Page 31 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
Smith, the butler, found Juliet as she and the housekeeper discussed refreshments for tomorrow’s performance.
She’d seen Evesham at breakfast, but Portia had been there as well, so the conversation had been general. Juliet had gobbled down her boiled eggs before scuttling away. She couldn’t risk her perceptive sister noticing that something had changed between Juliet and their guest.
After those torrid moments in his arms, she didn’t want to be alone with Evesham this morning. She hadn’t lied about not dreaming. Last night at least. Because after that soul-shattering kiss, she hadn’t slept a wink. Having to share his company with Portia had left her jumpy and snappy – and deflated.
Although what could she say to him after that kiss? “Pass the pepper, and did you dream of me last night?”
Nor did it help that he seemed as composed and urbane as ever. Or at least so she’d believed, until Portia had risen to select a second roll from the buffet and Evesham had shot Juliet a searing glance that told her he burned to get her alone again.
She couldn’t allow that. If only because last night had revealed that she possessed no defenses against his wiles. Reminding herself that he’d seduced a line of women before her and no doubt would seduce a line of women after her didn’t dampen her inconvenient lust.
Now she had the greatest difficulty concentrating on Mrs. Rose’s questions about whether to serve lobster patties or vol-au-vents at the gala supper.
“We can do chicken sandwiches, can’t we?” she asked.
“My lady, you already said you want egg and cress sandwiches.” Mrs. Rose, who had worked for the late Lady Portdown and had known Juliet since she was a baby, looked puzzled at her infallibly efficient mistress’s distraction. “Wouldn’t a hot savory be a better choice, particularly if the night is cool?”
“Of course.” Juliet blushed and struggled to remember when she’d given that order. The way things were going, society’s brightest and best would be lucky to get stale crackers and cheese.
“Lady Juliet,” Smith said, bursting into the library with uncharacteristic urgency. “You are required in the front hall.”
Surprised, Juliet glanced up. “What is it?”
“His Grace, the Duke of Granville has arrived and says he intends to stay for the next week.”
Juliet gaped at their usually unflappable butler. “Granville? Here?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Since she’d left London to make hurried preparations for Viola’s wedding, she hadn’t heard a word from the man the ton had expected to propose to her. Yet here he was uninvited. And planning to remain until after the theatricals.
It seemed strange for a man who prided himself on always doing the correct thing. Strange and also high-handed. Annoyance nibbled at the edges of her surprise.
She was already on her feet and smoothing her skirts. There wasn’t time to go upstairs and change. Her plain sprigged muslin would have to do. Nobody left one of the nation’s premier noblemen kicking his heels in the entrance hall.
“Mrs. Rose, we’ll need to prepare a room. The peacock apartments, I think.”
The housekeeper was already on her feet. “Very good, my lady.”
Juliet turned to the butler. “Smith, perhaps you could arrange refreshments in the morning room. If His Grace has traveled from London, he’ll want a cup of tea.” Or something stronger.
Smith bowed and stepped back for her to precede him out of the room. She rushed along the corridor but came to a stop before entering the hall. She sucked in a deep breath and drew her customary calmness around her like a veil.
She glided into the room with the air of authority that she’d cultivated all her life. “Your Grace, I apologize for keeping you waiting. What a pleasure to welcome you to Afton Park.”
The duke was staring out of the tall windows that faced the turning circle in front of the house. He was dressedcomme il fautin a bottle-green coat and buff breeches, and his smooth golden hair was as neat as a pin. Juliet shoved away an unwelcome memory of another man with black, rumpled hair and a lazy smile.
Granville was very much admired for his classical fairness. Over recent days, Juliet had been distracted by the forthcoming performance, not to mention a Romeo who proved more compelling than she’d prefer. But seeing Granville again, she remembered that he’d always struck her as the perfect example of his sex. Competent, contained, prudent. Beautifully mannered. A pleasure to look at.
If he failed to move her emotions the way another much less well-behaved duke did, the fault lay with her, not Granville.
He turned to smile at her. As she curtsied, he bowed and stepped forward with the cool savoir faire that she’d liked from the first. “Lady Juliet, it seems I caught you unawares.”
“We’ve been at sixes and sevens with my father’s Shakespeare gala. I suspect there’s been some confusion somewhere.”
“I wrote to Portdown two days ago to say I planned to visit to see the production.” Something in his voice, however steady, told her that more was going on here than a whim to take in some theater. “I’d have come sooner, but I was called away to Yorkshire a fortnight ago.”
She gestured toward the morning room door. “I’ve arranged refreshments. Have you traveled from London?”
