Page 8 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
He straightened from the convenient column and bowed again. “I’m at your disposal, my lady.”
Her magnificent bosom swelled against the modest green bodice of her gown, and her shoulders squared. Deep blue eyes, the color of the Mediterranean at sunset, narrowed on him, and in his head, he heard her silent “damn you.”
By Jericho, who on earth would call this woman staid? She burned with defiance. Irresistible, really, to a man who had spent his whole life daring fate to do its worst.
She was too much woman to waste on that prating bore Granville.
At that moment, he swore that he’d keep this ravishing creature out of his enemy’s desiccated claws. Or his name wasn’t Lucas Hebden.
Inevitably, he couldn’t help feeling that history repeated itself. But he had no regrets about his actions nearly a decade ago, and something told him that he wouldn’t regret what he did this time either.
Another spectacular blond, obviously Juliet’s sister, appeared at the top of the slope in front of the stage. She paused, as she realized that there was a stranger in their midst. Three dogs gathered at her feet. A red-and-white one that looked mostly beagle. A collie mix. A disreputable black rascal that looked like a poacher’s dog.
Evesham had heard that Lady Portia rescued mistreated animals. Very laudable, but a little too do-gooder for him. Odd that despite her resemblance to her sister, she left him admiring but uninterested in taking matters further.
“Portia, about time.” Portdown greeted her with audible irritation. “I expected you to be here when I arrived.”
“Sorry, Papa. Mrs. Rose brought in a cat that the local louts were tormenting. You must have a word with Farmer Cooper about George. That boy is a menace.”
“Yes, yes, I will.” Irritation edged her father’s tone. “Right now, I want you concentrating on Ophelia, not your confounded strays.”
Portia didn’t appear to be listening. It seemed to be a family trait.
Instead, she descended the stone steps, dogs trotting at her heels. As she climbed the stairs to the stage, she regarded Evesham with an open curiosity that contained none of Juliet’s immediate bristling hostility. “We have a guest?”
“Yes, the Duke of Evesham is playing Romeo.” Portdown gestured to his younger daughter. “May I present Juliet’s sister Portia, Your Grace?”
Evesham took her hand and bowed over it. “Enchanted, Lady Portia.”
“Your Grace.” Giving him a broad smile, she curtsied. “I can see why Papa decided to make you Romeo.”
“The minute I saw him, I knew,” Portdown said. “I hope Evesham’s presence on our stage will draw a large audience to our revels.”
“Papa is planning to establish an annual Shakespeare festival here, where he does complete plays,” Portia said. “But the neighbors don’t find the prospect exciting. They’re too used to seeing us all dress up and recite.”
“Now people will come down from Town, if only to see a duke on the boards,” Portdown said. “Once they perceive the production’s excellence, they’ll come again.”
Juliet clearly read Evesham’s disgusted reaction to the idea of the ton observing his inept performance. A derisive smile appeared on her lovely face – how could anyone call a woman capable of such malicious glee a hidebound bore?
“It’s quite possible that I’ll be completely useless on a stage, my lord,” Evesham pointed out.
He’d relied on his lack of ability to rescue him from proceeding. But now, the last thing he wanted to do was return to London. Such a difference a snapping pair of blue eyes could make.
“I doubt it,” Portdown said. “I have an instinct for talent. Anyway, I’m happy to coach you, and Juliet knows the play like the back of her hand.”
“As a lady called Juliet would,” Evesham said, directing a sly glance to where she stood beside her father. He approved of her coaching him.
“I knew you had something up your sleeve,” Portia said to her father. “You’ve been so secretive, getting the Chinese room prepared and refusing to cast Henry Bell opposite Juliet as you always do.”
“Henry has his qualities, but Juliet scares the life out of him. When they did Rosalind and Orlando, he looked ready to faint.”
“Juliet can be terrifying,” Portia said, fondness softening the remark.
“She can indeed, so be warned,” Juliet muttered, and Evesham realized that she’d edged closer. Brave of her, under the circumstances.
He shifted to stand next to her, ignoring whatever Portia and Portdown were saying. “Only a foolish man would underestimate you, Lady Juliet.”
“From what I hear, youarea foolish man, Your Grace.”
