Page 17 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“I didn’t think he would.” His shoulders lowered. “He strikes me as a good type of fellow.”
Juliet stared aghast at her father, not sure where she could start. “Papa, he—”
Her father raised his hand. “We all know how stories get blown up.”
“I’ve stated my position.” Juliet drew herself up to her full height. “Excuse His Grace from his promise, or I’ll tell him you cheated at cards.”
Her father’s jaw set in a stubborn line that she knew from past experience meant that he didn’t intend to cooperate. “If you tell him that, you dishonor the family name.”
“If he stays, the family name mightn’t be the only thing dishonored.”
“Can’t we…”
Whatever her father was about to say, it faded to silence as the door behind her opened. Juliet stepped aside as His Grace sauntered in.
Heaven help her. In evening wear, he was even more devastating than he’d been in a creased coat, spouting romantic nonsense to an unresponsive Miss Capulet. The stark black clothes made him more devilish than ever. Just so must he have strolled into hundreds of ballrooms on the Continent, sure of his impact on every foolish female present.
Juliet might be female, but she wasn’t foolish. She told herself that her pulse kicked into a gallop because she despised his trashy attractions.
“Ah, Evesham, old man, have some champagne.” Papa scampered forward and caught the duke’s arm to coax him further into the room. “How do you like your apartment? Fine view of the lake from those rooms, what?”
“Indeed,” Evesham said, but the gaze he leveled on Juliet was questioning.
Papa poured a glass. “Juliet, take His Grace his wine.”
Juliet realized that she was staring at the duke in a most rag-mannered way. Bending her head to hide the heat in her cheeks – to Hades with him, nobody made her blush – she picked up the glass and carried it across to Evesham.
“Your Grace,” she said under her breath.
Instead of accepting his drink, he regarded it with a thoughtful expression. “The play must be getting to me. I find myself awake to melodramatic possibilities. You haven’t dropped any hemlock in this, perchance?”
Her father gave a nervous titter, as Juliet sent the duke a straight look. “Of course not.”
He took the glass. “That’s a relief.”
“Although I’d be careful about eating too much of the fish soup, if I were you.”
She shouldn’t like the way that his mouth quirked, as if he muffled a laugh. “Warning noted.”
Juliet returned to the sideboard to pour herself some champagne. “My father wishes to speak to you.”
“It can wait,” Papa said.
She glowered at her parent. “No, it can’t.”
Her father sighed, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He set down his glass with a despairing gesture, reminiscent of King Lear ruing his family’s betrayal. As a man with three daughters, Portdown related to Lear.
“Juliet has made me see that I’ve been unfair on you, compelling you to leave London to join us in our great endeavor. She believes I should give you the chance to step aside from playing Romeo.”
Juliet waited for the duke to leap at the offer. She didn’t know why he’d left the fleshpots of France and Italy to return to England, but it certainly wasn’t to rusticate in the wilds of Wiltshire playing at theatricals.
He stared into his champagne glass as the silence lengthened. By the time he spoke, her nerves were so stretched, they threatened to snap. “That’s very…considerate of her.”
They both knew that she wasn’t considerate at all. She wanted him out of her life.
Evesham should be happy to go. London was packed with diversions for a man with deep pockets and no scruples. At Afton Park, the only game on offer was the pursuit of a virginal spinster. Why on earth was he hesitating?
***
