Page 13 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
What on earth are you doing?
As Juliet stomped through the woods, the critical voice that had taken up residence in her head over the years since her mother’s death shrieked with bewildered rage.
So what indeed was she doing?
All her life, she’d strived to be a credit to her name and herself. She’d always known that her behavior provided a model for her younger sisters and that Papa, much as she loved him, wasn’t fit to guide two young girls to take their place in society.
She had perfect manners, and she was famous for her poise and elegance. For goodness sake, both Portia and Viola had told her that she was so devoted to propriety that she was old before her time.
That was one reason why she was convinced that she and Granville would suit. He was a serious man, who knew that life wasn’t for trifling with. They both had ambitions to make the world a better place, and she admired his clear-eyed view of the troubled state of the kingdom.
Even she had to admit that her assessment of her suitor sounded horribly sensible. But she was a horribly sensible person. Not for her the ecstasies of passion. From what she’d seen, passion only led to trouble. Look at Lady Caroline Lamb and Byron. Look at Viola and Renfrew. Look at Evesham and the disgraced Lady Vanessa Gould. Each had succumbed to their desires, and each had come to grief as a result.
Juliet’s feet were firmly planted on the ground. She had no intention of throwing her bonnet over a windmill for the sake of a handsome rogue’s smile. In fact, she was judged so cool and unemotional, some of society’s crueler wits had dubbed her the icicle.
She’d been a mere eighteen when she first heard that, young enough to shed a few tears in the privacy of her bedroom. But these days, she relished her formidable and well-deserved reputation.
Except here she was with a rogue of surpassing handsomeness – and roguishness – and her idiot heart was skipping around and missing beats and lodging in her throat. She felt vividly alive in a way that she couldn’t remember, and her manners seemed to have moved to the North Pole.
While she’d never reacted like this before, she had no doubt what it meant. Hadn’t she just failed to save her younger sister from a scandal, precisely because Viola took one look at another handsome rogue and forgot every rule? When Viola was with Lord Renfrew, she looked like she dined on starlight.
Juliet had been sure that she was immune to such romantic silliness.
It turned out that she’d spoken too soon, confound it.
Because much as she wanted to despise Evesham, she couldn’t control the fizz in her blood or the awareness of how tall and powerful he was. A masterpiece of virility like a hot-blooded stallion. He was everything she abhorred, yet it seemed he was also everything that reminded her she was a woman with a woman’s needs.
What in the name of heaven could she do?
Given that against all the odds, His naughty Grace seemed just as interested in her. Of course, it was likely that his eyes brightened when any nubile female appeared. This temporary madness didn’t blind her to his dreadful reputation.
She tried her best to freeze him out, if only to mask his overwhelming effect on her. But even she could tell that every needling remark, every snub, betrayed that she was drawn to him like a cat to catnip. Or a drunkard to brandy, given how her mind reeled.
If she could summon her usual placid calmness, she suspected that she’d soon bore him to death. But placid calmness had also moved to the North Pole, the moment the Duke of Evesham appeared.
Honestly, she wanted to give this new and unfamiliar version of herself a good kick. Twenty-six years of prudence couldn’t compete with an hour in a charming rake’s company. It just wasn’t fair.
A couple of paces of those long legs allowed His Grace to catch up. “Please stop fuming. You’re spoiling a lovely day.”
Juliet was tall for a woman. Evesham towered over her. He was imposing, whichever way she looked at him. But his extraordinary physical condition conveyed an impression of fitness and agility, rather than hulking size.
The gravel path through the copse had never before seemed too narrow. It seemed absurd now that it shrank to leave barely room for her and a far too impudent nobleman.
“A lovely day? It’s a disaster,” she bit out, then wanted to cut off her tongue.
All her life, her unruffled exterior had concealed a much less discreet inner conversation. Something about Evesham flushed every imprudent remark out into the open.
“I think you must accept my presence, my lady.”
She sighed and stopped, as they emerged from the trees and onto a lawn leading up to a pretty wooden structure in the Chinese manner. This summerhouse by the lake had always been one of her favorite places on the estate. She could already tell that memories of His Grace’s company would spoil that. “You must think every member of my family is a lunatic.”
“So far, Lady Portia appears reasonable. But of course, I can only claim the most casual acquaintance with your sister.”
“Actually she has her own eccentricities. Until today, I’d have said I had the steadiest head in the family.”
“Oh, dear,” he said with such exaggerated alarm that despite all her turmoil, she couldn’t help laughing.
When Juliet caught her breath, she felt a little better. She was fretting herself into a decline when there was no need. Surely she could restrain herself from leaping on this picturesque scoundrel. He made her aware of her femininity in a way that she didn’t appreciate. But he’d be gone in a week, and she could go back to being the even-tempered woman she’d always been.
