Page 4 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
He should go home to Hebden House and find his bed. At the very least have a wash and a shave and change his shirt. But his servants were so in alt to have the master back after all these years that they fussed. He couldn’t bear fuss.
“Then how about I suggest a deal?”
He opened one eye to see Lord Portdown looking positively beatific. “How about you just leave me alone?”
“Can’t do it, old boy. Not when art is involved. Although I’m willing to make you an offer.”
“Oh?” With an effort, Evesham sat up and regarded the bizarre individual before him. If Granville ended up with this eccentric for a father-in-law, it would be fitting punishment for a life that always fell out exactly as the sod wanted.
“Let’s wager on a hand of piquet. If I win, you’ll come down to Afton Park next week and learn your lines and take part in rehearsals without a whisper of complaint.”
“And if I win?”
“If you win, the subject of Romeo is forever closed. What do you say?”
“Why the hell should I agree?”
“Because you don’t want me pestering you.”
“I don’t. But I don’t want to make an ass of myself spouting bloody Shakespeare in front of an audience either. Nor do I wish to leave London right now.”
“Then you just need to win, Your Grace. Surely a young buck like you doesn’t lack confidence with the cards. I imagine you’ve won more often than you’ve lost.”
It was true, he had. He might choose to souse his wits in various intoxicating substances, but that didn’t mean that he lacked intelligence. His grandfather had despaired that he wasted a fine scholarly mind in pursuit of sporting records.
That fine mind warned him now that this odd, plump little man was playing him. But he was good at cards, and the prospect of Lord Portdown barking at his heels day after day was too appalling to contemplate.
“If I win, you’ll never mention theatricals to me again?”
Portdown lifted one hand in solemn pledge. “My oath as a gentleman. I’ll endure a blond Romeo, while you continue to enjoy the pleasures of the capital.”
Even better, if Granville had to play Romeo, he’d make a fool of himself in front of an audience. How could Evesham resist?
“And all I have to do is play a hand of piquet with you and win?”
“Perhaps to be fair to you, we should make it best of three.”
“I warn you, I’m accounted an excellent player.”
Portdown looked perturbed. As well he should. “Then the outcome is already assured. Shall I call for a pack of cards, Your Grace?”
Sighing, Evesham rose and crossed to the card table in the corner of the room. “Go right ahead.”
Chapter 2
Afton Park, Wiltshire, a week later
Lady Juliet Frain glanced up from her heavily marked script, as her father appeared at the top of the stone steps leading down to the hollow. Next week, this was where his Shakespearean gala would take place.
Papa looked mightily pleased with himself, but that was nothing new. And at least this current project meant that he wasn’t digging up the flower beds at the rented Lorrimer Square house to test his theories about staging ancient Greek drama. Anything he dug up here on his Wiltshire estate belonged to him.
“I’ve got a treat for you, my dear,” he said, bustling toward her, face alight with glee.
A tall, dark-haired man bounded down the grassy slope after her father. Despite his commanding size, he moved with a lithe, energetic grace that took her breath away.
Her father hurried up onto the open-air stage and stopped in front of the bench where she perched among a chaos of props. The night of the gala, Hamlet’s mother would sit here to observe Ophelia’s madness. “I’ve brought you your Romeo.”
She looked past her father to the stranger, who had stopped a couple of feet away to settle a glittering gaze on her. All the other parts in the performance had been assigned to family and neighbors. She’d hoped that her father might cast her suitor, the Duke of Granville, as her lover. When Papa had ordered the best guest bedroom prepared for a mystery visitor, he’d told her that a nice surprise was on its way.
