Duke Looks Like a Groomsman - Valerie Bowman Page 0,14

was doing out in the stables pretending to be a groomsman.

The man had had the audacity to offer her money. She could almost laugh again. As if money was what she wanted from him. Hardly. She didn’t need money. She wanted for nothing. Her father was wealthy, and she was about to marry one of the richest men in the ton. No. No. She didn’t want money from Rhys Sheffield.

She wanted…revenge.

Of course, she hadn’t blurted that out to him. She wasn’t witless. She had told him she would keep his secret for the price of him telling her exactly why he was pretending to be a groomsman. And she made it clear that nothing but the absolute truth would do. She was fully confident in her ability to discern whether he was telling the truth. For two reasons. One, she’d always been good at reading people and two, he wasn’t a particularly adept liar.

He’d been none too pleased with that request. He’d offered her an exorbitant amount of money for her silence instead. But that offer merely served to inform her that he was desperate to keep his secret, which made her all the more interested in learning it. Money meant little to her. Revenge meant everything. Revenge on the man who had broken her heart into a thousand little pieces. That was without price. And if she could learn why he was pretending to be a servant, she just might be able to thwart his purposes and thereby exact her revenge. Revenge that had been long in coming.

Julianna stared absently at the portrait of Lady Clayton that hung above the fireplace in the dining room as her mind drifted back to many months ago. The last time she’d seen Rhys.

It had been an unseasonably cool May night when she’d stolen out of the Cranberrys’ ball to meet Rhys on the veranda. She was wearing a violet-colored gown with a high waist, and tiny flowers embroidered along the sleeves and hem. During their dance earlier, Rhys had asked her to meet him here and time seemed to move with infinite slowness during the hour she’d been forced to wait.

She rushed out into the cool air, nearly breathless with anticipation. Rhys had been standing there, near the balustrade. One hand in his waistcoat pocket. He was wearing black superfine evening attire with a snowy white cravat. His black hair had been slicked back and his dark-blue eyes twinkled in the moonlight. He looked so handsome she’d wanted to hurtle herself into his arms. Instead, she forced herself to slow her pace and make her way toward him gracefully. Thankfully, they were alone.

“Rhys,” she’d breathed as he took her hands in his and pulled her close.

“Julianna,” he’d answered, resting a hand possessively on her hip.

They’d begun calling each other by their Christian names ever since the night she’d sneaked into Rhys study during a dinner party and he’d found her there. She had hurtled herself into his arms that night, and Rhys had had to be the one to break off their encounter before it went too far.

“I’m glad I have the chance to see you before I go,” he breathed.

A frown covered Julianna’s face. “Go?” She shook her head. Where was he going? Why?

“Yes, unfortunately, I must go to the country tomorrow to…visit my mother.” His hand fell away from her hip.

“I see,” Julianna answered. She was disappointed to hear that he was leaving, but surely, he wouldn’t stay away long.

“I promise to return as quickly as possible,” he said, sincerity in his eyes.

She opened her little violet satin reticule and took out a handkerchief. One she’d sprayed with the lilac water she used as perfume. “Take this,” she said, handing him the handkerchief. “To remember me.”

He’d taken the slip of fabric from her hand and squeezed it tightly before putting it to his nose and then tucking it inside his coat pocket. “Julianna, sweet Julianna, how could I ever forget you?”

Those had been the last words he’d said to her. He’d touched her cheek and let his gaze rove over her face as if he was studying her to remember. He’d left her moments later, standing on the balcony alone.

She’d had no clue that he’d had no intention of coming back. He’d let her believe like a fool and he’d even taken her blessed handkerchief as if he had any intention of keeping it to remember her by. God, he’d been a rogue, a scoundrel. Detestable.

A sennight had passed and