Page 32 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“Yes. I returned to Town this week. I gather you’re expecting a large audience tomorrow night.”
“We are.” As her father had prophesied, the chance to see the Duke of Evesham on stage had created huge interest. “Papa is beside himself with excitement.”
“I’m sure.” Again, that hint of displeasure. She supposed he’d heard that Evesham was here. No wonder he wasn’t in complete charity with the gala.
She was out of charity with her father. He could have told her that Granville was coming. She’d poured the duke his tea and watched him eat a couple of sandwiches before her father appeared.
“Your Grace, it’s good to see you.” He bowed before gravitating to the table where he chose a slice of cake. “It will be an honor to have you in the audience. What attention our little show will receive when we have not one, but two dukes in attendance. You know His Grace of Evesham is playing Romeo?”
Granville was sitting by the unlit fire. With the start of summer, the day was warm. He dipped his smooth golden head in acknowledgment, although Juliet caught a subtle flattening of his lips at the mention of Evesham. That confirmed her suspicion that his enemy’s presence was behind this visit, not any particular yen for her company.
“My lord, I hope you’ll pardon me for inviting myself to stay.”
Her father made an expansive gesture. “No trouble at all, old man. No trouble at all. Juliet will make sure everything is right and tight.”
Juliet wanted to kick her esteemed parent. She couldn’t do much to make the duke comfortable, if she didn’t know he was coming. “I’ll go and check on arrangements,” she said, hiding her irritation under her accustomed composure. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace?”
“Of course,” he said. “There is a matter I wish to discuss with your father.”
Granville sent her a meaningful glance, and astonishment made her falter on the way out. Good heavens, was she wrong about why he was here? Had he come down to Wiltshire, not just to check on his enemy, but to propose?
A week ago, the prospect of becoming the Duchess of Granville would have fulfilled her dearest hopes. But a week ago, she hadn’t met the troubling but fascinating Duke of Evesham. A week ago, she hadn’t recognized how physical attraction could take over a life and lead even the most proper lady astray. A week ago, she hadn’t been kissed.
Hiding a blush, she bent her head and left the room. She cursed Evesham for causing such agitation and for distracting her from a future that gave her everything she’d always wanted.
***
Evesham spent the morning riding in the woods. Following a restless night haunted by memories of Juliet’s kiss, what better way to clear the thickness from his brain?
After cleaning himself up so he was fit for the dining room, he came down for lunch with no idea that the household had increased by one. And one he had no wish to encounter at that.
He enjoyed the family’s intimate mealtimes. Lord Portdown had become less grating as the acquaintance had developed. Perhaps because Evesham came to realize that his host harbored a genuine artistic ambition. More than that, Portdown had the talent and the drive to shepherd his aims to fruition.
Evesham was fond of Portia, who looked very much like Juliet, but wasn’t nearly as self-contained. And Portia, also unlike her sister, appeared to have no reservations about the rakish Duke of Evesham.
Mealtimes offered him the chance to relish Juliet’s company. He’d rather be alone with her, but he’d take what he could get. He was well aware that if she could avoid him, she would. But her role as hostess meant that she had to break bread with him, unless she wanted her family asking awkward questions.
So it was a nasty shock to enter the dining room and discover an addition to their little band. Not Henry Bell, who had visited for several rehearsals and proved to be an inoffensive young pup with an obvious penchant for Lady Portia.
Neither “inoffensive” nor “pup” described Alaric Dempster, Duke of Granville. Since his return to England a month ago, Evesham had managed to avoid the stuck-up prig. He’d be happy for that state of affairs to continue. Forever if possible.
Now the swine sat beside Juliet as if he owned the place.
“Granville,” he said, baring his teeth.
Icy green eyes settled on him, and the response that emerged was no warmer. “Evesham.”
Portdown, who was serving himself from a dish of cold roast beef, gave both dukes a beaming smile. “Oh, of course you know each other. How jolly.”
Jolly wasn’t how Evesham would describe the encounter. For once, he was sure that his antagonist would be in complete agreement with him.
“I hear you’ve taken up amateur dramatics, Evesham,” Granville drawled in his superior way. “How…artistic of you. I don’t recall you being part of that crowd at school.”
Evesham shrugged and sat beside Portia who observed the interactions with an owlish look. Her father might be oblivious to the hostility in the room, but his younger daughter wasn’t.
Juliet was picking at a salad and hadn’t glanced up. Despite Evesham sitting straight across the table, she refused to meet his eyes.
Was she pleased that her suitor had arrived? He couldn’t tell.
