Vanessa sighed. “Sheridan is not your enemy, Mama.” She caught herself before she could point out that the duchess had good reason for being so angry with Mama. No sense in embroiling her in another rage-filled argument.
“I don’t care what you think of that young man. Neither of them are ever setting foot in this house again.”
Mama turned on her heel and marched for the door. She paused to glare back at Vanessa. “And the next time Lord Lisbourne comes calling, you might want to rethink your determination to refuse his advances. You’re not getting any younger, girl.”
That final jab was typical of her mother, but it struck terror in Vanessa’s heart. For years, until Grey had married, she and he had avoided being caught together by Mama. Vanessa didn’t know if she could manage that with Lisbourne for even another minute. She would not marry that ridiculous fellow, no matter what Mama said and no matter how many times she tried to reduce Vanessa to a child by calling her “girl.”
As soon as Mama left the room, Vanessa got out of bed. Last night she’d worried about Mr. Juncker revealing to Sheridan what she’d so unwisely blurted out at the Thorncliff party. But in the bright light of day, she decided he would never tell Sheridan. Mr. Juncker saw the duke as a threat to his own romantic interest, Flora. So surely he would help Vanessa gain Sheridan as her husband, if only to remove the duke from the field.
She plotted her strategy, debating whether to send Sheridan a message asking him to meet her elsewhere or come again tomorrow. But she couldn’t be sure the message would reach him in time today, nor could she be sure Mama wouldn’t take the same tack again tomorrow. So Vanessa discarded those ideas.
What she needed was a different strategy. While her lady’s maid, Bridget, went downstairs to fetch her some breakfast, Vanessa looked through her clothes. She wanted to dress splendidly for her two callers, but if Mama saw her well-dressed, she would guess at once that Vanessa intended to defy her. That meant Vanessa would have to dress the way she would when they weren’t expecting visitors, on an average day at home.
She needed Bridget’s help. Fortunately, the maid would never betray her. Indeed, she’d been Vanessa’s only staunch ally in the Pryde household since Grey had moved out. The other servants feared Mama, but not Bridget, thank goodness. For years, she’d been carrying out Vanessa’s plots to avoid being caught alone with Grey, which was why some of Vanessa’s pin money had always gone to the woman, to supplement what Vanessa knew was a pathetically small income. Mama had never exactly been generous to her staff.
Bridget entered the room, and Vanessa sat her down. “So here’s the most recent occurrence in the ridiculous drama that has become my life lately.”
She told Bridget about her mother’s pronouncements. The maid already knew of Vanessa’s attempts to spark Sheridan’s interest by using Mr. Juncker to make Sheridan jealous. Bridget also knew the pitfalls that had opened up once Vanessa had set her scheme into motion.
“I think I have a plan for how to handle today’s visit from the gentlemen.” Vanessa went on. “It just needs your usual brilliant mind to make sure I haven’t overlooked anything.”
Bridget laughed. “Forgive me, miss, but one of these days your plans will land you in deeper trouble than a scolding from your mother.”
“I know,” she said, clearly taking Bridget by surprise. “I swear, if it works, I will never scheme to do anything like it again.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to. Because if it didn’t work . . .
No, she wouldn’t consider that possibility. It would be too awful.
“Very well,” Bridget said, though she looked skeptical. “What are you plotting this time?”
“I want to waylay Sheridan and Mr. Juncker before they even reach the house.”
“How do you know they’ll arrive together?”
“Because Sheridan said he’d bring Mr. Juncker with him. And Sheridan is generally a man of his word.”
“I see.”
“They’ll be intending to enter in the front after disembarking from Sheridan’s carriage. So when the arrival time draws near, I’ll tell the butler that if Mama asks, I’ll be in the back garden. Once out there, I will hurry down the alley to the corner to hail Sheridan’s carriage. Then the three of us can head across the street to the Queen Square Garden and take all the time we want to visit. That will work, won’t it?”
Bridget raised her eyes heavenward. “Only if they do indeed arrive together. And it doesn’t rain. And your mother doesn’t anticipate your defiance of her and look out a window. She hates the cold, so she’s unlikely to go outside herself, but looking is another matter entirely.”
Vanessa tapped her chin. “Perhaps I should tell our butler I’m walking in Queen Square Garden in the first place.”
“That will definitely rouse his suspicions . . . and thus your mother’s.” Bridget headed to the window to gaze out. “How about this? You go into the garden wearing that old coat and large bonnet you use when gardening this time of year. I’ll wait for you in the alley, where you’ll hand me your coat and bonnet. Then you can head out to do the rest of your plan and I’ll wander the garden doing . . . things with the plants.”
Vanessa stifled a laugh. Bridget wasn’t one for the outdoors. “Yes, but what if someone actually comes outside to talk to you, thinking that you’re me? I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”
“And I appreciate that, miss.” Bridget paced in front of the window. “If anyone confronts me, I’ll tell them I don’t know where you are, and that you gave me the coat and bonnet. No one will question that part.”
It was customary for ladies to give their old clothes to their lady’s maids, but still . . . “The butler might. I’ll have to be wearing it when I go down; otherwise, he’ll be reluctant to let me go into the back garden at all without Mama’s permission. So if he then sees you in it—”
“He never goes into the garden. He hates the outdoors almost as much as I do.” Bridget halted. “But you could always give up on seeing them. Will you even want Armitage after having to scheme and plot to get him?”
“I don’t know. You do have a point.” Vanessa sighed. “But I’ve come this far. And if I don’t do something, Mama is going to marry me off to Lisbourne. So I might as well try one more ploy and hope for the best.”
“That Armitage sees the error of his ways and proposes marriage?”
“Or at least sees the error of his ways and courts me in truth.”
Bridget nodded. “Well, if that’s your aim, then my plan is the best.”
“I agree. With any luck, Mama will never even find out what we did.”
Bridget looked serious. “I hope for your sake that she doesn’t.”
So did Vanessa.
The first thing to go wrong was utterly unexpected. Their butler, usually a man who accepted on its face whatever she told him, questioned her about her plan to garden.
“Her Ladyship informed us that you’re not to leave the house,” he said firmly.
“I’m not leaving the house. I’m essentially going into the back of it.”
Worry spread over his features. “Are you sure she would look at it that way?”
“I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t. Consider how I’m dressed. Wouldn’t I dress better if I were . . . I don’t know . . . sneaking out or something? I certainly wouldn’t wear this awful bonnet to do so. Which reminds me, I need the coat I usually wear when gardening.”
He looked a bit more accepting of the tale. “But why would you want to putter about in the garden in this weather, miss?”
“Gardens don’t prune themselves, you know. And if we aren’t ‘at home’ to anyone today, I might as well ‘putter about’ in the garden.”
Good Lord, was she to be a prisoner in her home from now on?
Her agitation must have shown in her face, for he bowed. “Of course.” He flicked his hand to the footman to fetch her coat, then helped her into it.
Still, she didn’t so much as breathe until
she was outside. So far so good. Rapidly she gave Bridget her coat and bonnet, then took the bonnet and shawl Bridget offered in exchange. With a whispered “Good luck, miss,” Bridget headed back into the garden. And Vanessa headed for the top of the alley where she could watch for Sheridan’s carriage.
That’s when she hit the next snag in her plan—one that was a bit more significant. Because no carriage came past her, even though she was careful to look in either direction.
Then she spotted him. Not Sheridan. Oh, no. Mr. Juncker. Walking from the other direction. Alone. Tears stung her eyes, which she ruthlessly wiped away. She couldn’t keep hoping like this. Every time she did, her hopes were dashed.
But Mr. Juncker had come all this way, so she might as well be polite. She walked up the sidewalk toward him, hugging the railing of the house and hoping no one inside was looking out at that moment. When Mr. Juncker saw her and started, she held her finger to her lips, then gestured across the street. With a sly smile, he took a detour into Queen Square Garden, where she joined him.
“Forgive me for my strange behavior, Mr. Juncker,” she said without preamble, “but in a fit of pique, my mother has forbidden me from accepting any calls. Since Sheridan had already said he was bringing you here today, I wanted to make sure I could tell you in person about what happened.” She hoped she sounded nonchalant when she added, “Where is Sheridan, anyway? I thought you were coming here together.”
“I thought so, too, but apparently I was wrong. We had agreed he would pick me up at my lodgings in the Albany. Then he sent a note saying he’d meet me here and gave me your direction. When I realized you were only a bit more than a mile away, I walked over. I take it he hasn’t yet arrived.”
“No. Or if he has, he was turned away.” Although she doubted that. It wouldn’t be like him to try calling on her before the designated time.
Mr. Juncker gazed around at their surroundings. “This is a pretty little park, isn’t it? I ought to stroll over here more often.”
“You should, indeed,” she said, somehow rousing herself to flirt, though she wasn’t in the mood. But if Sheridan should happen along . . .
Oh, why was she even hoping for that? He probably had no intention of coming here ever again, after that nightmarish confrontation between their mothers. He’d said he would merely keep her from complaining further. But who could blame him for trying to put distance between him and her? Mama always managed to scare off the only suitors Vanessa might want.
“You should give me a tour of the square, seeing as how you know it so well,” Mr. Juncker said, offering her his arm. “I hate to let all this loveliness go to waste.”
As she took his arm, she caught him staring at her, and his flirtatious remark hit her. Oh, Lord, she didn’t want to be doing this with no Sheridan around to see. But she couldn’t be rude. “This truly is a charming garden. I come here sometimes just to read and watch the birds. There are blackbirds, sparrows, robins, blue tits, and of course pigeons.” Heavens, but she was prattling on and on about nothing. He would think her quite the chatterbox. “What would London be without its pigeons?”
“And its beautiful ladies to watch them,” he said.
Stifling a groan, she met his provocative grin with a frown. “There’s no need to flatter me, Mr. Juncker. I know perfectly well you’re merely humoring me to help me with Sheridan.”
He shook his head, his gaze showing interest in more than just the garden. “Hardly. I’m continuing the flirtation we began at Thorn’s party the other night.”
“Even though you know I’ve set my cap for Sheridan.”
“Especially because I know that. I told you before. I enjoy annoying Saint Sheridan immensely.”
“Well, he’s not here,” she pointed out. “So I’m not certain how you mean to annoy him.” Her voice grew acid. “I hope you aren’t one of those fellows who boasts of his conquests to other men despite the risk of ruining the reputation of the ladies he boasts about.”
He sobered. “I would never ruin a woman’s reputation by boasting or anything else.” His eyes gleamed at her. “But as I said at Thorncliff, lately I’ve begun to explore the idea of looking for a more respectable companion.”
“Like Flora, you mean.”
His lips tightened. “Like you.” He pulled her into a corner of the garden where an overgrown box hedge and a conveniently placed plane tree formed a sort of private nook. Then he swept her into his arms. “I find myself curious to see how a respectable lady kisses.”
She stared up at him incredulously. “Here? Now?”
“Why not? Armitage isn’t here, and we both suspect he isn’t coming. Who knows? We might find that we suit. Besides, you must be at least a little curious to see how an unrepentant rogue kisses.”
With a lift of one eyebrow, she said dryly, “I think of you more as a reprobate than a rogue, to be honest.”
“That’s like saying a sandwich is different from a slice of ham between two slices of bread.” He lowered his head and whispered, “But if you make a distinction . . . Shall we see exactly which one I am, reprobate or rogue?”
She gazed into his ice-blue eyes and thought, Why not? She was unlikely to see the man she really wanted ever again, except at formal affairs. And she had to admit she was eager to compare Mr. Juncker’s kisses to Sheridan’s, against whose standard she would forever measure all others. Unfortunately.
That decided her. “Very well.”
She tipped her head back. He took that for the invitation it was and pressed his lips to hers. It was a chaste kiss, the only kind a respectable woman should like, and it was swiftly over, besides. It didn’t begin to give her enough of a demonstration for comparison.
“That didn’t seem remotely the way a reprobate or a rogue would kiss,” she said lightly.
But when she started to pull away in disappointment, he kissed her again, this time with far more passion.
It was perfect. He used the perfect amount of pressure and moistness, and he held her tightly but not too tightly. His breath was sweet, and his scent pleasing enough, if not quite as good as Sheridan’s spicy one. Yet his kiss seemed practiced . . . the kind a devilish fellow like him was used to giving any woman who might allow him to kiss her. It left her cold.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on why it didn’t move her, why her heart didn’t race and her legs feel as if they’d buckle under her any minute. Unless it was because it didn’t begin to compare to Sheridan’s kisses.
That made her want to weep, since Sheridan was obviously not going to—
Something wrenched Mr. Juncker from her. Someone, that is. She opened her eyes just in time to see Sheridan punch Mr. Juncker in the face.
“What is wrong with you?” Sheridan growled as Mr. Juncker gaped at him. “How dare you take advantage of a lady?”
Sheridan pulled back as if to hit the man again.
“He didn’t take advantage of me!” she cried. When Sheridan froze, she stepped between them. “He merely stole a kiss. As a certain other gentleman did at least once before.”
Pulling out his handkerchief, Mr. Juncker dabbed at his lip. “You bloodied me, Armitage!”
Sheridan dropped his hands but kept them in fists. “And I’ll do it again if that’s what it takes for you to leave the lady be.”
“Leave her be! But I thought—” He halted, his gaze meeting Vanessa’s pleading one.
So help her, she would never forgive Mr. Juncker if he were to tell Sheridan the truth about her feelings.
Mr. Juncker rolled his eyes heavenward. “You were late. I was not. You can’t blame a fellow for trying.”
“Trying what?” Sheridan snapped. “To ruin her?”
“Good God, no,” Mr. Juncker said with a very convincing expression of outrage. “I’m not such a fool as all that. We’re practically out in public! Although I confess I didn’t entirely believe your reasons for insisting I come along with you. I thought you were inventing that nonsense about me distracting her
mother while you expressed your affection to Miss Pryde in private. But clearly I mistook the depth of your feelings.”
“Clearly,” Sheridan bit out.
Mr. Juncker bowed to Vanessa. “Forgive me, Miss Pryde, for any insult I may have inadvertently made to your person. I shall leave you in the hands of your most persistent suitor.”
She swallowed. “Thank you, sir.” It was an inane remark, but she honestly wasn’t sure what to say. She was still trying to figure out what Sheridan was up to.
Mr. Juncker was barely out of earshot, heading for the garden gate, when Sheridan fixed her with a dark look. “He had you cornered, entirely isolated. I nearly didn’t see the two of you back here. What were you thinking, letting him get you alone and vulnerable like that?”
“I was thinking you weren’t coming!” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And how did you find us, anyway?”
“Not that it matters, but I rode over in the carriage, hoping to catch up to Juncker inside. As we turned at the corner, I saw the two of you go into the garden, so after my coachman let me out, I followed you in here.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Why did you ask? Were you wishing I hadn’t found you?”
She was beginning to wish it. He acted as if she’d done something wrong. But if he believed her tale about being infatuated with Mr. Juncker, he ought to assume she was behaving true to form. “Don’t change the subject. It’s not my fault you were late.”
“I suppose you’re happy I was.”
Oh, she could strangle him sometimes. Was he jealous? Or merely playing at being an older brother as usual? “I wasn’t happy, no, not after I was forced to sneak out to see the two of you in the first place.”
“What? Why?”
“Why do you think? After yesterday’s debacle, Mama told the butler and footmen to refuse all visitors. She wants me never to see you or your mother again. That’s why I had to find a way to slip out of the back garden and wait for your carriage at the corner. Fortunately, I happened to see Mr. Juncker walking here, despite assuming he’d be riding with you.” She couldn’t prevent bitterness from creeping into her tone. “I suppose dukes are too important to bother with such mundane matters as being on time.”
Undercover Duke Page 14
