Page 53 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
What had just happened so entranced her, that it didn’t occur to her to let him go. For once, nobody was observing them, so she didn’t have to pretend that her longing for Evesham wasn’t irresistible.
When he drew her toward the trees, she didn’t pull back. He didn’t speak. Nor did she.
But when he stopped in a small clearing in the woods, well out of the audience’s earshot, she stepped into his embrace without hesitation.
Chapter 15
Evesham gathered Juliet up in his arms and kissed her as if the world was about to end. The embrace was the only possible end to the extraordinary bond that they’d forged on the stage.
She sighed in rapture and parted her lips. Blazing heat shuddered through him, but the powerful wave of desire only expressed his soul’s longing to possess this glorious woman. He’d never felt like this before, battered between devastating emotion and carnal hunger.
In the distance, a storm of applause broke out. Old Portdown must have done a good job of the finale. The noise seemed to come from a different universe.
Evesham tangled his shaking hand in Juliet’s silky hair and angled her head closer. She twined her arms around him, until he felt every curve of that long, lissom body against him. Her scent deluged his reeling senses. Flowers. A hint of perspiration. The delicious drift of female arousal.
He groaned against her lips, fighting the lure of pleasure. Every masculine instinct urged him to pull her down onto the grass and take events to their proper conclusion. But even lost in a kiss as he’d never been lost before, he couldn’t forget that half the beau monde was sitting only a few yards away.
The applause and cheering continued. Rose in volume.
Evesham had to let Juliet go. Return to the stage to take a bow.
But he was only human. How could he abandon this paradise?
“Good God, what on earth are you doing?”
Portdown’s furious question pierced Evesham’s haze like a sword pierced flesh. Juliet went rigid, then struggled free of his embrace.
“Papa!”
The full moon and the light filtering through the trees from the stage allowed Evesham to see her horrified expression. He almost wished he couldn’t. She looked as brittle as overcooked toffee, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if she was cold. Her father stood a couple of feet away, breathing in audible gusts and looking like he was about to explode.
There was no hiding that Evesham and Juliet had been in the middle of a passionate embrace. Guilt and self-castigation congealed in his gut. What in blazes had he thought he was doing?
He cursed his recklessness. He should have kept his head. More than that, he should have kept his hands to himself.
“Juliet, are you all right?” Evesham stepped closer.
She jerked away, as if he carried a disease. “What do you think?” she choked out.
Evesham turned to her father. “Lord Portdown, I know what you saw, but Juliet bears no blame. The fault is mine.”
“We can’t go into that now. They want you both to take a bow.” There was enough light for Evesham to read his host’s expression. Portdown looked completely overturned. Seething. Confused. Upset. “You’ll have to—”
“I damn well knew it!”
Granville burst out of the surrounding trees and strode up to them. He grabbed Evesham by the shoulder and wrenched him around until they were face to face. “You sodding bastard. You won’t get away with this shabby trick twice. Name your seconds.”
“Get your hands off me,” Evesham snarled.
“With pleasure. After this.” Granville surged forward and planted a punch on Evesham’s chin that had him staggering.
Pain rocketed through him, and bells clanged in his skull. Seeing double, he struggled to keep his feet.
“What the hell…” Evesham placed a hand over his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken. He blinked to clear his vision. By Jupiter, he’d have to stop calling Granville a milksop. That blow was worthy of Gentleman Jackson.
Juliet stepped up to her betrothed. “Your Grace, there’s no call to—”
Granville overrode her interruption with a lordly sweep of his hand. His searing fury remained focused on Evesham. “Name your seconds, you sneaking weasel. And this time when we duel, I’ll do better than wing you.”
