Page 62 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
“I’m also willing to overlook last night’s misconduct, my lady,” Granville said. “I’d count it a privilege if you’d change your mind about becoming my bride.”
Get away from her, you encroaching bastard. She’s mine.
A hunted expression crossed Juliet’s face. “I thank both of you for asking, but it won’t do.”
“Juliet, don’t be a fool,” Portdown snarled. With each minute, his paterfamilias act descended further into uncomprehending anger. “You have to marry one of them.”
Her lush lips flattened. “I’m willing to pay the price of my misdeeds and retire from society. I’ll live quietly here at Afton Park. After all, it’s what I’ve done since the Duke of Bolton’s unfortunate accident.”
“But you were born to rule society, my lady,” Granville protested. “If you forsake the world, the world will be the poorer.”
Another grateful smile to Granville, blast his eyes. If she liked the blackguard so much, why didn’t she jolly well marry him?
“Thank you, Your Grace. But after last night, whispers will always follow me.”
“The Duchess of Granville is above the ton’s petty spite.”
“Perhaps. But if I accept your proposal, it won’t be a match of equals. My gratitude for your extraordinary condescension would poison our marriage.”
“I will never say a word of reproach, my lady. You have my word on it.”
Her smile this time was regretful. Not that any of them were real smiles. Right now, she looked like she’d never smile properly again. Which made Evesham sick with guilt.
“You’re a good man, Your Grace. Far too good for me. Thank you for asking me to marry you, but I must decline.”
Her refusal left Granville looking shocked. “I hate to think of you throwing yourself away on this wastrel. I’d still like to shoot him.”
Juliet looked weary. “That won’t improve matters.”
“It would make me feel better.”
Evesham’s eyes narrowed on his rival. “I don’t know why you’re so convinced that if it comes to a duel, I’ll miss, old man.”
“You fired into the air last time. Honor requires you to do the same this time.”
“Your Grace, there will not be a this time,” Juliet said sharply. “When I released you from our engagement, you lost any right to interfere in my life.”
A muscle flickered in the duke’s cheek. “If I shoot the villain, it’s purely for my own pleasure.”
“Stop it,” Juliet said. “Nobody is getting shot. My…mistakes aren’t worth the loss of life.”
Granville rose and gave her a bow that expressed chilly politeness. Much as Evesham wanted to despise the jackanapes, he understood the man’s umbrage. Granville had rushed onto the scene ready to play Sir Galahad and rescue the fair damsel, only to find that the fair damsel preferred to stay with the dragon.
Or at least, given Evesham played the dragon in this particular fairy tale, he hoped that was the case.
“Under the circumstances, my lady, I believe I should leave Afton Park.” Granville’s voice was crisp and unemotional, but something told Evesham that he wasn’t as unaffected as he wished to appear. “I wish you well.”
“Thank you.” Juliet’s gaze was sad, as it dwelled on her former betrothed. “You leave here with my deepest admiration and gratitude.”
Evesham wanted to smash something. Perhaps the pair of blue Sèvres vases on the mantel with their smug cupids who seemed to sit in judgment on him. And found him inadequate, just like Juliet did. Juliet, who was so confoundedly grateful to Granville, but wouldn’t give Evesham the time of day.
Portdown leaped to his feet and caught Granville’s arm. “Your Grace, don’t be too hasty. She may change her mind. She’s just being a willful, reckless fool. She’ll think better of her refusal, if I have anything to say about it.”
Granville shook Portdown off. “I’m not sure I want a willful, reckless bride, my lord.”
Portdown’s face fell, as he realized that he was taking the wrong tack. “She’s a good girl. It’s just that right now—”
“Papa, let him go. I won’t marry him. He can ask me until doomsday.”
