Page 65 of The Duke Says I Do
“We could have cleaned up in the morning,” he said with a mildness that in no way reflected his desperation.
She glanced up with a smile, as she untied the apron that she’d found in the larder and laid it over the back of a wooden chair. “I know.”
“But you like things done right.”
For all his ravening impatience, there was something deeply pleasing about watching this woman he wanted beyond all others pottering about like a middle-class housewife tending to the man in her life.
“Juliet made sure her sisters were proficient in the domestic arts. She said we couldn’t run a household if we didn’t know how to do everything ourselves.”
“That sounds like Juliet.”
His attempt at a neutral tone must have failed, because Portia cast him a troubled glance. “I suppose you hate her. With good cause. But she’s my sister, and I love her.”
“As you should.” He might have no experience of the love between siblings, but he’d noted that the three Frain sisters formed a close-knit unit.
“I won’t mention her again.” He hated to see her mouth turn down with a hint of sadness. “But she was like a mother to me and she sacrificed so much to bring us up. Papa was useless.”
Her father was completely stagestruck. Unless the topic was Shakespeare, he had no interest in it. Granville blamed Lord Portdown’s inadequate parenting for the recent scandals that had engulfed the Frain family.
“You mustn’t feel bad talking about Juliet.” He examined his feelings. “You know, I don’t hate her.”
“You’re being a gentleman again.”
His gesture was apologetic. “I can’t help myself.”
“No, you can’t.” Her smile indicated that she wasn’t displeased.
However she teased, something told him that she liked him as he was. And for who he was. Not because he held a great title and had riches to burn. “I mean it. I don’t hate her.”
Her flattened lips dismissed his statement. “She treated you shabbily. I love her, and even I think that.”
“But you see, that’s it. She didn’t love me. She loved Evesham. I despise the bastard, but I’m sure he loves her back. Better all round that they marry each other, than someone else, don’t you agree?”
Portia still didn’t look like she believed him. “That’s very generous.”
“Not at all.” He’d never eaten his heart out over Juliet, although she’d given his pride a good kick when she eloped with his worst enemy. “Anyway…”
“Anyway?”
“If I’d married Juliet, you and I would never have come together.” He spoke from absolute conviction. “I’d give up an awful lot, if the end result was having you to myself like this.”
She stood stock-still and regarded him with an expression that he couldn’t altogether read.
“Say something,” he said, half-joking.
She shook her head, as if aligning thoughts in complete disarray. “I’m…”
Another silence.
“Pleased? Relieved?”
The soft light in her blue eyes made something unfamiliar inside him unfurl like a flower opening to the sun. The sensation verged on painful.
She raised her hand to her lips, as if holding back a confession. That newborn corner of his soul reached toward her, but when she spoke, it was in answer to his remark. “Pleased.”
For a charged moment, they stared at each other. Granville couldn’t help but feel that a separate conversation took place out of earshot. He’d hand over half his fortune if he could eavesdrop.
“That’s…that’s good,” he said gruffly.
