Page 55 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
No uncertainty in her answer. He couldn’t doubt she meant it. Evesham’s lips tightened, as he stifled crushing regret. And a hurt deep enough to crack his heart.
Granville permitted himself a satisfied smile. “It’s clear that the lady has your measure, Evesham.”
“Juliet, I’m afraid it’s gone too far now. You need to marry someone,” Portdown said, wringing his hands. “I’m sure no harm was done. Just a kiss or two in the moonlight. High spirits after all that poetry. Nobody would blame you. Perhaps if you won’t have Evesham, Granville will offer again.”
Despite the fraught circumstances, Evesham almost laughed. As if that puffed-up peacock would take his leavings.
Because that was how Granville would view Juliet. Even if she remained a million times too good for him. Lord above, she could swive half the Grenadier Guards, and she’d still be too good for him.
But Granville proved him wrong. Even, much as he hated to admit it, impressed him. The man didn’t hesitate, and his answer betrayed no misgivings. “I’d count it a privilege to make Lady Juliet my duchess. I hold her in the highest esteem. I always have.”
Juliet looked as amazed as Evesham. Damn it, the glance that she cast Granville was almost warm.
Evesham started to move toward her, then stopped. She’d made it clear she didn’t want him touching her. But dear God above, don’t let her accept the oaf.
Something bone-deep inside Evesham howled denial. Because Juliet was his. She belonged with him. Even if, right now, he was the only person who recognized that.
He looked back on his chaotic, pointless existence, and he knew he wasn’t worthy of her either. But how could he bear to see her march out of his life with her purposeful walk and her unshakable determination?
“That’s…very generous of you, Your Grace,” she said, and for the life of him, Evesham had no idea whether she meant to take the blockhead.
“There, Juliet,” Portdown said, taking her arm. “That will put an end to all this nonsense. Once you’re the Duchess of Granville, nobody will dare to—”
She shook her father off. “It won’t do, Papa. I appreciate Granville’s gallantry, but I won’t marry him either.”
She was refusing Granville’s offer? Evesham sucked in a huge breath of relief. “My offer stands, my lady.”
“That’s very kind,” she said, sounding as if she didn’t mean it.
“You have to choose one of them,” Portdown said, bouncing from one foot to the other in his distress.
Juliet looked strong and resolute – and lonely. He feared that if she didn’t bend, she’d break. His hands itched to touch her, to hold her together through this harrowing ordeal.
“No, I don’t.” She’d sounded like this, likely to snap in two, last night when she’d refused his first proposal. She couldn’t make her opinion any clearer that Evesham was good enough to kiss, but not good enough to wed. The pain in his heart, already crippling, sharpened beyond agony.
“Lady Juliet, whatever your decision, I believe we need to return to the house,” Evesham said, even as he struggled to come to terms with yet another categorical refusal. “Nothing can be gained from an argument here.”
But it was too late. A muffled titter rose from the shrubbery. All four people in the center of the glade stiffened and exchanged horrified glances.
Evesham bit back a savage curse. Poor Juliet. Poor Portdown. Scandal was now unavoidable.
Granville turned and spoke with his usual imperiousness. “Show yourselves.”
Despite some rustling, nobody appeared. But it was clear that the vile little scene had an audience. In the dell behind them, the musicians continued to play. The jaunty music grated on Evesham’s nerves and made him want to skewer them all with a sharpened violin bow.
“What on earth is happening?” Portia burst onto the scene. As usual, her dogs raced after her, leaping and running around in circles. “Half of London seems to be heading in this direction.”
Unsettled by the tense atmosphere, the dogs started to bark and growl and snuffle through the bushes. With varying degrees of protest, a dozen fashionably dressed people tumbled out into the clearing.
Evesham ground his teeth and wondered if things could get any worse. Portdown glanced around in alarm. “My lords and ladies, this is not well done.”
The dogs added to the cacophony, turning the bristling confrontation into pure farce. Aristocratic eavesdroppers shouted and swore and squealed, as they fought off Portia’s curious pets.
“Juliet, what is it?” Portia ignored her overexcited dogs. Instead, she stepped up to put her arm around her trembling sister. “You look like you’re about to throw yourself into the lake.”
Juliet sagged against Portia as if she couldn’t have remained upright for another minute. “That might solve a lot of problems,” she said in a reedy voice.
How Evesham loathed Juliet’s suffering. It made his very skin sting, he loathed it so much. He burned to sweep her into his arms and carry her away. But to his infinite regret, he was the last person she’d look to for rescue.
