Page 5 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
Juliet hadn’t seen Granville since she’d left London three weeks ago to prepare for her sister Viola’s scandalously rushed wedding to the Earl of Renfrew. She could already tell that this unknown man was a million miles distant from her own always-correct swain. Who perhaps was no longer her swain. Viola’s antics had tarred the Frains with scandal, and His Grace of Granville sought a wife of impeccable reputation.
Juliet put aside her constant niggle of worry and rose to her feet, wondering who their visitor was.
“My Romeo?” She winced at the uncharacteristic uncertainty in her voice. Lady Juliet Frain was never uncertain, plague take the newcomer. But something about his unabashed masculine appreciation made her falter.
The man was dressed in the height of fashion, however untidy, so he was clearly from society’s upper echelons. He was also making no attempt to hide the way his bright dark eyes conducted a survey of her person. A heated, concentrated inspection that made her want to slap him.
She was surprised at his temerity. Her natural dignity and well-earned reputation for always doing the right thing meant that most men treated her with respect, if not downright apprehension.
Her father couldn’t stop grinning. “Your Grace, allow me to present my daughter Juliet.”
Your Grace?Was this brazen devil a duke? Juliet was something of an expert on England’s premier noblemen. How could this one be a completely unknown quantity?
He didn’t act like a duke. Every duke she knew was conscious of his great consequence. This one looked like he’d just got out of bed and as if he’d happily go back there, given the chance. Taking her with him, the rogue.
His clothing, a dark blue coat and biscuit trousers, while expensive, had been flung on as a matter of convenience rather than fashion. The thick black curls looked as if he’d given them a quick comb then forgotten about them, unusual when elaborate male coiffures were the style.
If only she could say that he was unappealing. But in all her life, she’d never seen such a striking man.
Granville’s looks were much praised. But compared to this tanned, vivid man, her suitor’s blond classical appeal faded to insipidity.
As she chided herself for the disloyal thought, her father went on. “Juliet, this is the Duke of Evesham, who is kind enough to lend his talents to our small company.”
Evesham? Oh, no!
Juliet had been uneasy since her father had produced this picturesque scoundrel. Now dismay made her heart sink.
Silently cursing her father, she curtsied. Did Papa have the slightest idea what a disaster this promised to be, especially for her hopes for the future?
“Your Grace,” she said in a cool voice that in no way reflected her inner disquiet.
“Lady Juliet,” Evesham said with a bow. The deep rumble of his voice stroked her skin like velvet. When every muscle tightened in immediate response, she told herself it was disgust.
She wished him to Hades, although he was yet to do anything improper. Apart from level that fixed attention upon her. The glint in his eyes told her that, unlike her, he was overjoyed to make her acquaintance.
Papa was in general immune to social undercurrents. Which always puzzled her, because he was perceptive and subtle when he directed actors or performed himself. Perhaps everyday events didn’t engage his attention the way that a play did.
He didn’t pick up on the buzz of swift awareness, hostile on her part, edging the air between Juliet and the duke. “The moment I saw Evesham, I knew he was perfect for the part. You two will set the stage alight.”
Juliet’s dismay turned to complete horror, as she recalled why the duke was here. She and this disreputable brute were set to perform the balcony scene, exchanging some of the most romantic lines ever written. Granville would have a fit when he found out.
“Papa, can I have a quick word in private?” For once, her famous composure cracked. Outrage too strong to conceal made her voice tremble.
“Of course, my dear.” Papa glanced at Evesham, who continued to ogle her with that disturbing interest. “If you’ll excuse us, Your Grace?”
“Of course,” he said.
Once Juliet got her father off the stage and out of earshot, she glared at him. “Papa, do you know who that is?”
Her father looked surprised at the question. “Of course I do. I just introduced you. He’s the Duke of Evesham. Met him at White’s. Capital fellow.”
“He’s not a capital fellow,” she hissed. “He’s Granville’s worst enemy.”
“Granville isn’t in that scene with you. He’s not the ardent Latin type at all. He might make a fair Paris, but we’re not doing that part of the play.”
Juliet only just prevented herself from stamping her foot. She often found herself at cross-purposes with her eccentric parent, but never had she felt so much like strangling him. “Pray shift your thoughts from Shakespeare for one second. I’m talking about real life. How will Granville react when he discovers that you’re offering Evesham hospitality? Even worse, what will he think when he hears that I’m playing Juliet to the man’s Romeo?”
“Granville?” Her father looked bewildered. “What has he to do with anything?”
