Page 16 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“I’m not his sort of woman.” With unsteady hands, she tied her drawers at her waist and tugged a clean shift over her head.
“I’d say you’re exactly his sort of woman.”
She pulled a pink silk peignoir over her undergarments and emerged from behind the screen to see Portia sitting at the table with the dogs at her feet.
“Porsh, I told you not to feed them in here.”
Portia looked up from the scraps of chicken that she was giving to Red. “Sorry.”
She didn’t sound sorry. Nor did she pause in her actions.
“I’m far too correct and dull and well-behaved for His Grace. He doesn’t waste his time with respectable women. He’s too aware that dallying with virtuous ladies can only lead to a trip down the aisle.”
“It didn’t with Vanessa Gould.”
Something Juliet needed to remember when she found herself contemplating smiling dark eyes and the touch of a hard masculine hand. “No, it didn’t. And it should have. That’s warning enough to beware of his charm.”
Portia observed her with an inquisitive expression. “So you do think he’s charming?”
Juliet turned away to pick up another sandwich before her sister could give them all away. And to hide her reaction from someone who knew her far too well. “Of course he’s charming. And handsome. But he’s a man without substance or ethics. He isn’t a man a woman can rely on.”
“Perhaps not. But on the other hand, I suspect he could be very entertaining. You’ve devoted your life to duty, Juliet. Don’t you want to enjoy yourself for once?”
She gave a sigh heavier than the question warranted and put down the sandwich that she was no longer interested in eating. “Not if it means losing everything that’s important to me.”
Chapter 5
When Juliet went downstairs to the drawing room before dinner, her father waited alone with a glass of champagne. At her arrival, his expression turned shifty and he surged to his feet.
Knowing him of old, she closed the door to the hall and planted herself in front of it. “Papa, I’m glad I caught you.”
He edged toward the entrance to the dining room. “My dear, I must—”
“Don’t you dare run away.”
He sighed and sank back into his chair. “You mean to harangue me. I can already tell.”
“I do indeed. You tricked the duke into coming to Afton. Release him from his obligation immediately.”
“He’s quite free to go.”
“Not while he thinks you won that card game fair and square, he’s not. A man might ruin women all over Christendom, but heaven forbid he welches on a gambling debt.”
Her father glared at her. “I did win fair and square, and if you even mention card sharping to His Grace, I’ll disown you.”
“I won’t speak a word, if you allow him to go. I want Henry Bell to play Romeo. Can you imagine how tongues will wag, once the beau monde discovers that the greatest rake of the age is sleeping a few doors down from your unmarried daughters?”
“That ensures us an audience. The ton is agog to see His Grace, especially as he turns out to be quite the performer. Whereas you—”
“Don’t try and distract me, Papa. Evesham goes or I do.”
Her father studied her. “I won’t believe that he’s offered you insult.”
“Why not? He’s been seducing women since he left the schoolroom.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Juliet, has he exceeded the bounds of propriety?”
How she wished that she could provide a list as long as her arm of Evesham’s sins at Afton Park. But she wasn’t a liar. “Not yet.”
