Page 25 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
While the look that she sent him might express aversion, desire smoldered beneath her hostility. “Isn’t it?”
“It has been. In the past.” He sighed and stepped closer, catching a hint of her floral scent. “Not with you.”
Bitterness frayed her short laugh. “And I’m sure you’ve said that a hundred times before, too.”
Devil take her, he had. But this time, he meant it. Although he already knew insisting would do no good. “How can I prove my sincerity?”
Another of those direct, devastating looks. “You can’t.”
“Then what are we to do?” he asked with a genuine despair that he knew she’d assume was just another act.
He’d relished his bad reputation as the wickedest duke alive. Now he cursed all the talk, because it placed a barrier between him and this woman he wanted.
To his regret, she tugged her hand from his. He missed the contact the moment it ended. “Nothing.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Her tone was decisive. “I’m not going to risk my reputation and my chance of making a good marriage, just because it turns out I’m as susceptible to your cheap tricks as every other woman you’ve ruined over the years.”
That really did sting. Evesham drew himself up to his full height and replied in a supercilious drawl. “I may be disreputable, my dear, but I’m never cheap. I don’t in general specialize in ruin, either. The ladies I pursue aren’t breathless innocents.”
“What about Vanessa Gould?”
The name stopped him in his tracks, evoked a whole cauldron of memories. “She was…”
“An innocent?”
Yes, she had been. “My friend.”
The contempt in Juliet’s exhalation made his skin itch. “I’m sure.”
He’d sworn an oath that he’d never reveal the events of that summer nine years ago. He’d never broken that vow. It was one of the few shreds of honor still clinging to his stained soul.
When he didn’t counter that jeering response, she went on. “And I’m an innocent, too.”
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “Of course you are.”
Before he’d met Juliet, he’d wondered if she’d given her maidenhead to the late Duke of Bolton, who had died during their betrothal. But the moment he’d met her, proud virgin Athena, he’d known that she and her duke hadn’t anticipated their vows.
Had she loved Bolton? Hell, did she love Granville?
The possibility smashed through him like a bullet fired from close range. Every muscle tightened in primitive denial. She couldn’t love that self-important blowhard. He refused to accept the possibility.
And why the hell was he thinking about love? His affairs were pleasurable, but they never plumbed the more profound emotions.
“So there can be nothing between us,” she said when the silence lengthened.
“There’s already something between us.”
“Physical attraction.”
Evesham released a short laugh. “Don’t speak of that with such contempt. A young man’s hankering for a young woman is one of heaven’s gifts to humanity.”
Disapproval firmed her lips. Once, that critical look might have worked. But over the last few days, he’d learned that the formidable Lady Juliet wasn’t nearly as stern as she liked to appear. “I don’t think heaven has anything to do with it.”
Perhaps not. Unless one referred to the very worldly heaven that one could find in a lover’s arms. “Don’t you ever want to have some fun?”
Then regretted his words when hurt flashed in her deep blue eyes. “Since Mamma’s death, I’ve been responsible for my sisters. I’ve had no time for fun.”
