Page 64 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
The fellow went on. “Unless you rethink this disastrous conduct, I have no choice. I have one daughter left, and I will not allow you to destroy her prospects. If you won’t marry Evesham, you’re dead to me.”
“But you love Juliet,” Evesham protested. “Think again, man. She might have a chance of coming through this, if you offer her your support.”
“Yes, I love her.” Evesham had never thought the ebullient Portdown could sound so bleak. “Which is why I must make this difficult decision.”
“Don’t make me call your bluff, Papa,” Juliet said in a voice like iron.
“It’s no bluff.”
A militant light entered her eyes as she straightened. “In that case, I’ll arrange my departure. I’ll let you know my address, once I’ve set up a household.”
Portdown bore no resemblance to last night’s exuberant impresario. “Don’t bother. If you won’t marry Evesham, you’re nothing to me.”
She angled her chin up, and her expression set. “Very well. I bid you good day, sir.”
Juliet strutted out of the room with a superior air that under other circumstances would make Evesham want to applaud. This wasn’t Juliet Capulet. This was Cleopatra.
“Juliet…” Portdown began as she went through the door, but she didn’t turn back.
Evesham shot Portdown a contemptuous look. “You’re an infernal fool, my lord.”
Portdown didn’t answer, merely stared after his daughter with a distraught expression.
Evesham swore under his breath and dashed out after Juliet. “He doesn’t mean it.”
“Yes, he does,” she said in a choked voice.
She stood on the bottom step, clinging to the pineapple carved into the newel post, as if that alone kept her upright. She didn’t look up, and he realized that she struggled against bursting into tears.
The show of proud defiance had been exactly that. A show. Thanks to her involvement with Evesham, Juliet had lost her home and her family, as well as a respected place in society. Her life was in ruins.
Self-hatred soured his gut, as he admitted that she’d been right to want to send him away when he arrived. A mere week in his company had turned her life into a barren waste.
“But what will you do?”
Juliet sucked in a shuddering breath and faced him. She’d gathered her control around her with staggering swiftness. Now she looked as pale and perfect as if she was carved from ice. “Don’t worry. I won’t go on the streets.”
He didn’t laugh, if indeed it was intended as a grim joke. “Of course you won’t. You have family and friends.”
Her mouth twisted with a bitterness that made him flinch. “I do. Or at least I did, until I lost my reputation. I doubt that I’m quite as in demand on the social scene as I was before last night.”
“I won’t let you go without.”
More bitterness. “So I’ll becomeyourkept woman?”
“I won’t ask anything in return. This debacle is my doing.”
She squared her shoulders. He’d thought that she looked lonely before, but now she looked like the loneliest girl in England. “That’s kind of you.”
His hand cut through the air. “I’m not bloody kind. I refuse to see you destitute.”
“I won’t be destitute. My grandmother left me a substantial fortune that became mine to use as I wish, once I turned twenty-five. I’ll be more than all right. If Papa imagines he’s going to starve me into submission, he’ll soon realize how wrong he is.”
One part of Evesham was grateful that Juliet had resources. Another much more unworthy part was sorry that she wouldn’t need to turn to him for help. This Sir Galahad stuff was deuced addictive. He felt a pang of unexpected sympathy for Granville.
But of course, Juliet was no helpless waif. Even now, with her world a wreck, she remained self-reliant and strong. So strong, he feared yet again that she might crack under the unrelenting pressure.
“He’s drunk with pride and pique and vinegar. He’ll get over it.”
