Page 48 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“No, a marriage between us will be a disaster.”
“And of course you’ve got Granville,” he said with a hint of malice.
Granville? In all this mess, she hadn’t remembered her fiancé. How could she be so remiss? Today, she’d promised to become another man’s wife. Yet she’d dived straight into Evesham’s arms as if she belonged there. What sort of woman was she?
She gaped at Evesham in shock. “You…”
He growled and turned away, raking one hand through his hair. “That was shabby. I’m sorry.”
Juliet knew that the only really shabby person here was her. She’d betrayed Granville twice over. Once when she’d yielded to Evesham’s caresses. Twice when she only now realized that she hadn’t spared him a thought. “I want you out of here.”
Despite her best efforts, her voice cracked. Because she was tired and heartsick and disgusted with herself. And Evesham’s presence in her bedroom only reminded her of her lapses.
He glanced at her. “We still need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. Let’s get the gala out of the way. Then you can disappear from my life.”
“It’s not going to be that easy, my dear.”
“I’m not your dear,” she bit out. “If I’m anything, I’m your fool.”
His expression stern, he bent his head in a short bow. “Think about my proposal.”
“I won’t.” Although of course she would. Memories of this dreadful night would persecute her forever. “The subject is closed.”
“You’ll still be a duchess if you wed me.”
The snideness provoked a heated response. “That may be true. But I don’t want to beyourduchess.”
“I’ll make you happier than Granville.”
“I doubt it.”
Evesham cast a telling glance at the jumbled bed. Juliet waited for him to point out that at least if she married him, she’d know passion.
He failed to meet her low expectations, which didn’t make her feel any better. They both knew what he’d been thinking. “My offer stands.”
“So does my refusal.”
Please go. Please go. I can’t bear much more of this.
“That’s your right.” When she didn’t reply, he strode toward the window. At last. “Better I leave as I came in. I’d hate to encounter your betrothed in the corridor.”
His sarcastic reference to Granville bounced off her. She was so close to splintering, all she wanted was for Evesham to leave her in peace.
After that devastating encounter, Juliet felt like she’d barely withstood a tidal wave. God help her tomorrow, having to pretend to be an innocent young girl euphoric with first love. Right now, she felt about a hundred years old. And love seemed nothing but a cruel farce.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said in a dull voice.
“Chin up, Juliet.” He cast her a sharp glance over his shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world.”
It felt like the end of the world. But he was right. She was acting like a wet hen. And Juliet Frain would never be so feeble.
She corrected her drooping posture and flashed him a glare of real dislike. By now, she was almost as angry with him as she was with herself. “If you say parting is such sweet sorrow, I’ll dig out Papa’s pistol and shoot you.”
He turned to gape at her, as if he’d been struck by lightning. “By Jupiter, you’re a splendid woman. Granville doesn’t deserve you.”
The compliment only fueled her rage. “And you do?”
