Page 23 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
She’d hoped to squash his pretensions, but as usual, she failed. A slow smile curled that expressive mouth. “My apologies for putting you off your oats. You’ve found the part now. For a moment there, I forgot we were acting.”
So had she, to blazes with him. She’d come back to herself enough to sound cool and collected as she responded. “That’s the magic of the theater, isn’t it? Although it would be a very foolish man indeed who read anything more into what just happened.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Be careful, Juliet. There’s a hint of ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’ in the air.”
Portia had said the same thing to her. She was getting rather sick of the quotation.
Now Juliet steeled herself to meet that knowing gaze and summon an insouciant smile. “Wrong play, Your Grace. Papa and Portia are doing the scenes fromHamlet.”
He dipped his tousled dark head, as if acknowledging a point in a fencing match. “I stand corrected.”
He twisted his long, elegant body and leaped lightly back onto the stage. Juliet knew that it was unworthy of her, but she’d dearly love to see him fumble the landing. But of course, he didn’t. She was the only one who had difficulty finding a firm footing in this ghastly situation.
“Let’s go back to the beginning and get some of that feeling into your entrance, Juliet,” her father said.
The idea of speaking reams of impassioned verse to her bugbear made her want to growl. But she squared her shoulders and told herself that she only had to survive another four days. Surely she had the strength to endure that.
Yet as her eyes inevitably fell on His Dis-Grace, a crushing weight of fear settled in her middle. Who knew what state she’d be in by the time the gala came around?
Chapter 7
“See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”
The mellow baritone wrenched Juliet out of her preoccupation. From where she sat on the platform supporting her balcony, she peered through the fading light.
Evesham stood about halfway up the rise where, in two days, their audience would gather. Despite wearing the elegant black coat that he’d sported at dinner, he still managed to look disheveled. And spectacular.
When she didn’t respond straightaway, Evesham sprang down the hillside with the athletic ease that had stolen her breath the first day. And still did, confound him.
Without doubt, he made her mad, no matter how hard she fought to resist him. Even worse, she didn’t like him. Or rather, she didn’t want to. She was a woman of principle. How could she yearn for a man with no principles at all?
It just wasn’t fair.
Emotional turmoil was turning her life upside down. It seemed ridiculous that physical attraction should dumbfound a woman of twenty-six, who had already been betrothed and was set to be betrothed again. But while she’d liked both of her suitors, nothing in those prosaic courtships set her blood bubbling like champagne shaken inside a bottle.
Juliet had no idea what to do about it. Telling herself to ignore Evesham had no effect whatsoever. It was as if her very skin listened for his footstep. Never in her life had she been so torn between what she knew she should do and what she wanted to do.
“You followed me.” She kept her voice down, although they were well away from the house and the outdoor staff had finished work hours ago.
He didn’t bother denying it. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
She rose on shaky legs, as he climbed onto the stage. “I shouldn’t be alone with you.”
Although there wasn’t much risk of discovery. After dinner, Papa had retired to his library to practice his soliloquies and Portia was busy in the stables with a new litter of kittens. None of the indoor servants would venture out into the mansion’s gardens to take their leisure.
Evesham prowled toward her. “‘Shouldn’t’ is your favorite word.”
She stiffened her backbone and told herself that under no circumstances would she succumb to the romantic atmosphere. “I’m frightfully dull.”
A self-mocking smile teased his lips. Although it was possible that he mocked her instead. “No, you’re sweet and charmingly unsure of yourself as a woman.”
Her lips pursed. She hated that description. It made her seem weak and helpless. “That still doesn’t sound like someone who would appeal to the licentious Duke of Evesham.”
“It doesn’t.” He ran his hand through his hair, causing a lock to tumble across his high forehead.
She bit back an irritated groan. For goodness sake, could he look any more inviting? She was doomed.
“Then why pursue me?” she said with more of the same irritation. “You’re like a cat playing with a mouse.”
