday action. It seemed mad that today, she couldn’t help imagining Evesham’s hands upon her skin instead of damp flannel.
Heaven save her. The man was like a contagious disease. She needed to get a grip on herself quick smart. “You’re Papa’s daughter, if you’re quoting Shakespeare at me.”
“I need to get something out of all these amateur dramatics. I wish Viola was here. It doesn’t feel right to put on a show without her. I suppose if you marry Granville, I’ll have to play all the female roles. It’s enough to make me want to get married.”
“You sound like that’s a fate worse than death.” Juliet lifted the towel to dry herself.
“Papa puts up with my animals. I’m not sure a husband will.”
Juliet wasn’t sure either. “Evesham won’t care enough about a wife to pull her into line. He might be your perfect match.”
“You don’t mean that.”
No, she didn’t. Which was as mad as everything else that had happened on this topsy-turvy day. “He might be just the neglectful spouse you need. If you could tolerate him straying.”
“Evesham doesn’t know I’m alive. He only has eyes for you.”
“That’s the play.” She seemed to be blaming a lot on the play.
“That’s all the time.”
