Clearly, Juliet was accustomed to passionate defenses from her cousin, for she continued, undeterred. “But it was Shakespeare who understood 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?
“Greetings and salutations, Lord Kilmuir,” Oliver Quincy called out from his self-appointed place of overseeing the painting of the backdrop. “Are you come to engage in our amateur theatrics?”
In unison, Juliet and Delilah’s heads whipped around.
But it was one pair of eyes the clear, bright green of spring buds that caught his. Surprise shone in those depths. Curiosity, too. And something else…
Pique.
If he wasn’t very much mistaken, Juliet was irritated.
With him.
The possibility existed that his plan of staying away for a few days might’ve been a bad one.
“And where haveyoubeen?” demanded Delilah. “It’s been four days since you’ve shown your face for rehearsal.”
Rory ripped his gaze away from Juliet when every instinct demanded he stride directly to her, toss her over his shoulder, and make right whatever had gone wrong with her. “What with all the rain and piglets and my dog—”
Juliet snapped to. “Clootie? What about her?”
“It was something she ate. She’s herself again.”
But Juliet didn’t seem yet satisfied. “You’re keeping an eye?”
“Aye,” he reassured her. How could he not be half in love with a woman who harbored a soft spot for his shaggy beast of a dog?
“Have you even looked at your lines, Rory?” asked Delilah.
“I wasn’t aware I had any,” he said. “Wasn’t I to be a carpenter?”
Delilah gave a tiny roar of frustration. “I suppose you can be Charles.”
Rory shrugged. It made not an iota of difference to him.
“I thoughtIwas to be Charles,” piped up Quincy.
Delilah flicked an indifferent wrist. “You can be Hymen.”
Quincy’s chest puffed out. “The god of marriage suits me perfectly well. Am I to take a dual meaning from that bit of casting, Lady Delilah?” he asked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Pardon?” Delilah looked utterly nonplussed.
“That perhaps you have marriage on your mind of late?” The man winked.
Delilah met Quincy’s eye directly and held it. “No.”
A throat cleared behind Rory. Ravensworth had chosen this moment to make his presence known.