When his blood began to race once more, he made himself cast her a stern look. “You’re avoiding the subject.” Not to mention arousing him again, either unwittingly or, more likely, as wittingly as hell. “Do you promise me you will never take a lover? Especially not Juncker.”
Her gaze grew shuttered. “No lovers. And definitely not Mr. Juncker. I promise.”
She was hiding something from him, but he couldn’t figure out what. She’d been chaste before now; that much he could tell. No woman could pretend to be an innocent so convincingly. She had genuinely marveled at each new aspect of having marital relations.
Still, that didn’t necessarily mean she had no intention of seeking out Juncker now that she knew what to do in bed. The very thought of her in love with that puffed-up, theatrical arse, possibly seeking to be with the man, tore him up inside. And if Juncker ever tried to take advantage of her feelings . . . Sheridan would call the bastard out for sure.
Fortunately, Sheridan suspected that whatever weapon was chosen—whether pistols or swords—he would be better at it than Juncker. After all, Juncker had spent his entire life scribbling poetry and pretending to be a playwright. Sheridan, on the other hand, had been trained by his father to be prepared for anything—feast or famine, peace or revolution. And once Sheridan had seen that the family’s investigation might put them all in danger, he’d added lessons in shooting to his activities.
Sometimes the only way to keep the peace was to threaten violence. As Father had always said, “Peace comes at a price paid for by the sword.” And Sheridan would be more than happy to thrust a sword through Juncker’s heart, if it were warranted.
His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Quite possibly she hadn’t either. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Hungry, mmm,” was all she answered.
She was falling asleep! He didn’t know whether to be insulted that he’d bored her or pleased he’d worn her out with his lovemaking. Then again, it had been a very long week of planning and arranging the wedding. His part had only been to meet with solicitors. It was Vanessa—and his pregnant sister, pregnant sister-in-law, not-yet-pregnant sister-in-law, and aging mother—who’d done the rest. He probably shouldn’t fault Vanessa for being tired. He should be shocked she hadn’t fallen asleep before he could even make her his.
Well, when she woke up, he intended to have something here to feed her at least. He could ring for a servant, but he’d rather go see what was left of the food from the bridal feast. Probably some of the colder items were still on the tables in his cavernous dining room. Besides which, he might find a bottle of champagne not yet opened.
After donning the footed silk drawers he preferred to wear under his trousers, he dressed in his remaining clothes, adding a waistcoat and coat. He probably looked a bit disheveled, but at least he’d be presentable to the ladies in the house if he should happen to run across any of them, which he sincerely hoped he did not.
He paused beside the bed to pull the covers up over her shoulders, stifling a laugh as she mumbled something about “naughty food” and “oysters champagne,” and then he headed downstairs.
Immediately, he ran into Thorn, of course. He was probably lucky Heywood wasn’t with him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your marital bed?” Thorn asked. He was carrying a plate piled high with food.
“I enjoyed it quite thoroughly, thanks. Vanessa’s asleep now, so I thought I’d pop down to find nourishment.” With a sly smile, he took Thorn’s plate. “It was kind of you to gather some food for me and my new bride. We’re famished.”
“I got that for Mother,” Thorn said.
“Mother can’t eat all that,” Sheridan said. “Fortunately, it’s just enough for me and Vanessa.”
“I thought you already put the chit to sleep with your accomplished seduction,” Thorn said.
Sheridan took a bite of a chicken leg on the top of the pile. “A gentleman never speaks of such things.”
“Then that’s a yes.”
“No!” Sheridan lifted his eyes heavenward. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I wore my wife out with my ‘accomplished seduction.’ You wouldn’t understand. Poor Olivia has to put up with your bumbling.”
“Bumbling! You’re just jealous of my fine technique.”
“Hardly.” He bit off more chicken. “And don’t call my wife a ‘chit.’ She’s a full-grown woman, as I have thoroughly ascertained.”
Sheridan heard a murmur of voices from the drawing room. When he and Vanessa had “retired,” everyone had still been drinking and eating in the dining room. “What’s going on?”
“We’re having a meeting to assess our progress on the subject of the investigation. We weren’t planning to bother you with it, given that it was your wedding night, but if you’d like to be part—”
“Of course I’d like to be part of it.” Sheridan glanced around the hall and lowered his voice. “What about the other guests? Lady Eustace? Sir Noah? Lady Norley and Lady Hornsby?” He frowned. “Bonham?”
Thorn began ticking those off on his fingers. “Lady Eustace went to bed. I gather she tires easily. Sir Noah went into Sanforth, hoping to find some cardplayers at the nearest tavern, since none of us wanted to join him in a game. Bonham returned to London. Apparently he had business affairs to take care of, probably for you. Lady Norley retired to read in her room, and Lady Hornsby left almost immediately after the ceremony to return to . . . wherever she’s been the past week. Didn’t you notice she wasn’t at the bridal feast?”
“I was rather preoccupied at the time, if you’ll recall. Still, it’s curious, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. But it’s Gwyn’s task to interrogate Lady Hornsby, so it’s not my problem.”
“Your problem is to question your mother-in-law,” Sheridan said, “which I gather you haven’t yet managed to do. Good luck to you.”
Instead of turning defensive, Thorn smirked at him. “And now your problem is to question your mother-inlaw. Good luck to you, too. I’ll take Lady Norley over Lady Eustace any day.” He clapped an arm about Sheridan’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go see what everyone else has found out.”
As soon as they entered the drawing room, the comments began. His brothers tormented him about coming down so soon after going up with his wife. Their wives rolled their eyes and shook their heads, and in general pretended their husbands weren’t a group of jokers and buffoons.
Mother was the only one who glared—at each of her sons in turn. “Leave him be, all of you. Sheridan and Vanessa will find their way, no thanks to you lads.”
Heywood laughed. “Lads! We’re grown men with wives, Mother. Besides, even Saint Sheridan can endure a few jests at his expense on his wedding night.”
“‘Jests’ would imply that your remarks are funny,” Sheridan quipped as he walked over to the brandy decanter and set down his plate just long enough to pour himself a glass. “So far, all I’ve heard is a lot of juvenile bluster.”
That started his brothers trying to outdo each other with witty insults. It didn’t last long because Sheridan’s cousin Joshua, who was also a major in the Royal Marines and technically Sheridan’s brother-in-law, stood in the midst of the room and cried, “Enough!”
When that quieted everyone, Joshua added, “May I remind you we have a limited amount of time to do this? Sir Noah might return at any minute, or one of the other suspect ladies come down to see what all the commotion is. We need to get on with it, but without creating too much noise. Understood?”
His family muttered something to the effect that they did.
Then Joshua turned to Sheridan. “Do you wish to wait until your wife can join us to discuss the investigation into her mother?”
Damn.
He took his time about finding a chair near a table so he didn’t have to balance a plate and glass on his lap.
“Yes, Sheridan, do you?” Thorn asked smugly. “Or could it be that you
haven’t actually told Vanessa yet?”
“I just got married today,” Sheridan ground out. “I haven’t had time to tell her.”
Olivia eyed him closely. “Thorn told me before we were even engaged.”
“You were in love.” Sheridan set the plate down on the table. “That’s different.”
“Not then we weren’t,” Thorn said. “Or at least we weren’t admitting it to each other.”
“Although to be fair,” Olivia said, “Thorn sort of let his suspicions—his unproven suspicions—about Mama slip out. If he hadn’t, I might still not know.”
“That’s not true,” Thorn said. “I would have told you before we married, I’m sure.”
She lifted an eyebrow, then turned to Sheridan. “And when I found out what he suspected Mama of doing, I did give him grief for it.”
“My point entirely,” Sheridan said, taking a swig of brandy. He’d need it for this discussion. “I’d rather have at least a couple of days of wedded bliss before I broach something liable to cause contention.” He set down his glass. “Besides, it’s really none of her concern.” When his brothers and Joshua all groaned and their wives looked daggers at him, he said, “What? It isn’t. She had naught to do with any of it. She wasn’t even born until ten years afterward. I’m only protecting her from the truth about her mother.”
His own mother snorted. “You’re not protecting her from that. In some respects she already knows the truth about Cora. You’re protecting Vanessa from learning why she really had to marry you. Because we all know that if not for this investigation, which you performed under cover of being her friend, you would never have ended up married to her.”
“That’s not true,” he protested. Except he knew it was.
Then a voice came from the doorway. “What investigation is your mother talking about?”
Oh, God, no. Vanessa walked into the room wearing his banyan, which thoroughly engulfed her. With his heart hammering in his chest, he rose. “Nothing to worry you, Vanessa. Go on back to bed. I’ll be there shortly.”
“I’m not leaving.” The coldness in her eyes froze his blood. “Not until I find out what investigation you’re talking about. And what in the devil it has to do with my mother.”
Chapter Fifteen
With all eyes on her, Vanessa felt exposed, vulnerable. Her only consolation was that they weren’t looking at her as if they took her for a fool. Instead, they regarded her with sympathy. She had allies here, thank heaven.
Sheridan was probably not one of them.
Had it really only been scant minutes ago that she’d awakened from a blissful slumber to find him gone? That she’d come looking for him, thinking to discover him in a pantry somewhere and not surrounded by his family? It seemed forever ago.
“Someone please tell me what I missed,” she said through the lump of unshed tears in her throat. She’d known he hadn’t married her for love—she hadn’t expected that. But she’d thought he’d been spending time making Juncker jealous because he really cared about her. Because they were “friends.”
She’d been wrong. He hadn’t even cared that much. Although it hadn’t stopped him from taking her to bed, had it?
Since no one had answered, she pressed on, unable even to look at him right now. “Let me see if I have this straight. You have all been investigating something having to do with Mama. And Sheridan was the one charged with questioning her ‘under cover’ of being my friend. Is that right?”
For a moment, the room was utterly silent, giving her a chance to remember all the times Sheridan had seemed more interested in her mother than in her, all the strange questions he’d asked, and, worse yet, the many ways Mama had avoided answering him.
“Well?” she repeated, impatient now. “Is it?”
The room exploded with explanations, too many for her to take in. But only Sheridan approached her, inexplicably holding a plate of food and a glass of brandy, as if they were peace offerings. “Perhaps you and I should go somewhere private so I can explain, sweetheart.”
She glared at him. “You have little chance of that, darling. I need your family here to keep you honest.”
Pain glimmered in his eyes before he masked it. “Do you think I would lie to you about it?”
“You’ve been lying to me about it all this time, haven’t you?”
“No. Just . . . omitting certain details.”
“You mean, like why you have to have secret meetings without me, even though we are now married? Or do you still think of me as some brainless fribble who doesn’t have the intelligence to be part of your family’s schemes?”
“I damned well don’t think of you as—”
“You’ve landed in the thick of it now,” Thornstock said with a laugh.
“Stay out of this, Thorn,” Sheridan snapped, “or I swear I’ll break your jaw.”
Vanessa caught her breath. Had she somehow missed this violent side to Sheridan’s character? She’d assumed that his striking Mr. Juncker was due to her, but now that she wasn’t sure if anything was due to her, she had to wonder.
Thornstock snorted. “Right. Saint Sheridan is going to fight me.”
“Don’t put it past him,” Vanessa said. “He’s punched a man before. I’ve seen him do it.”
When his family stared at her aghast, Sheridan said softly, “Only for you, sweetheart.”
She ignored the frisson of pleasure that his remark sent through her. Clearly, Sheridan was better at flattery than she’d heretofore realized.
“Whom did you punch?” Lord Heywood asked his older brother.
“Juncker,” Sheridan said, keeping his gaze fixed on her.
“Ohhhh,” everyone said in unison, as if that explained everything.
“No doubt he deserved it,” Thornstock added.
It was her turn to scowl at the man. “I thought Mr. Juncker was your friend.”
Thornstock shrugged. “He is. That’s how I know that sometimes he can be an arse.”
“Especially around ladies,” Sheridan told him.
“You are not going to distract me from my purpose with talk of Mr. Juncker!” Vanessa scanned the room. “Will someone who is not my husband please tell me what’s going on? Obviously everyone else’s wife has been included in the discussion. Why not me?”
“Why not you, indeed.” With a kind smile, the dowager duchess rose and walked over to take her hand. “Come sit by me, my dear, and we will answer all your questions.” As she led Vanessa toward the chair beside hers, she paused to relieve Sheridan of his plate. “I believe the food was meant for me, son.” Taking the glass, she handed it to Vanessa. “And heaven knows your wife can probably use some brandy to get through this discussion.”
If Vanessa hadn’t been so angry at Sheridan, she might have been amused by his astonished expression as his mother walked off with his food, his drink, and his wife. But Vanessa wasn’t in the mood to be amused just now. Staring rather defiantly at Sheridan, she took a large gulp of brandy.
It was like swallowing fire. When she had a fit of coughing, the dowager duchess handed her a handkerchief.
“Oh, my word,” Vanessa said when she could speak again. “Why would anyone drink that vile stuff?”
Olivia said, “It’s actually quite delicious once you get used to it.” When Sheridan looked surprised by that, coming from Olivia, she added defensively, “Well, it is. But in my experience, it’s better if you sip it.”
Sheridan muttered something under his breath, but Vanessa pointedly ignored him. This time she took a small sip and discovered that Olivia was right. A sip provided just enough heat without overwhelming her.
The dowager duchess patted her hand. “If it makes you feel any better, my dear, most of what you’re about to hear wasn’t even told to me until a month ago. What do you want to know first?”
After one more sip, Vanessa put the glass down on a nearby side table. “Eventually, I want to hear what part Mama plays in all of this. But it sounds as if thi
s is a bigger story than that, so perhaps someone should start at the beginning.” When Sheridan opened his mouth, she said, “But not you.”
Her husband sat back with a curse and crossed his arms over his chest. The baleful look he gave her held fair warning that she’d have to deal with him soon. But first she needed to get the story straight in her head.
Everyone but Sheridan looked to Major Wolfe, and he sighed. “I suppose I am the most objective observer. Besides, there are things I need to report on to all of you anyway, so I might as well be the one to start.”
Report on? When they’d used the term investigation, they hadn’t been exaggerating.
Absently Major Wolfe rubbed his knee. “Over the past year, Miss . . . er . . . sorry . . .”
“Please call me Vanessa,” she put in. “I consider all of you my family, even if my husband doesn’t seem to think I am.”
Now Sheridan was positively glowering at her.
“Very well,” the major said. “Feel free to call me Joshua. Everyone else does.”
“Thank you,” Vanessa said.
“In any case, we have come to realize that the dowager duchess’s three husbands were quite possibly murdered.”
She thought surely she’d misheard the man. “Murdered?” she said, just to clarify. “Three dukes? Surely someone would have noticed that.”
“The deaths were disguised as illness or accidents.” The major cast Sheridan a quick look. “Indeed, it was your husband who first noticed the inconsistencies.”
“After our uncle and our father died within months of each other in suspicious accidents,” Heywood added helpfully.
Joshua nodded. “To be honest, we all thought Sheridan was daft at first. Then mysterious things kept happening—”
“Like a fellow named Elias trying to sabotage Thorn’s carriage,” Lady Gwyn said. “While me and Thorn and Mama and Joshua were traveling to London in it! Then there was the discovery that Grey’s father didn’t die of an ague, but was poisoned by arsenic decades ago.” She smiled over at Olivia. “Olivia actually discovered that.”
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