Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Vanessa glanced at him, and a blush spread over her cheeks.

  It ignited his desire anew. He was ready to have the wedding and then go straight to the wedding night, although no one would allow that. There would be toasts to them both and wedding cake. God only knew what else the women had put together in such a short time.

  He supposed that was a good thing. Though he could skip all of it, Vanessa deserved a decent wedding. She wouldn’t even be marrying him at all if he hadn’t practically devoured her in a public garden. Thank God that once he got Vanessa in their bedchamber, he’d be able to assuage his obsessive need for her at last. Later he could deal with the consequences of letting her too close to seeing inside him. But for tonight, he meant to enjoy every single damned minute of her in his bed.

  Vanessa’s hand shook as she signed the church register. To her surprise, Sheridan laid his hand over hers and bent his head to murmur, “It will be all right. I swear I will make it so.”

  She sincerely hoped he meant that. Because everything was done now. Final. Fait accompli. The service had only taken half an hour, yet that didn’t make it any less permanent. She’d gained what she wanted, although not in the way she wanted it. That was the part that stuck in her craw. What if he grew to resent her for forcing his hand?

  Except that she hadn’t really. It wasn’t her fault they’d become carried away by their desires that night. Was it? In any case, his hand over hers felt right. And that was the most she could hope for at present.

  They left the vicar’s office and returned to the sanctuary, which was now empty. Everyone else had gone outside.

  Sheridan paused before they joined the guests. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I’ve been to a village wedding before,” she said, smiling up at him. “I know how they work.”

  “All right. Just so you’re prepared.”

  They walked out the church doors hand in hand, and she realized that the entire village was outside, everyone jockeying for position so they could be the first to see the duke and his new bride emerge from the church.

  The second she and Sheridan crossed the threshold, cheers erupted. As the two of them hurried down the path, they were showered with rice and seeds and petals of winter roses. The open carriage was waiting for them, festooned in ribbons and more winter roses.

  Caught up in the enthusiasm of the onlookers, she didn’t even falter when Sheridan took her by surprise and kissed her before helping her up into the landau. Amidst universal cheers they were driven away, with the crowd following them for a good distance.

  Despite being tied for life to Sheridan, she felt inexplicably free . . . from her mother, her fears, her past. This was the beginning of her life apart from her family. It would be her and Sheridan from now on, with any children they might make. The thought of it was exhilarating.

  When they were alone except for their coachman, she caught Sheridan staring at the side of her head. “What are you looking at?” she asked. “Do I have odd ears or something?”

  “I’m just now noticing that Mother also gave you the pearl earrings that go with the strand of pearls.”

  She held up her arm. “And the bracelet and comb as well. The whole parure, I believe.”

  “Ah, yes. I should at least have noticed the comb in your hair. Although, to be fair, it’s in the back, and I’ve mostly been looking at your front.”

  Self-consciously she touched the earring he was eyeing. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not. You’re my duchess now. You should have the family pearls. I only wish there were more jewelry to give you.”

  She wouldn’t have believed he meant that if not for the hungry look in his eyes that surely resembled that which the wolf in the children’s story had given to Red Riding Hood. Too late she remembered that Sheridan’s surname was Wolfe. Oh, dear.

  “Besides,” he went on in a husky voice that sent a thrill through her, “you wear those pearls well. Very well.”

  Vanessa wasn’t sure if she should thank him for the compliment or run for the hills before her wolfish husband could devour her.

  “Never have I wished more to be in a closed carriage,” he drawled.

  “Oh?” she asked, determined to lighten the mood by teasing him. “Why, pray tell?”

  “That should be obvious. I want—”

  When her laugh interrupted him, he apparently realized she knew precisely why. And precisely what he wanted, too.

  He bent his head to whisper, “Later, I want to see you wearing nothing but those pearls.”

  So much for knowing what he wanted. She’d had no idea that Sheridan was so . . . so wicked. All thought of teasing him vanished, replaced by a vivid image of him looking her over while she wore nothing but the Armitage pearls. Her mouth went dry and her breath quickened. She began to feel a little wicked herself.

  “I believe I now understand your wish for a closed carriage,” she murmured.

  He groaned. “I fear this will be the longest bridal feast I’ve ever attended.”

  Unfortunately, she feared the same thing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sheridan paced, waiting for Vanessa to open the door that separated their bedchambers. Her maid, Bridget, was, of course, preparing her for her wedding night, although it wasn’t technically night, since the sun was still slipping into the horizon. But given that the bridal feast only included their families, who were liable to stay up celebrating until the wee hours of the morning, he hadn’t had the patience to wait them out.

  So after the usual wedding traditions had been gone through, he’d whisked Vanessa away. Let his brothers and his brother-in-law drink and dance with their wives. He meant to have a different sort of entertainment.

  He rubbed the unfamiliar gold band on his finger, and Thorn’s words leaped into his mind: She seems a reasonable sort. You should talk to her.

  About the murders? Tonight? There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d do that. Not only did he ache to make Vanessa his wife in every sense of the word, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility that telling her about the investigation might destroy the tentative camaraderie he and she shared.

  And while he’d been a bit uneasy to leave Mother and Lady Eustace in the same room together downstairs, it couldn’t be helped. They would have to find a way to endure each other’s occasional company eventually. They might as well start now.

  Unless he discovered that Lady Eustace was a murderer. Then he’d make sure she’d be out of their lives forever. He supposed he shouldn’t wish that for his new mother-in-law, given it would mean his own family would have to weather yet another scandal, but it was hard not to. The woman was awful, and he despised how she treated Vanessa.

  The door creaked open, and he held his breath. But it was just Bridget.

  “You may come in now, Your Grace,” the lady’s maid said, averting her eyes.

  Good God, it wasn’t as if he were naked. Yet. He still wore his shirt, trousers, and undergarments beneath his favorite banyan. He was miles away from naked at the moment. Too many miles.

  Still, he resisted the urge to hurry. If he fell on Vanessa like a ravenous beast, he might frighten her. She might be a saucy wench, but she was still an innocent, and who knew how that would manifest itself? The last thing he needed on his wedding night was a woman sobbing over his unfeeling deflowering of her. So he prepared himself for anything. He might have been imagining this moment practically since he met her, but he could control himself.

  Then he walked into Vanessa’s bedchamber to find that Bridget had vanished, and his self-control had apparently vanished with her. How else was he supposed to behave with Vanessa wearing a linen nightdress that, for all its modest, high-collared design, was practically transparent when she stood in front of the fire?

  Did she realize it? Was she doing it on purpose to inflame his desires? Because she didn’t need to. His desires were pretty inflamed already.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him. “Y
ou look incredibly serious.”

  He forced his frown away. “I’m trying hard not to ravish you. But I can see every inch of you through that gown when you stand before the fire. Not that I mind, you understand. I merely thought you’d want to know.”

  She half turned to stare at the fire as if accusing it of complicity with him, which told him she’d definitely not posed provocatively on purpose. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He wouldn’t mind her being provocative. He would damned well prefer her being provocative.

  Then again, something about her guileless responses stoked his need even more.

  “Do you wish me to don my wrapper?” she asked.

  “No, indeed.” He approached her, his heart hammering in his chest. What he wished her to do was take her hair down. He’d expected to find her that way, actually. Then again, he might prefer to do that himself. “If you want, I’ll remove my banyan.”

  She snorted. “That’s hardly the same. You have practically all your clothes on underneath.”

  He suppressed a laugh. “Should I strip down to my shirt and smallclothes then?” Please say yes.

  “If you wish.”

  That was close enough to a yes for him to count it. But the uncertainty in her eyes made him hesitate. “You’re nervous.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Hardly. It’s not the same for a man. Any nervousness we might have pretty much vanishes whenever we see a half-dressed woman.”

  That got a tentative smile from her, which was exactly what he’d hoped for.

  He approached her to stroke a curl away from her forehead. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. We have all night.”

  “True,” she said with a bit too much enthusiasm.

  “How about this? Let’s go sit and talk for a while.” Even if it kills me. “Then we’ll progress at whatever pace makes you more comfortable.”

  She eyed him with suspicion. “Is this some sort of test?”

  That caught him off-balance. “Of what?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned away. “Mama told me that whatever you wanted, I was to do. And that even if I didn’t like it, I was to say I did, anyway.”

  Good God. Just what he did not want of her. “Do you generally listen to what your mother says?”

  Casting him a faint smile over one shoulder, she said, “Not usually, no.” Her smile faded. “But in this case, she has been married, and I have not. I have nothing with which to gauge the truth of her words.”

  He walked up to take her hand. “Come sit with me.” He led her to a smallish settee.

  “We can’t both fit on that,” she said.

  “We can.” He smirked at her. “And anyway, I thought you were supposed to be doing whatever I told you to do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. See for yourself.”

  Amused by her sudden crankiness, he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “I told you we could fit.”

  Clearly fighting a smile, she shook her head. “I should have known you would never do what’s expected.”

  “You call me ‘Saint Sheridan.’ Isn’t that the very definition of doing what’s expected?”

  “If you were really Saint Sheridan,” she said dryly, “you wouldn’t have landed us in this mess in the first place.”

  He chuckled. “True.” Then he sobered. “Now, I know this may be a bit embarrassing, but you must tell me exactly what your mother said was going to happen tonight.”

  She looked at him as if he were thickheaded. “I just told you what she said.”

  “That’s all? Nothing about the actual particulars?”

  “No. Why?” He could see a bit of panic in her eyes. “Don’t you know what’s going to happen? Because I don’t know enough to instruct you in the matter.”

  He stifled another laugh. “Yes, I know what’s going to happen. It’s just that most mothers . . .”

  She stared at him expectantly.

  “Never mind. How about we try this? Once we proceed to the . . . bedding part of the evening, I won’t do anything without preparing you for it first. Will that make it less nerve-racking?”

  “Yes, I think so.” She threw her head back. “But honestly, how should I know? I’m not even aware of what I’m supposed to do.” She squirmed on his lap as if trying to find a better position.

  He groaned. “Well, to start with, don’t do that for the moment.”

  “Why not? Did I hurt you?” With a look of horror, she tried to leave his lap, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “It’s fine. All I meant was that since I’m aroused, your wiggling about on top of me is making me want to lay you down on the floor and ravish you too soon.”

  “Oh.” She settled back on his lap, but more gingerly. “I arouse you?”

  “You know that you do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have ‘landed us in this mess in the first place,’ as you put it.”

  She cast him a shy smile. “I don’t mind the mess so much.”

  That made him breathe easier. He hoped she meant she wasn’t sitting there wishing he was Juncker. “If we do this right,” he said, his voice gravelly from the effort of restraining himself, “you won’t mind the mess at all. With any luck, you’ll end up enjoying it.”

  “How do you know? Have you done this before?”

  “A lady isn’t supposed to ask a gentleman that,” he said.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “A gentleman isn’t supposed to do that, except with his wife.”

  “Good point.” He ran his hand lightly down her still-clothed back. “Let’s put it this way—I have occasionally behaved less than gentlemanlike. Certainly less than saintly.”

  He began unbuttoning the tiny buttons of her nightdress. There were several of them, going down to her waist. And undoing them with one hand was more difficult than he expected. Especially when her breath was coming in thick, shuddery gasps that resonated well below the waistband of his trousers.

  “How . . . how often is occasionally?” She stared down at what he was doing. “Have you . . . ever had a mistress?”

  “No. Can’t afford one.”

  She stiffened. “Oh, trust me, if a man wants a mistress, he can always find a way to pay for her.”

  As a shaft of ice pierced his heart, Sheridan halted the unbuttoning. “Do you know that from experience?”

  With a sigh, she nodded.

  He fought for calm. “Who was he? Juncker?”

  She blinked at him. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “What the devil are you?”

  For a moment, she just stared at him. Then a furious blush rose in her face. “I didn’t mean . . . I have never been . . .” She turned irate. “Why on earth would you think I’m talking about my becoming some man’s mistress? As if Mama would ever allow such a thing. As if I would ever consent to such a thing. Good Lord, what must you think of me?”

  “No idea. I confess I’m thoroughly confused. You said you knew from personal experience about mistresses being paid. What else was I supposed to think?”

  “Well, not that.” At his continued look of bewilderment, she added, “I was talking about Papa. He had at least one mistress.”

  “How in the hell would you know that?”

  She shrugged. “I did the books for him. There were bills from milliners, dressmakers, glovers, and none of the items matched anything Mama or I had purchased. It was obvious it all went to some other woman. Especially since after he died, a woman none of us knew wanted to pay her respects, but Mama refused to see her. It didn’t take much to figure out who she must be.”

  “Ah.” He lifted his hand to caress her cheek. “I know exactly what you mean. I suspect my father wasn’t always faithful to my mother either. Theirs was a marriage between friends. They were not in love. We all knew that.”

  “They argued a lot?”

  “No. Actually, they almost never argued. They just lived separate lives. Father married Mother so he could sire an heir and a spare. And probably so he could advance hi
s position in the diplomatic corps. Being married can be an advantage there, especially when you marry a dowager duchess. Once he’d sired me and Heywood, he and Mother were polite and friendly to each other, but it never went beyond that. Father’s best friend was Thorn’s and Gwyn’s father, so he knew that her heart would always belong to her second husband. And we knew it, too.”

  “Did that bother you?”

  “Not really. I didn’t know anything else.”

  She nodded. “I don’t think my parents loved each other at all. They argued constantly. It was upsetting.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  They fell silent, both probably wondering the same thing. Would they fight? Or live separate lives?

  He shoved those lowering questions from his mind. Those didn’t matter. He and she were married now, and as long as he could keep thinking of her as only his bedmate, he wouldn’t have to worry about going through another heartbreak.

  Time to stop talking and seduce her. “Do you mind if I take down your hair?”

  She looked unaccountably bewildered. “No. But you’ll have to remove the pearl comb.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “You said you wanted to see me wearing nothing but the pearls.” A corner of her mouth lifted. “You can’t have it both ways, you know. Either I’m naked with the pearls on. Or the pearls aren’t on, but my hair is down.”

  The thought of either made him randy as hell.

  At the flirtatious gleam in her eyes, he smiled. “What a little parser of rules you are. But since I hadn’t even noticed that the comb was adorned with pearls, I’d rather see your hair down.” He whispered in her ear, “I’ll be seeing you naked eventually, anyway.”

  She met his gaze. “I do hope I’ll be seeing you naked as well.”

  That was all it took to send him over the edge. He covered her mouth with his, kissing her so thoroughly that she couldn’t possibly be left wondering about his intentions. At the same time, he slid his hand inside her unbuttoned nightdress to fondle one of her full breasts, relishing how the soft silk of her nipple tightened to a fine point as he thumbed it. When she moaned somewhere deep in her throat, it only heightened his pleasure.