Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “She never gave any indication that she knew him.” And Vanessa certainly hadn’t, given that she didn’t care two figs for the man.

  “Doesn’t it worry you that Flora may prove a rival for his affections?” Sheridan persisted.

  The whole thing had so rattled Vanessa that she nearly said, “Whose affections?” But she caught herself in time. “I doubt Flora would wish to be my rival. Clearly, he did something unforgivable to her.”

  Sheridan started walking her back to her uncle’s box. “That should tell you all you need to know about his character.”

  It did, unfortunately. And now she had to stand up for Mr. Juncker yet again. “They said it was years ago. Surely he has matured in that time. He did look stricken by guilt at the sight of her.”

  Sheridan shot her a veiled look. “No matter what I say, you defend the man.”

  “And no matter what I say, you attack the man. Perhaps you’re worried he will be your rival for Flora’s affections. Or for mine.” She’d said that last bit offhandedly, hoping it would slide in under his walls.

  “That’s absurd. I’m not interested in having anyone’s affections.” The sudden stiffness in his arm said otherwise.

  How very interesting.

  “But you will come to Thorncliff this evening, won’t you?” he went on. “You and your mother?”

  She let him change the subject. “Surely you didn’t really mean to invite us. You merely found yourself trapped when I overheard your invitation to Mr. Juncker.”

  “Not in the least. Thorn was quite clear on the subject. I was to invite you both. Besides, it would be remiss of me if I didn’t invite the woman I’m supposedly courting.” He leaned close. “And it will give you plenty of chances to make Juncker jealous.”

  Sheridan’s bargain with her—if she could call it that—still made no sense. Why did he care whether she snagged Juncker? Until now, Sheridan had barely wished to spend one dance with her, so why engineer a faux engagement where they were forced to be together? She couldn’t quite believe his assertion that he would do it just to be proved right about Mr. Juncker’s character. Yet she couldn’t imagine any other reason, unless he wanted to court her in truth, perhaps for her dowry, assuming that the gossip was correct. But if so, why not just come out with it? For all he knew, Grey already could have told her of Sheridan’s need to marry for money.

  Then again, Sheridan was a proud and taciturn sort.

  “I would certainly love to attend the affair,” she said, “if only to have the opportunity to see Thornstock’s mansion. I’ve heard that Thorncliff is magnificent.” She gazed down the corridor at the open door to Uncle Noah’s box. “But I can’t go without a chaperone, and Mama and I together can’t go without Uncle Noah.”

  “Bring Sir Noah along. Truly, it will be very informal, only a few close friends and family. There might be dancing, and you can try to finagle Juncker into dancing with you.”

  She eyed him closely. “I’m surprised Thornstock would allow any of my family into his home. Mama isn’t exactly . . . welcome at any of Grey’s houses, and Thornstock is not only bound to know that but be well aware of why. As is your mother.”

  Sheridan sobered. “To be honest, we’re all aware that your mother is persona non grata to Grey, although he won’t tell us the full reason for his dislike of her. Do you happen to know?”

  Bother it all. She did know. But if Grey hadn’t revealed the secret, she certainly wouldn’t.

  As if guessing why she was reluctant, Sheridan added, “I do know it has naught to do with you.”

  “I should hope not. I was only eleven when he left our home. I didn’t see him again until I was the age to have my coming out.”

  “Grey had something to do with your debut?”

  “He was more than happy to help with it and to indulge my occasional visits to his London town house through the years, for which I shall always be grateful. Because of that, I’m loath to bring Mama to an affair which he no doubt will also attend, along with his mother, your mother. I know Mama and your mother knew each other well once, but their paths have definitely diverged.”

  “That’s true,” Sheridan said. “But Grey is still in the country, and Mother is helping Olivia with the supper, so she’ll be too busy to care. Thus Thorn won’t mind one bit if the three of you come.”

  “You’re certain? I don’t want our presence to cause trouble in the family.”

  “It won’t, I promise. I daresay he won’t even notice you’re all there. He’s got stars in his eyes now that he’s married to Olivia.”

  The sudden tightness in his voice gave her pause. “Do you not approve of her?”

  He blinked. “No, no, nothing like that. Olivia’s wonderful. It’s just that . . . well, I thought Thorn and I would be bachelors together, unless I was forced into matrimony. He never seemed like the marrying sort. God knows I’m not.”

  “Why?” she asked, her stomach sinking. “You’re perfectly personable and aren’t a carouser like him. I’ve never even heard of you associating with a . . . demi-rep. And aside from your woeful tendency to tell women what to do at all times, you—”

  “I don’t tell women what to do,” Sheridan bit out. “Ask Gwyn. Hell, ask any woman I know. I believe women should have their due, and I encourage them to decide what that is.”

  “So it’s just me you make assumptions about, me whom you consider incapable of deciding who is the right man to marry.”

  “I’m only trying to advise you.”

  Releasing his arm, she narrowed her gaze on him. “You’re trying to get me off the subject of why you’re not the marrying sort. And why would you ever find yourself ‘forced into matrimony,’ anyway? Men rarely are—even when they’ve ruined a woman—and dukes almost never. So unless you’re planning to deflower a princess, you could ride roughshod over anyone seeking to force you into marriage. From what I understand, that’s what all dukes do.”

  He eyed her askance. “I have no intention of riding ‘roughshod’ over any woman, princess or peasant. Good God, you don’t know me at all.”

  “What do you expect? We’ve already established that you don’t know me. It only follows that all that lack of knowing means I have no idea why you would end up forced into marriage. So enlighten me.”

  He scowled. “It’s not something I wish to discuss.”

  “Then why mention it in the first place?”

  “Because you asked—” He muttered an oath under his breath. “Forget it. I spoke out of turn, all right? Suffice it to say, I most likely won’t be able to avoid taking a wife, but if I could, I would prefer not to marry. And that’s all I intend to say on the subject.”

  Might Sheridan be a secret debauchee, more like Thornstock than she realized? Might he want only to have mistresses or scandalous encounters with married women? That gossip rag had implied he was discreet, so perhaps he was more discreet about his dalliances than either of his brothers.

  No, she had trouble believing that of him. It didn’t seem in his character, although Lord knows she could be wrong, given how he’d shocked her with his passionate kiss.

  And he’d just made it fairly clear he wasn’t interested in marrying for any reason, money or affection, which meant he probably wasn’t interested in courting her in truth.

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a sniff, tired of trying to unravel his secrets. “But don’t blame me if you end up alone and miserable at the end of your days.”

  “With a family like mine always hovering about?” he said dryly. “That’s unlikely. Even if I outlive my brother and half siblings, they’re busily trying to fill up their nurseries even as we speak. I’m sure there will be little Greys and Gwyns and Thorns and Heywoods running about wreaking havoc for generations to come.”

  She halted to fix him with an earnest look. “Having nieces and nephews isn’t the same as having your own children.”

  “How would you know? You have none.”

  “True. But I hope to
one day.”

  “Little Junckers, I suppose?”

  “Who else?” she said lightly.

  The edge in his voice mitigated some of her distress at hearing him so set against marriage. Somehow she would bring him around. Whatever reasons he had for being determined not to marry could be dismissed if she could make him care for her enough. Because when he went to marry her, she didn’t want him to be forced into it. Her parents had possessed such a marriage, and it hadn’t gone well.

  So that would not do at all.

  Chapter Four

  When Sheridan arrived at the supper, the Thorncliff ballroom was already abuzz with spirited discussions, coming mostly from members of his family. He could only imagine what the place would be like once all the guests arrived.

  Thorn’s new wife, Olivia, approached him with a worried expression. “It’s my first affair as Thorn’s hostess. Please tell me I’m not out of my depth.”

  “If you are, I’m sure Thorn or Mother would have told you already,” he said as he pressed her hand.

  “Your mother is too kind to ever say a bad word about me. And Thorn’s not here yet. He’s still at the Parthenon, trading stories about theater life with Mr. Juncker. Oh, and taking apart tonight’s performance.”

  “Yes, my brother is nothing if not critical of theatrical productions.”

  “You can hardly blame him for caring what is done to his plays,” she said absently as she scanned the ballroom entrance for approaching guests.

  “His plays?”

  Olivia’s gaze shot to him. “Oh! Oh, no. I-I meant Mr. Juncker’s plays . . . Of course I meant that. Mr. Juncker’s plays.”

  “Olivia?” he said in that tone one used in trying to elicit the truth.

  “What?” She smiled brightly.

  He wasn’t fooled. Thorn might be able to talk his way out of hell itself, but his wife was very bad at dissembling, something Sheridan had learned almost upon meeting her. “Tell the truth now. Is it possible . . . Are you trying to say that Thorn wrote the Felix plays?”

  She crumpled before his very eyes. “I thought you knew. I-I just assumed, since you’re his brother and you were talking about it as if—” She seized his hand. “You can’t tell my husband I told you. You mustn’t. No one knows.”

  “No one? Seriously?”

  “Not a soul!” She paused. “Well, Gwyn knows and Mr. Juncker, of course. Oh, and my mother—I told her when I first found out.”

  “Yet not a soul knows,” he said, trying not to laugh.

  “Don’t tease me.” She tapped her chin. “Actually, Mama doesn’t know. I told her that Mr. Juncker had written about . . . um . . . stories Thorn had told him. So there are really only three people who know, counting me.”

  “And Thorn. And me.”

  “Well, of course Thorn knows. As for you, that was accidental. But no one else in your family, not even your mother, is aware of it. The theater owner himself still believes they’re Mr. Juncker’s plays.”

  Sheridan was having a hard time not grinning. Juncker wasn’t so brilliant after all. Ha! So much for Vanessa’s infatuation. She was mooning over the wrong man. He couldn’t wait to tell her that her precious Juncker was a fraud.

  Well, not entirely a fraud. When Grey had first mentioned Vanessa’s interest in Juncker, Grey had said the man was a poet. What if her primary reason for liking Juncker was his poetry? If so, then telling her the truth about the playwriting might not alter her interest in the man one whit. Unless . . .

  “What about Juncker’s poems?” he asked. “Did my brother write those, too?”

  “Good Lord, no.” Olivia eyed him askance. “Thorn isn’t the least bit keen on poetry. Don’t you know that?”

  He sighed. “I suppose I should. We had the same tutors in Prussia. But I didn’t much pay attention to what Thorn was reading.”

  Because Father had given Sheridan other things to read—books about diplomacy and strategy and the art of conversation. Sadly, Father hadn’t thought to give Sheridan any tomes on accounting, which was mostly what Sheridan seemed to be doing these days. And not as well as he’d like, either. He hated arithmetic. The numbers never seemed to come out right for him, a fact that Father had never let him forget once they’d returned to England and Sheridan had become the heir presumptive.

  Father. God, why must his grief over the man he’d spent his whole life trying to understand hit him at such odd moments? It reminded him he had more important things to do than worry about the ducal estate. All of them did. “I don’t suppose you’ve had the chance to question your mother about the house parties she attended.”

  “No.” With a wry expression, she added, “Thorn had said he must do it, but Mama has taken quite a liking to him, and he’s reluctant to do anything that might change that.” Olivia moved closer and lowered her voice. “Speaking of Thorn, please promise me you won’t tell anyone else about his playwriting. And especially not any of our guests here tonight.”

  Damn. He’d already been looking forward to gloating the next time he saw Vanessa.

  “Sheridan, are you listening?” Olivia cried in a tone of pure desperation. “You must promise you won’t let Thorn’s secret get out.”

  The last thing he wanted was to injure Olivia’s relationship with Thorn. Or, for that matter, risk hurting his brother. “I promise I won’t say a word. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Relief suffused her face. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “But in exchange, you must swear not to tell Miss Pryde—or anyone else for that matter—that my sole interest in her lies in finding out what her mother knows about those same two house parties.”

  Olivia looked skeptical. “Are we speaking of Grey’s cousin?”

  “The very one.”

  “Then I shan’t say a word.”

  “Purposely or otherwise,” he stressed. “I can’t have you blurting out to Miss Pryde or her mother things about our investigation.”

  She drew herself up. “I beg your pardon. I would never—”

  “You just told me a secret of Thorn’s that he’s never even hinted at,” he said.

  A blush stained her cheeks. “Yes, but . . . well, I wouldn’t . . .” She fixed him with a sullen stare. “That’s different. You’re his brother, and I thought you knew. Besides, even if I did say something untoward to Miss Pryde about your dis-honorable intentions, I doubt she would care. Not if she is as enamored of Mr. Juncker as everyone says.”

  He fought the urge to deny that even as he acknowledged he couldn’t.

  Fortunately, just then Olivia gazed across the room to where the footmen had brought in more chairs. “Oh, dear. Pray do excuse me. I have to direct the servants as to where I want those.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  As he watched Olivia cross the room, it occurred to him that her revelation about Thorn’s playwriting explained so many things, like the close friendship between Thorn and Juncker. Granted, until Olivia had come along, both men had been rogues, eager to blaze a path through London’s gaming hells and brothels. So Sheridan had assumed it was merely their activities in the stews that they had in common.

  But although Thorn had inherited substantial wealth, Juncker could never have afforded such a way of living, given that his father had been some sort of tradesman, according to the rumor mill. It wasn’t as if playwrights made much money, either. So if Thorn had been paying Juncker for his name on the plays, not to mention his silence . . .

  Well, that made more sense. On top of that, Thorn had always shown a decided interest in the plays themselves—reading reviews of them, attending a number of productions, and even setting up this charitable production tonight. That went beyond what a friend would do for another friend. Sheridan had chalked it up to Thorn wanting to be a patron because of his love of the theater, but Thorn had never supported any other playwrights or artists or musicians. Just Juncker. It was rather surprising they’d even kept it quiet until now.

  Damn it all.
Sheridan scowled at nobody in particular. He really wished he could tell Vanessa she’d put her eggs in the wrong basket. But he couldn’t, simple as that. For one thing, Olivia would never forgive him for revealing the truth to someone outside the family. Best not to rock that boat.

  For another, he couldn’t be sure why Vanessa had set her cap for the blackguard. She could just as easily want Juncker for his skill at writing poetry or his dancing ability or even his ostentatious good looks. Blasted fellow probably spent as much money on his tailor as Vanessa spent on her gowns.

  Except that Miss Younger had said Sheridan was wrong about that. Did Grey know? And if so, why hadn’t he said anything?

  It didn’t matter. If anything, it made it more imperative that Sheridan keep to his plan to show Vanessa how bad Juncker’s character was. She simply could not end up with that fellow, or all the fashion frugality in the world wouldn’t save her from poverty.

  So he needed to play her suitor a bit longer, at least until he was sure he’d disabused Vanessa of her fanciful ideas regarding the man. Besides, Sheridan hadn’t even begun to find out all he needed to know from Lady Eustace.

  A sudden commotion in the hall outside the ballroom made him groan. Thorn had arrived. And from the sounds of it, he’d brought half the theater with him. This was going to be a long, noisy night, the kind that generally had Sheridan fleeing. But much as he’d prefer to spend the rest of the evening by his cozy fire with a glass of perry from his estate’s own pear trees, he couldn’t leave.

  Moments later, his half brother entered with Juncker at his side. “Olivia!” Thorn shouted. “Olivia!”

  His wife hurried toward him. “I’m right here. What is it?”

  “We raised a thousand pounds for Half Moon House,” he told her, loudly enough that the entire room could hear him.

  “Excellent news.” Olivia seemed to be fighting a smile. “And it appears that you’ve invited plenty of friends to celebrate it.”

  As people filled the ballroom, chattering and looking about, Sheridan shook his head. Thorn seemed a bit foxed . . . or perhaps just carried on by the excitement of having raised so much money for his wife’s pet cause. Juncker, on the other hand, looked sober as a church. In fact, he seemed rather angry, if Sheridan was to judge from his scowl.