Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He hid a smile. “Nosy, intrusive, frighteningly direct.”

  “For your information, I was none of those things.” She sniffed. “I merely wanted to make sure you weren’t taking advantage of her.”

  Sheridan tensed. “Now why would I do such a thing?”

  “So you can get close to her mother and find out what Cora knows about my first husband’s murder.”

  Damn. His mother was far too intuitive. It was how she’d survived all the deaths—the murders, possibly—of her husbands. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “Isn’t it? You’re playing with the heart of a lovely young woman. I’d rather see none of you solve Maurice’s murder than have you harm an innocent like Miss Pryde.”

  He drew himself up. “Do you really think me capable of that, Mother?”

  “I think you capable of . . . doing what you must to get what you want.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said sarcastically. “But Miss Pryde isn’t remotely interested in me.”

  His mother cocked her head to one side. “No?”

  “No. She has her heart set on Juncker. And I promised to help her get him by courting her so she could make him jealous.”

  “Juncker? The playwright?”

  “What other Juncker is there?” he said irritably.

  Mother burst into laughter. “Oh! Oh, dear . . . that’s rich.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  She shook her head. “You poor deluded fools.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “To whom are you referring?”

  “You and Miss Pryde, of course.” She patted his shoulder. “I withdraw my concern. Clearly the two of you have everything quite well in hand.” She walked away. “Juncker! What a lark.”

  All he could do was stand there staring after her. It appeared that losing his father had unhinged his mother at last.

  Vanessa couldn’t find her uncle anywhere. Where could he have gone? It was long past midnight, and after a play, several dances, and a supper, she was ready to go home.

  She wandered down a hall and heard chatter coming from behind closed doors. When she peeked inside, she found not only her uncle and Mr. Juncker playing cards as partners but Sheridan cheering them on.

  He had practically come to blows with Mr. Juncker earlier, and now they were jovially ribbing each other about the cards? Discussing the quality of the champagne they were drinking, and Lord knows what else?

  She would never understand men. Only a man could go from sworn enemy to congenial comrade in the space of a few hours. Although she’d never actually been in a situation where her female friends turned on her, if they ever did, she sure as the devil wouldn’t be playing cards with them a short while later as if nothing had happened!

  Meanwhile, Thornstock and some gray-haired fellow with his back to her were apparently losing and none too happy about it. Indeed, Mr. Juncker and Sheridan were taking turns tormenting them, punctuated by the occasional jibe from Uncle Noah.

  But Uncle Noah mostly seemed too busy flirting with the dowager duchess to bother with the other fellows. How very interesting.

  And who was Thornstock’s partner? She had no idea until the man made some sullen remark to Uncle Noah. As she recognized the voice, she let out a silent oath. Lord Lisbourne. Oh, dear. She hadn’t realized the marquess was even here! He must have been in the card room the entire time. Thank goodness Mama had chosen not to attend the party, too, or she would already have tried to throw Vanessa and Lord Lisbourne together.

  Now Vanessa was in a quandary. Go join her uncle despite the presence of the marquess? Or sneak away and find Lady Thornstock to ask Uncle Noah how much longer his game would go?

  “Miss Pryde!” Lord Lisbourne called out.

  Too late. The dratted fellow had spotted her.

  Pasting a false smile to her lips, Vanessa entered the card room. “So this is where all my dance partners have disappeared to.”

  “Oh?” Lord Lisbourne said, a frown beetling his pale brow. “Is the dancing over already?”

  “Already!” She laughed. “It’s nearly two A.M., sir.”

  He shrugged. “That is nothing to the usual fashionable balls.”

  And he should know, since he went to plenty of them. Despite his age, the marquess was considered by all the mothers—and even some of the young ladies—as quite a catch. He was attractive enough, Vanessa supposed, with his trim figure and his ready smile. But he had a penchant for dressing oddly, like tonight in his lavish coat and waistcoat of bright green velvet worn with brown silk breeches. His attire seemed hopelessly old-fashioned next to the more subdued colors, wool coats, and trousers of Thornstock, Sheridan, and even her uncle.

  And now Thornstock was frowning at him. “This wasn’t a ball, Lisbourne, but a very informal entertainment after the play. Besides, the hour is growing late.”

  “Nonsense. The night is still young.” Lord Lisbourne patted the chair next to him. “Do come and sit by me, Miss Pryde, to observe the game. We’re playing quadrille, and I’m in dire need of the kind of good luck only a damsel as pretty as you can provide.”

  She wouldn’t take that chair for all the world. Lord Lisbourne had a tendency to lean too close to a lady, especially if he thought he could get a glimpse down the front of her gown. “Forgive me, sir, but duty dictates that I give my store of luck, meager as it is, to my uncle.”

  “You had better do so, Niece,” Uncle Noah said. “Because if I lose, I’ll be forced to keep you here another two hours to win my money back.” He darted a glance at her. “And I can see from the droop of your shoulders that you’re ready to leave.”

  “Not a bit,” she lied, loath to ruin her uncle’s fun. Not since before the long illness of her aunt had she seen him this cheerful. “But I will expect a percentage of your winnings in exchange.”

  Uncle Noah gave a hearty laugh. “I can provide that quite soon. Juncker and I are trouncing Lisbourne and Thornstock. Let us win this hand and perhaps the next, and I will meet your price.” He gazed up at Sheridan’s mother. “Besides, I daresay the duchess is as weary as you but simply better at hiding it. And since she is the one regulating our various quadrille payments, we cannot do without her.”

  “Do not underestimate my stamina, sir,” the duchess said in a lilting voice. “It’s not yet that time of the morning when the guests are having too much fun to leave but know they should do so before they keel over from exhaustion.”

  “No one is keeling over on my watch, Mother,” Sheridan said, his eyes twinkling. “Come, Miss Pryde. Stand by me so you can see Juncker’s cards and signal your uncle about what our friend has in his hand.”

  Thornstock scowled at Sheridan. “That is not amusing.”

  “Don’t worry, Thornstock.” Vanessa approached Sheridan. “Contrary to what your brother seems to think, I am not a cheat.”

  “And you couldn’t cheat anyway,” Uncle Noah said, “since you don’t know how to play quadrille.”

  “Uncle! Must you reveal all my secrets?”

  “Don’t get yourself in a huff,” he said. “I only recently learned the game myself.”

  “I don’t know how to play it either,” Sheridan murmured to her as she reached him. “It seems unnecessarily complicated for a mere card game.”

  “Exactly,” Vanessa murmured back. “I simply have no desire to work that hard for something that purports to be entertainment.” Neither of her parents—and none of her friends—had liked it, so she’d never learned.

  “Shh!” Thornstock hissed. “I can’t think with the two of you whispering like children.”

  Sheridan touched her elbow. “Come, Miss Pryde. Let’s go fetch you a glass of champagne from the adjoining room and leave my boorish brother to his losing streak.”

  “We may yet win!” Thornstock cried after them as they escaped into the other room, laughing.

  They walked over to the table where a yawning footman stood at the ready to offer them champagne.
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  “My brother is a sore loser, I’m afraid.” Sheridan gestured to the footman to pour a glass for her. “Always has been. Which is why I rarely play any sort of game with him. He doesn’t understand the point of simply enjoying the game.”

  “And what games do you enjoy?”

  He shrugged. “Chess. Croquet.” His eyes gleamed at her. “Any kind of horse race.”

  “I do love a good horse race myself. We must go riding sometime.”

  Turning pensive, he nodded. “Sometime, yes.”

  After the footman handed her the filled glass, Sheridan led her over to the fireplace.

  She sipped some champagne. “But getting back to your brother—for his sake, I hope he’s as wealthy as I’ve heard . . . and not prone to bid too high on card games or horse races. I would hate to see his duchess beggared so early in their marriage. Judging from the little bit of time I spent talking to her tonight, I like her.”

  “We all do. But trust me, Olivia has nothing to fear. Thorn can’t be too worried about funds, since he was willing to loan Lisbourne money.”

  “Lisbourne!” She glanced back toward the door and lowered her voice. “I’ve always heard it said that he’s rich.”

  “Not according to Grey,” Sheridan said. “I gather that years of gambling have finally caught up with him, and he’s not doing well financially. Although I don’t think it’s widely known.”

  “Well, leave it to Grey to uncover such a secret. He’s good at that.” She shook her head. “Poor Mama. She’s set on having me marry the man because she’s certain he’s wealthy.”

  Sheridan seemed to watch her closely. “But surely you would not wish such a match.”

  “Good heavens, no. Aside from the fact that he’s over twice my age, he’s very . . . he has a tendency to . . .”

  “Let his eyes roam where his hands dare not?”

  A relieved sigh escaped her. She’d never tried to put such things into words for a man before. “Exactly.”

  “Shall I call him out?” His voice held a note of steel that both shocked and thrilled her.

  “For me?” Her pulse faltered at the thought until she realized he might be joking. “You wouldn’t do that, and you know it.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” he asked.

  “I’m calling you a tease.”

  His gaze grew shuttered. “Well, I am courting you. Isn’t that what a suitor would do?”

  Oh. Right. Their subterfuge. She forced a smile. “A real suitor, perhaps. But not a pretend one. Still, although I know you don’t mean it, I appreciate the thought. Fortunately, Lord Lisbourne hasn’t done anything so far to warrant such an extravagant response . . . from a real suitor or a pretend one.”

  “That’s good then. I would hate to waste a bullet on him.”

  Her uncle’s voice came from the doorway. “I am now at your disposal, my dear girl. Even without being in the room, you brought me good luck. So we can leave if you wish.”

  She had half a mind to say he could play another game if he wanted. She rarely had a chance to get Sheridan to herself. But she truly was exhausted, and there was no guarantee Sheridan would stay around.

  “That would be nice, Uncle, thank you. I am rather tired.”

  Lord Lisbourne appeared in the doorway next to her uncle. “I shall call on you and your mother tomorrow, Miss Pryde.”

  Thanks for the warning. “I’m sure Mama will be delighted to have you.”

  Being full of himself as usual, he didn’t even seem to register her own lack of enthusiasm. He merely nodded. “Good evening then.”

  “The same to you, sir.”

  As he walked back into the other room, engaging her uncle in conversation, Sheridan placed a hand on her elbow to stay her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call him out?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Nonetheless, tomorrow I will call on you and your mother myself. And try to time it so I arrive shortly after Lord Lisbourne.”

  “Now that I would appreciate,” she said with a grateful smile. “If it’s no trouble.”

  He stared at her a long moment before dropping his hand from her elbow with a shuttered look. “No trouble at all. You’re practically a member of our family. Grey would never forgive me for letting anything happen to his favorite cousin.”

  Her heart sank. After kissing him, being kissed by him, dancing with him . . . laughing with him tonight, he still saw her as a little sister who needed protecting?

  Not only was that disheartening, but she didn’t know if she could go back to being nothing more than a friend to Sheridan. Yet how much longer could she endure the battering that his mercurial nature gave her self-confidence?

  Chapter Seven

  The morning after Thorn’s party, Sheridan stared at the account ledgers for his estate, hoping to make the numbers resolve into something that made sense to him. Because he honestly couldn’t see why his various properties’ finances hadn’t shown any real improvement since a year ago, when the death of his father had forced Sheridan to take them over.

  He’d instituted several of the changes to his crops Grey had suggested, but so far those hadn’t helped. When he’d mentioned that to Grey, his brother had said it would take time to see results. While Sheridan could understand that, surely their more abundant harvest this past autumn should have increased their income. Sheridan had even read up on ways to sell his property’s viable resources, like timber and game, and had begun auctioning off items that might turn a quick profit, but while it had helped slow the bleeding, it hadn’t stanched it entirely.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Sheridan shifted in his chair to stare out of the French doors at the courtyard garden. When he’d first seen the study, after his family had arrived from Prussia, he’d thought it badly designed. The room was long but not very wide across, a width that was reduced by the bookshelves lining either side. Since the door to the hall faced the glass doors to the garden, the only place to put a desk was off to the side of the French doors. That meant the desk chair faced away from the garden.

  Over time he came to realize that the room had certain practicalities. Since the courtyard had a lot of light, which the glass doors let into the study, he could often see well enough in summer not to even need a lamp or candle until long into the evening. And if he turned in his chair, he could watch the robins and warblers come to bathe in the fountain or revel in the cool dark green of English ivy growing up the walls. These days, he spent a great deal of time seeking comfort in his little glimpse of the outdoors. It didn’t substitute entirely for his morning rides, but it helped.

  Today, however, it wasn’t doing the trick. There was too much at stake for the gardens to soothe him. He had to find a way to improve the estate’s income—his tenants and servants depended on him. But Uncle Armie’s overspending had sunk Armitage Hall and its surrounding properties in a well so deep, Sheridan began to fear he would never be able to dig it out.

  Someone at the entrance to his study cleared his throat. Sheridan looked up to see his father’s man of affairs standing in the doorway.

  “You sent for me, Your Grace?” William Bonham said.

  “Bonham! Good, you’re here. Come in, come in. I have something to tell you.”

  Bonham entered the room warily. “Nothing bad, I hope.”

  “Not any worse than what’s been going on for the past decade or so.”

  “That’s good, I suppose,” Bonham said with a look of profound distress.

  At least the man recognized the gravity of the situation. Sheridan stood up behind his massive desk. Like so many of the furnishings for both Armitage Hall in Lincolnshire and Armitage House here in London, it was unnecessarily extravagant and ornate. When Sheridan had the chance, he meant to refurbish the place and replace the rococo-style pieces with furniture that had clean lines and simple designs. But that would have to come much later, once he’d reversed the downward spiral of the dukedom’s holdings.

  He gestured to
the chair in front of his desk. “Please sit. I’m a bit too restless to sit myself.” After Bonham had taken a seat, Sheridan added, “I’ve come to a decision.” He swallowed the resentment he felt whenever he thought of what he was about to do. “You were right. I must sell the best of the mounts in Uncle Armie’s—my—stables. The sale will provide the estate with much-needed funds for the long-overdue renovations on the tenant cottages.”

  Sheridan paced behind the desk. “And we won’t need so many mounts for riding anymore anyway.” A pang hit his chest that he ignored. “Though I still say we should keep a few of the Thoroughbreds. The stud fees and prize money they bring in practically pays for their upkeep.” Even if they didn’t make great saddle horses.

  “That’s a wise course of action, Duke,” Bonham said. “I know your uncle amassed a truly spectacular display of horseflesh, but having such a large stable isn’t practical.”

  “I agree, much as it pains me to admit it.” He dragged in a heavy breath. “So you’ll arrange for the auction at Tattersall’s?”

  “Of course. But it will take a few weeks, if that meets with your approval.”

  “I expected as much.” Sheridan picked up a long sheet of paper from the desk and walked over to hand it to Bonham. “I’ve made a list of which horses are to be sold. I thought we should do two auctions, starting with the ones here in London and then later selling the ones in the country.”

  “If you wish. Although I still suggest—”

  “That they all be sold in one big auction. I know. I remember what you said.” He braced one hip against the desk. “But I’ve spoken to other sporting gentlemen at Father’s club, and they say it can be just as efficient, maybe even more so, if the auctions are done separately.”

  “They’re your horses, Your Grace, so of course you should handle the sales any way you see fit.”

  Bonham sounded offended, damn it. Sheridan had obviously been too sharp with him. “I do appreciate your advice, Bonham. You know that, right?”

  “I do.” An awkward silence fell between them. Bonham shifted in his chair. “I hope you and your family are well. I understand several of you were out last night with the duchess.”