Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  That didn’t change his stiff stance one whit. “Something came up.”

  “And of course, you won’t say what it was.” She’d eluded Mama’s minions just to be chastised by him? To the devil with him. As she’d told him before, she didn’t need another older brother.

  But when she tried to push past him, he grabbed her by the arm. “All of that’s beside the point. Do you have any idea what Juncker could have done to you if I hadn’t come along just now?”

  She pulled her arm free. “He wouldn’t have done anything more than he did. He’s a gentleman.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The same way I know you’re a gentleman.”

  Frustration shadowed his features. “Then we’re both in trouble.”

  When he stepped toward her, she backed away instinctively. “Wh-why?”

  “Because I find it more damned difficult by the day to be a gentleman with you.”

  Hope sprouted in her chest, try as she might to stamp it out. “What else would you be?”

  His eyes glittered at her. “A man who spends far too many nights wanting to do this.” He caught her chin and lowered his head, hesitating a second as if to give her a chance to refuse. But she was too stunned to refuse even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.

  Then his mouth covered hers, and her very soul sighed. This wasn’t perfect at all. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing that made her think he did it routinely. No, this was messy and passionate and all the things Mr. Juncker’s kiss hadn’t been.

  It was purely Sheridan’s. She would have to give him a new nickname—Seductive Sheridan.

  Because what he was doing with his mouth was tempting, intoxicating . . . downright sinful. One hand caught her at the waist, while the hand at her chin slid behind her neck as he held her still for a series of long, luscious kisses that resonated in unexpected places—her breasts, her belly, her privates. Oh, heavens. She’d never been kissed so wildly. His mouth caressed and coaxed until she parted her lips for him so he could explore her mouth with his tongue, that ardent tongue that seemed to know her all too well.

  Her blood was in a frenzy now, desperately thundering in her ears. She caught his head in her own hands to hold him where he was, but with a low moan, he broke the kiss.

  His eyes glittered in the fading light of dusk. “Do you have any idea how insane it makes me to see you with Juncker?”

  Those words alone made her heart thump hard and fast. “How could I? You never seem interested in anything but lecturing me or . . . sternly disapproving of whatever I do.”

  “Oh, trust me,” he said with a hint of self-deprecation, “I sternly disapprove of this. But apparently it’s not stopping me.”

  And with that, he pressed her against the plane tree, rested one palm on it above her head, and then leaned in to take her lips once more. This time his kiss was savage, needy, a kiss that made her want him drinking forever from her mouth. She lifted her hand to fondle his glorious ash-brown curls, following them down to his neck, which she then gripped as he’d done hers.

  He laid his other hand on her waist, but not for long. Giving her another hungry kiss, he slid his hand up to finger her ribs, as if counting them. Then, to her shock, he covered her breast.

  She tore her mouth from his. “Sheridan! What are you about?”

  “Showing you, my sweet minx, how difficult it is for me to be a gentleman around you when all I can think about is touching and teasing you, trying to tempt you as thoroughly as you tempt me.”

  Good Lord, perhaps Sheridan was a poet himself. He certainly made her feel like swooning. Except that if she did, she would miss this, and she wanted to squeeze every carnal drop from his caresses. He rubbed one breast through her thin gown, making her skin feel as tight as a peach’s. Then he fingered her nipple with a shocking deftness. Oh, my. He certainly knew what he was about. She hadn’t expected that.

  His breath quickened, and hers did, too, as if attempting to catch and share his rhythm. When she uttered a low moan and arched her back to push her breast more firmly into his hand, he lowered his mouth to suck her neck, hard enough that, when combined with his fondling, it sent a frisson of pleasure through her, making her lift up on tiptoe.

  “You’re . . . you’re turning me . . . into a wanton,” she gasped.

  He gave a dark chuckle. “Or perhaps just unveiling the wanton you’ve kept buried inside.” He pulled her shawl away to stare down at the swells of her breasts. “Not that I mind. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste these.” Then he buried his mouth between her breasts and began to kiss and lick them at the same time he was pushing them higher from beneath, plumping them up for his tongue.

  Lord help her. She wanted to die. She wanted to fly. Mostly she wanted to throw herself into his arms and never let him go. Dared she hope that this time he was finally hers?

  Chapter Eleven

  Sheridan knew what he was doing was wrong, and he didn’t care. Seeing her in Juncker’s arms had unleashed an unholy hunger in him. He wanted to stamp out every trace of Juncker, to claim her for his own . . . even knowing such an attempt would be disastrous. Her mercurial nature, which kept him oddly entertained, would also make her a terrible duchess.

  But damn, how she moved him. Her mouth, so tender and sweet. Her skin, soft as feather beds. And her bountiful breasts, which he wanted to suck so desperately that he considered somehow getting them out of her gown and corset and shift. Here. In the half light of dusk. In a public garden.

  God save him. His cock felt as if it would burst the seams of his smallclothes, and his hands itched to lift her skirts. One had already begun doing so, inching them up slyly as if acting independently of his brain.

  He wanted her so badly.

  “Sheridan,” she whispered, “we can’t do such things here.”

  “I know,” he said. “I just . . . can’t seem to get enough of you.”

  He would do penance for saying that later, but for now he didn’t care about anything but licking her silky skin, stroking and caressing her under her skirts to see if she was as hot for him as he was for her. Because if she was, then perhaps she had lost interest in Juncker. Perhaps he could step in.

  Not that it mattered. Not that he cared. For him, it was only desire, nothing more. He was helping her make Juncker jealous. That was all.

  Liar.

  He lifted his head to kiss her throat. He wished he could take down her hair, but that was definitely unwise. Instead, he settled for tonguing the pulse that beat in her neck, while his hands roamed her body, taking shameless liberties. He memorized a curve here, a sensitive patch of skin there, finding her wildly responsive to his every touch. Between her gasps and his moans, they were making an unwise amount of noise. Perhaps they should—

  “She’s here, I tell you,” came Lady Eustace’s voice. “Look, I see them. That scoundrel!”

  Sheridan straightened and released Vanessa in one fluid motion, but it was too late. The unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked disturbed the quiet of the garden square.

  “Step away from my niece, sir. Or I swear you will not live beyond this moment.”

  Vanessa’s uncle. Bloody hell. Nothing like the sound of a gun cocking to make one’s own cock stand down. Which was a small blessing, he supposed.

  “Uncle Noah, you can’t—” Vanessa began.

  “Be quiet now, my dear,” Sir Noah said in a deadly voice. “You and I will talk in a bit. Go with your mother.”

  “Do as he says,” Sheridan ordered. “I will be along shortly.”

  “If he doesn’t kill you first!” Vanessa cried.

  Her concern for him was a balm to his wounded dignity. The dignity he had recklessly tossed aside for a taste of her.

  Yet he did not regret it, fool that he was.

  “Go on,” Sheridan ordered.

  “Listen to Armitage,” Sir Noah said.

  With a sigh, Sheridan faced Sir Noah.

  Lady Eustace motioned t
o Vanessa. “Come with me, young lady. Your uncle will settle this.”

  When Vanessa looked as if she might refuse to go, Sheridan said, “I promise I won’t be long. And there will be no dueling or any of that nonsense, if that’s what worries you.”

  “Do you swear it?” Vanessa asked in an oddly panicked voice. As if she actually cared what happened to him.

  Perhaps she did, at least a little. “I swear it.”

  Reluctantly, Vanessa let her mother pull her away.

  As soon as they were gone, Sir Noah said in a grim tone, “You sounded rather sure of me. How do you know I won’t call you out?”

  “Because you and I are civilized gentlemen. We don’t allow women to suffer alone for our actions.”

  That seemed to catch Sir Noah off guard.

  But Sheridan meant it. He’d seen that happen already once in his own family, with his half sister, Gwyn. Because of the unwitting interference of her twin, Thorn, she’d nearly been publicly ruined. Sheridan knew only bits and pieces of the story, but he’d managed to put it together to determine most of it. He didn’t want that for Vanessa.

  “I doubt we are both bad shots,” Sheridan went on, “so if I agreed to a duel, I’d either kill you or you’d kill me. If I didn’t agree, I’d be branded a coward. No matter which of those occurred, I’d be leaving Mother embroiled in another huge scandal, and I won’t do that. I certainly won’t do it to Vanessa.”

  “How chivalrous of you,” Sir Noah said. “Too bad you weren’t so chivalrous when you were attempting to seduce her.”

  The baldly spoken words made Sheridan wince. He could offer no justification for what he’d done. There wasn’t any. “Can we get on with this, sir? I will need to break the news of our impending wedding to Vanessa, and I’d rather do it sooner than later.” In hopes that she took it better the earlier he offered.

  Sir Noah’s stony expression softened a fraction. “So you mean to do the right thing by my niece.”

  “Of course,” Sheridan said. “My God, what sort of man do you take me for?”

  “I didn’t take you for the sort to attempt seducing young ladies in public gardens, but clearly I was wrong. I could be wrong about this, too.”

  Sheridan stiffened, not enjoying the dressing-down by a man he’d come to like. “I find Vanessa hard to resist, I’m afraid.”

  “I suppose that’s just as well, since you’re about to be married rather hastily,” Sir Noah said. “I pray she, too, finds you hard to resist. Because if she reveals to me that you were forcing yourself on her, I will be calling you out, scandal or no. And there will never be a wedding between the two of you, no matter the outcome. Understood?”

  “Understood. I would never force anything on Vanessa.” In a weak attempt at humor, he added, “Besides, I have a funny feeling if I ever attempted it, she would cut me up and eat me for breakfast.”

  Sir Noah didn’t utter even a hint of a laugh. “I daresay I would help her.”

  Good God, was the dressing-down ever going to end? Vanessa would likely be growing angrier by the moment over the fact she had to marry him rather than her precious Juncker.

  The very thought of that made his blood curdle. This was a nightmare. In trying to impress upon her the wisdom of not being alone with Juncker, Sheridan had somehow managed to teach her the foolishness of being alone with him.

  It was one thing to dally with her; it was quite another to ruin her life. And possibly his. He didn’t even know if they would suit, although if they didn’t, it was entirely his own fault. If he’d wanted her so badly, he should have courted her properly. Whether they could make a go of marriage was precisely the sort of thing one sought to discover during courtship.

  Even still he had no regrets. He wanted to believe it was because he would finally be in a position to question Lady Eustace about the past to his heart’s content. He could finally determine if she’d had anything to do with the murders.

  But the truth was, he didn’t care about that at present. Or rather, he cared far more about getting to have Vanessa in his bed at last. Assuming she agreed to marry him. At the moment, that was by no means certain.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Sheridan ventured, “how did you even find us?”

  Sir Noah snorted, then began to explain just how Vanessa had slipped out.

  Vanessa stood peering out the window of the drawing room, trying to catch a glimpse of her uncle and Sheridan. But no matter which direction she craned her neck or how high she stood on tiptoe, they were still as well-hidden from the road as she and Sheridan had been a short while ago, even after the lamplighters had come round. If only Mama had not been alerted, they might still be there.

  The thought gave her a delicious warmth in unexpected places.

  “Are you listening to me, girl?” her mother asked.

  Vanessa jumped. “Yes, Mama,” she lied.

  That launched her mother into another rant, this one about how ungrateful a child Vanessa was, and how she would rue the day she married Sheridan. But when Mama insisted he was only marrying her for her dowry, Vanessa had taken all she could.

  She pivoted away from the window. “He can have every penny of my dowry if it means I get to leave this house. I don’t care about my dowry. I would happily throw it into his lap. I just didn’t want . . . I don’t want . . .”

  Oh, what was the use in saying this was the last way on Earth Vanessa had wanted to gain Sheridan? That she might have borne having him court and wed her for her dowry, but having him forced into marriage because of a bit of enjoyment seemed utterly wrong? Especially since she had provoked him into it. If this had taught Vanessa anything, it was that using manipulation to get what one wished never ended well.

  No, her mother wouldn’t understand Vanessa’s feelings. In Mama’s view of the world, a young marriageable woman should use her dowry as bait to fish out the highest quality of suitor possible. Indeed, under normal circumstances, if a duke like Sheridan were rich, he would be Mama’s idea of the perfect suitor.

  But Sheridan was not only supposedly lacking in funds, he was Grey’s brother and the dowager duchess’s son, which was adding insult to injury. There was simply no getting around that in her mother’s mind. Especially after yesterday’s contretemps. Not only would Sheridan be forced to marry Vanessa, but he would also be forced to convince a woman he despised to let Vanessa marry him.

  That is, if he and her uncle didn’t go straight to killing each other. The very possibility sent a chill straight to her heart.

  “I tell you this, little missy,” her mother said. “If Armitage offers, you’d better accept. You are teetering dangerously near to landing a permanent spot on the shelf, and these past few days have taxed my patience beyond all bearing.” Her mother marched over to her. “So if you do refuse him, I swear I will lock you up in your room until—”

  “You will do no such thing, Cora,” her uncle said from the doorway. “I will not allow it.”

  Vanessa whirled around to find Uncle Noah standing there alone. Her heart sank. Where was Sheridan? What had happened?

  Her uncle stared grimly at his sister. “I require a moment alone with my niece.”

  Mama opened her mouth as if to protest, then seemed to think better of it. If there was anyone in the world her mother was afraid to challenge, it was Uncle Noah. “Very well,” she said. “But not too long. I shall have to make plans concerning what to do with the girl one way or the other.”

  That sounded ominous. Thank heaven Uncle Noah was taking charge of the situation. Although once Mama was gone, Uncle Noah’s mood only seemed to grow darker.

  “I have one question for you, my dear. There is no right or wrong answer, only the truth. Whatever you tell me, I want you to know I am on your side.”

  That too sounded rather ominous. “A-All right. What is it?”

  “Did Armitage take liberties with you against your will?”

  The very question perplexed her. “No, indeed. Why? Did he say he did?
”

  Her uncle relaxed enough to flash her a rueful smile. “He said, and I quote, ‘I have a funny feeling if I ever attempted it, she would cut me up and eat me for breakfast.’”

  She laughed. “How gruesome. That doesn’t sound like Sheridan.” Her amusement faded. “Then again, I begin to think I don’t know him nearly as well as I thought.”

  Uncle Noah sighed. “You’re in a devil of a situation, my dear.”

  “I know. But just because he doesn’t wish to marry me—”

  “What? No, he said at once that he would.”

  She turned away, her insides knotting up. “Then why isn’t he here?”

  “He is. He’s waiting in the hall. I didn’t want him near you until I determined how much of this situation was his fault alone.”

  Tears stung her eyes. Her uncle really was very kind. Not many men would have taken such care for her feelings. If Papa had been alive, he would have shot Sheridan, no matter how much she protested. Uncle Noah was at least giving them a chance.

  “Thank you, Uncle, for stepping into Papa’s place. As I’m sure you realize, Mama would have handled everything very badly.”

  “True. My sister doesn’t know what to do with you, never has. She’s jealous of how close you and Grey are, but she can’t control him, which is why she tries to take it out on you. I blame myself for that. I’m sorry I didn’t come to London sooner to do my duty by you.”

  “You had your wife to look after. I always understood that.”

  “That was no excuse. But I’m here now, and may God strike me down if I don’t make sure you are properly married to the right man.”

  “May I come in?” said a voice from the doorway.

  Sheridan. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t tell from his usual stoic expression how he felt about this.

  “Uncle, could Sheridan and I have a few moments alone?”