Page 10 of The Last Duke She'd Marry
He curled his hand around Juliet’s slender arm under its pale green sleeve. “Let me assist you, my lady.”
She stiffened. So did he, even as he told himself to settle down. He couldn’t spend the next week at perpetual half-mast.
This strong reaction to Juliet Frain surprised Evesham. He was familiar with lust – too familiar, his critics would say. But he’d never before felt like a ninepin hit by a wooden ball. And every time he thought that he was ready to get up, Lady Juliet knocked him down again.
Through the pulse thundering in his head, he heard her catch her breath. Did the contact of skin on skin thrill her, too? Or was she just annoyed at his presumption?
Before she could think to pull away, he drew her off the stage and up the hillside. “Are you happy to sit on the ground?”
She snatched another shaky breath, although when she responded, her voice sounded as it usually did. “I’m not happy about any of this. What on earth prompted you to accept Papa’s offer? I’ve never heard that you were interested in artistic matters.”
He could imagine just what she’d heard. None of it to his credit, he knew. The scandal nine years ago had been bad enough, and retellings would only exaggerate it. Not to mention that he ran with a wild crowd on the Continent. “He challenged me to a game of cards at my club. If I won, he’d never mention Shakespeare to me again – which I now realize was unlikely, whoever came out ahead. If he won, I agreed to play Romeo.” His voice flattened. “He won.”
Juliet frowned. “He never loses when he’s inveigling people into his schemes.”
“Perhaps the Muses make sure he gets a good hand.”
“That’s one theory,” Juliet said in a tone as dry as dust.
“Whatever the truth behind it, he trounced me. No Venetian card sharp could have done it better.” Evesham released her arm and tugged off his dark blue coat to spread it on the ground for her to sit on.
She cast him a cynical look. “Very gallant.”
He pretended to take her comment at face value, although they were both aware that he was no true gentleman. “Your dress is too pretty to spoil with grass stains.”
That was true. The apple green muslin frock was in the first stare of fashion and made her skin look like fresh cream. She seemed to emerge from the spring greenery around her like a nymph.
The poetic atmosphere at Afton must be affecting his mind. He’d lost any impulse to romanticize his lovers well before he left Eton. He liked women. He liked them a lot. But he never suffered the smallest impulse to idealize them.
“Thank you,” she said calmly.
How disappointing. For a moment there, he’d wondered if Juliet found him as unsettling as he found her. And not just because he was a notorious rake.
Now she was back to sounding like her collected self. He much preferred her on edge. It was clear that he needed to do something to shake her composure. “May I assist you?”
Despite her wary sideways glance, she accepted his hand. Down on the stage area, Portdown put Portia through her paces, despite a chorus of barking from the canine audience.
“No, no, no, not like that,” he complained. “You’re meant to be ethereal.”
Juliet smothered a laugh, as Evesham lowered himself to sit beside her. “Why on earth did Papa cast Portia in this particular part? She’s a wonderful sister with a generous heart, but nobody in their right mind would call her delicate. I’ve seen her face down half a dozen bully boys to save a puppy from harm.”
“Good for her. Although she ought to be careful. I suspect that so far, she’s escaped unscathed more through good luck than good management.”
Juliet looked at him in surprise. “You approve?”
“I approve of anyone willing to defend the weak against the strong. Robin Hood is my hero.”
“Not Casanova?”
He met her steady blue gaze and was pleased when after a moment, her eyelids flickered down and she looked away. Yes, he could rattle her. He doubted many people – men – could say the same.
“You do like to lead with a challenge, don’t you?” he said in a thoughtful tone. “Perhaps Portia isn’t the only member of this family who lives dangerously.”
Juliet had a lush mouth, created for kissing. A sharply defined upper lip and full pink lower lip perfect for a lover to nibble. That mouth firmed, as if she bit back a retort. “We should talk about the play.”
If that kept her mind on him, he was happy to cooperate. “Very well.”
“Where’s your script?”
