Chapter Ten
Two days later
Rory stood at the front doorstep of Dalhousie Manor and tucked a skeleton key inside his trouser pocket. His informal visit to the kitchens had met with success.
But that was for later.
After his night with Juliet, he’d settled on a strategy.
Sometimes in the absence of a source of burning desire, one’s desire increased.
So, he’d stayed away in the absurd hope that would give her a few thoughts.
Two days later, herehewas—the one unable to stay away a day longer.
It called into question which of them his strategy had done its work upon.
He adjusted his cravat, only just resisting the impulse to sniff his armpits. He hadn’t been this nervous at the prospect of seeing a lass since his green youth. He needed to be at his best. After all, he was here to convince a very strong-minded lass to be his.
Satisfied that all about him was in order and he didn’t reek of farm toil, he lifted the door knocker and gave it three firm raps. A few seconds later, the door swung open, and Rivers appeared, his cheeks flushed and his eyes harried.
“Is all well, Rivers?” asked Rory, alarmed.
“All is as it’s been these last seven or so days, milord,” said the aged butler, standing aside to allow Rory entry.
Seven or so days.
Since the arrival of Juliet and Delilah.
“Ah,” said Rory, handing Rivers his greatcoat, a garment necessary in Scotland—even in spring, depending on the mood of the day.
He crossed the entry corridor that opened into the receiving hall and found a room transformed. It was now a proper theater, with the stage and frame completely finished and twenty or so chairs arrayed before it for the audience. Greenery had been brought in and arranged about the room. Rory sensed Juliet’s talented hand.
Speaking of Juliet…
She, along with Delilah, and the whole host of Dalhousie brothers were gathered about the stage area. No one noticed his presence at the back as everyone concentrated upon individual tasks—some engaged in painting a backdrop, others pacing about the boards rehearsing their lines.
But it was Juliet and Delilah who held his gaze as they faced one another in the center of the stage, looking suspiciously like combatants. Perhaps they were enacting a scene… But, no, Delilah looked decidedly put out with her cousin, while Juliet wore her customary cool, impossible-to-penetrate smile.
Rory had been the recipient of that smile more times than he could count. In fact, until very recently, he’d thought that was simply her smile. But now he knew it for what it was: a defense fortified by a will as strong as steel.
And Delilah knew it, hence her brow creased in utter frustration.
“The fact is, Delilah,” said Juliet, “there is no harm in it.”
“No harm in it?” huffed Delilah. “Those are Shakespeare’s words.” A beat. “Shakespeare.”
Clearly, Juliet was accustomed to passionate defenses from her cousin, for she continued, undeterred. “But it was Shakespeare whounderstood that language evolved. He himself evolved it on many occasions.”
Delilah remained utterly unmoved by Juliet’s argument.
Rory had no idea who would win the row, but it hardly mattered to him. He only had eyes for Juliet—her quiet boldness, her confidence, not to mention her beauty.
This bold, confident, beautiful woman had once held a secret infatuation for him.
And he hadn’t noticed.
Well, he was noticing now, though he might need to have his sight tested and take up spectacles, for how hadn’t he seenher?
