Page 41 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
When Juliet lost herself in acting, Evesham saw a woman a world away from the genteel cipher she preferred to present in public. That scintillating woman wouldn’t be allowed out to play, once she became the Duchess of Granville.
Her inevitable fate made him angry and regretful. More, it made his gut revolt in denial. And something that felt very like despair.
His Dis-Grace, the Duke of Evesham, didn’t deal in despair, God damn it.
Almost inevitably, he found himself under Juliet’s window. He shouldn’t even know which room was hers, but of course he’d found out. She had apartments at the end of the north wing. Portia and his lordship were in the south wing, along with the guest room that he’d been assigned. Granville slept a few doors up from him.
To his surprise, a light shone through the casement window above. He’d been slouching around outside for a couple of hours, so he’d assumed that the rest of the household must be asleep.
It seemed that Juliet, like him, found repose elusive.
He eyed the gothic exterior of the house, as an outrageous thought crept into his mind.
By Jericho, she’d never forgive him. She’d scream. She’d have him banished from the estate, gala or no gala.
He couldn’t. He really couldn’t.
But he was already striding toward the building, and his heart was racing with anticipation.
***
Juliet was in bed, pretending to readEmma,when she heard muffled scraping outside. It startled her out of a brown study, where she stared into space, telling herself over and over that she’d done the right thing today.
She put aside the book and scrambled out of bed. Curious, she stuck her head through the open window to an airless night. Whatever caused the odd sounds, it wasn’t the wind.
“But, soft! What light from yonder window breaks?”
She squeaked with shock and looked down to find Evesham poised on a stone parapet about ten feet below. As usual, his soft black hair was mussed. He’d discarded his coat, and his loose shirt made a white patch in the darkness.
The unwelcome insight struck her that he looked more like Romeo now than he did when he wore the doublet and hose of his costume. Not that he didn’t look dashing then either.
She’d long ago recognized that the Duke of Evesham looked dashing in everything that he wore. Curse him.
“What the devil are you doing there?” She sounded irritable, mostly because the surge of joy that greeted his arrival wasn’t permissible in a newly engaged woman.
“I want to talk to you,” he said in a low voice.
“It’s late,” she hissed. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Everyone else is there at breakfast.”
“You don’t need to see me privately.”
The lamplight spilling from inside her room revealed the stubborn set of his jaw. “Yes, I do.”
She lowered her voice even further, although nobody had a bedroom nearby. “I would like you to forget last night’s unfortunate…encounter.”
He stared up, as if intent on memorizing every inch of her features. “I’ll be a dead man before I forget what happened, Juliet.”
Confound him, he sounded as if he meant it. Even worse, he sounded as if he suffered.
She kept enough grip on reality to know that neither could be true. In a lifetime of carnal encounters, one kiss wouldn’t make a lasting impression. Especially when she was such a rank beginner at the activity.
To her chagrin, she had a sick feeling that he’d scarred her for life. He’d never think of her once he left, while she’d dream about that fleeting taste of sin forever. Which was a wicked thing to admit when she’d just agreed to marry another man. And a man worthy of her undiluted loyalty.
“You must forget. Now leave me be.” She started to turn away.
“Don’t marry him, Juliet. He won’t make you happy.” This time, he didn’t keep his voice down.
