Page 33 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
What he could tell was that she and Granville made a disgustingly striking pair, like two Norse gods. They’d produce beautiful babies, damn it.
Last night, she’d been in his arms, warm, vital, ardent. He saw no trace of that beguiling woman in today’s reserved young lady.
Although he was still beguiled. She always enthralled him, even when she did her best to imitate a glacier.
He remembered that Granville had asked him a question. A deuced insolent one, in tone if not in content. “I’m always open to a new experience. A narrow mind is an insult to the richness of creation.”
Granville’s glance, already frigid, cooled another ten degrees. Because he didn’t miss the dig.
Portdown was cutting into his beef. “His Grace of Evesham has proven himself a fine actor. You’ll be most impressed when you see him in action.”
Granville had an untouched cheese savory in front of him. “I’ve come down to see just what His Grace is up to. There’s been quite a flutter in Town about a man known for his cricketing feats suddenly turning thespian.”
“You were no slouch on the sporting field either,” Evesham said.
Although Granville had been involved in solitary pursuits like cross-country running rather than team sports. Because he was a couple of years older than Evesham, they’d had very little to do with each other at Eton. Their real enmity had begun once Evesham entered society after attending university.
“I had my moments,” Granville said in a way that Evesham interpreted as smug.
“Your Grace, we’re running a dress rehearsal this afternoon, if you’d care to observe,” Portdown said.
Granville shook his head. “I’m content to wait until the performance. Although perhaps Lady Juliet could spare the time to show me the garden when she isn’t involved in the play?”
Silence crashed down. Everyone except Juliet stared at Granville. Portdown looked approving. Portia’s expression froze, which was interesting. Evesham had a feeling that Portia didn’t like the duke.
Evesham had an excellent view of Granville and Juliet. He looked as stolid as ever. Juliet continued to toy with her salad and maintain her sphinx-like air.
It was clear that Granville meant to propose. Evesham shouldn’t be surprised. The moment that he’d taken the trouble to listen, he’d heard rumors of a future engagement between the eldest Frain girl and His Grace.
The thought made bile surge up his throat. The salmon in aspic that he’d been eating formed a cold, indigestible lump in his belly.
Vanessa had been too good for this self-satisfied clod. Juliet was, too. The idea of her condemned to a passionless existence with Alaric Dempster made Evesham want to smash things.
Not just because he coveted her for himself. But also because he’d caught a glimpse of the vibrant woman she could be, and Granville would crush every ounce of spirit out of her.
Evesham hadn’t let Vanessa sacrifice herself to worldly ambition. But he’d known Vanessa all his life, and she trusted him. Could he save Juliet? Even if he did, where did that leave them?
It really was none of his business who the formidable Lady Juliet married. Except every cell in his body insisted she was his and that dull dog Granville had no claim on her.
“I should be at leisure around three.” Her voice was measured as if she, unlike everyone else here, hadn’t guessed Granville’s intentions. “If you can spare me then, Papa?”
Her father’s gaze was surprisingly penetrating as it rested on Juliet. “Of course, my dear. We’ll run through your scene with dear Evesham last, if you like.”
Dear Evesham wanted to protest. Everything would be finalized before he had a chance to talk her out of accepting Granville.
Although what could he say? He had no rights over Juliet.
Chapter 10
On such a beautiful day, the rose garden was an enchanted space. The roses weren’t yet at their best, but there were enough flowers open to perfume the air. A small marble fountain featuring leaping dolphins provided the pleasant burble of flowing water.
Granville appeared in the stone arch, then walked toward Juliet where she waited beside the graceful carving. “Lady Juliet, thank you for permitting me this interview.”
She performed a quick curtsy. She knew what was coming. Five years ago, Bolton had proposed to her in this very place. He’d been a good man, and she’d been glad to accept his offer.
Granville was another good man. She should be equally glad to become his wife. Until these last unsettling days, she would have been. After all, it was something of a triumph to captivate two dukes to the point of offering marriage.
She didn’t feel triumphant. She felt uncertain and beleaguered.
