Duke Looks Like a Groomsman - Valerie Bowman Page 0,47

reputation, Julianna had still been interested in him. At the time he’d been lulled into thinking it was because they actually had things in common, like a love of horses and a robust sense of humor. At some point, he’d decided that his title was obviously more important to her than his reputation for drinking and gambling.

Rhys had been convinced that it showed how little Julianna cared who she married, as long as the title was prestigious. Murdock was second in line. And Murdock wasn’t known for anything much, certainly not being a drunken lout. He was as dull as dishwater as far as Rhys was concerned. He’d met the man a time or two, but didn’t remember much about either encounter.

The devil on his shoulder had made Rhys mention Murdock’s arrival to Julianna. He couldn’t help but wonder if she already knew. And Rhys had got his answer. She hadn’t known. She clearly hadn’t known that he was arriving tomorrow, and she almost certainly hadn’t known that he’d asked to move up the wedding date. Neither fact had seemed to be welcome to her. That was interesting.

Murdock would soon be sharing a wedding night with Julianna. The thought flashed unbidden into Rhys’s mind. He wanted nothing more than to vanquish it, but it sat there, taunting him, angering him. For a reason he couldn’t define and didn’t want to examine.

He stabbed another forkful of hay and tossed it. Damn it. That unwanted thought led to the next, which was a memory that haunted him upon more occasions that he cared to admit. The memory of Julianna in his study one night well over a year ago.

As was customary when courting, Rhys had invited Julianna and her parents to his house for dinner one evening that Season. He spared no expense, consulting with both his housekeeper and butler on the details including the china, the cutlery, the meal, even the candles. Only the best beeswax for Lady Julianna’s visit.

He ensured the dining room was filled with her favorite flowers, lilacs. He produced a bouquet for both her and her mother.

The dinner had progressed as well as could be expected, with Lord Montlake glowering at him and Lady Montlake lavishing him with nothing but praise—the couple were on opposite sides of the issue when it came to the question of whether Rhys would make a good spouse for their beloved eldest daughter.

At one point, Julianna excused herself to use the privy and she was gone longer than any of them expected. Her mother was beginning to worry and was about to go in search of her daughter, when Rhys volunteered. He knew the house the best, of course. It only stood to reason that he should go in search of a guest who may have lost her way.

After searching with no luck the route to and from the privy, he found her minutes later in his study, of all places. She was standing near the window looking up at the moon.

“There you are,” he said, stepping inside the nearly dark room. Only one candle on the desktop and the glow of the moon through the window illuminated the space.

Julianna guiltily turned with a start and dropped the handkerchief she was holding to the floor. Ever the gentleman, Rhys came over to pick it up for her, and discovered it was one of his own, monogrammed with his initials. It had obviously been sitting on his desk. He handed it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I wanted it because . . .” She pulled it up to her nose. “It smells like you,” she admitted, a sheepish smile on her lips.

“Keep it,” he breathed, reaching out and pushing a lock of her soft blond hair from her forehead.

“Is Mama getting worried about me?” she asked, wincing.

“Yes,” he answered, “we should get back.” He turned, expecting her to come with him back to the dining room.

“Can’t we keep them waiting just a bit longer?” she breathed.

He turned again to see a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Rhys arched a brow. “What did you have in mind, my lady?”

She took a step forward, rose up on her tiptoes, and put her arms around his neck. She looked up at him with those beautiful light-green eyes that would tempt a saint and said, “I was hoping for our first kiss.”

And he obliged her, by God. Standing there, smelling the scent of her perfume, the moonlight filtering through the window, he’d pulled her into his