Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

The dowager duchess’s sharp intake of breath as she stared down at the bed seemed to preclude that happening. “Oh, dear, I’ll have to find your maid. Where is Bridget, my dear?”

  “Upstairs, I think? I dismissed her for the evening.” Vanessa frowned. “Didn’t expect my husband to have a family meeting on our wedding night.”

  Her mother-in-law smiled. “And we’re all sorry about that. We didn’t expect him to do so, either. But I gather he came down to get food and encountered Thorn. You know men and their appetites.” She walked over to unknot the belt of Sheridan’s banyan, which Vanessa still wore. “I’ll have to call for your maid. There’s blood on the sheet—I’m sure you don’t want to sleep on that.”

  “Blood?” Vanessa closed her eyes. They were so heavy.

  “Your virgin’s blood, dear girl,” her mother-in-law said as she came behind her to slip the banyan off her shoulders.

  “Oh. Right. Bridget told me ’bout that.” She’d also said if there wasn’t any blood, there would be a Great To-do. “That’s . . . good, right?”

  “It’s fine. But it means we do need these sheets changed. Wait here a moment. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” The dowager duchess left to go out into the hall.

  Vanessa was so tired. And the bed was right there. Why couldn’t she get into it again? Something about blood? P’raps she was confused. She honestly couldn’t remember.

  She just climbed into bed, put her head on the pillow, and promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As soon as Vanessa and Mother had gone, Joshua had suggested they might all want some refreshment. He’d called for a servant, who’d gone off to fetch tea, wine, and ale, along with some cut-up oranges and apples. Sheridan and the rest of the family had made small talk while that was set up.

  But now that the servants had left, Joshua took one last gulp of brandy and set down his glass. “Where were we?”

  Sheridan settled back in his chair, glass of wine in his hand. “You were giving us your report. And suggesting that I question the good citizens of Sanforth.”

  “If you’ll be gone, I can do it,” Heywood said.

  “Will Cass be all right with that?” Joshua asked.

  “Of course,” Heywood said. “The only reason she’s not here at present is . . . well, she sleeps a great deal.”

  “Of course she does,” Joshua said. “She’s due any day. Am I right?”

  Heywood chuckled. “You are indeed.”

  It struck Sheridan that Vanessa might end up carrying his child soon. The thought of it gave him such pleasure he couldn’t even concentrate on what the others were saying. Of course, if she was so furious over his subterfuge that she refused to let him bed her again . . .

  No, that wouldn’t happen. She had enjoyed their lovemaking. He was certain of it. She might be angry right now, but eventually she would see that what he’d done was for a good purpose.

  Lying to her. Misleading her. She won’t see it the way you do.

  “Gwyn?” Joshua said. “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve discovered about Lady Hornsby?”

  Gwyn stirred more sugar into her tea. “I already told you.”

  “Yes, but why don’t you tell the people in the room who are not married to you.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She sighed. “I haven’t learned much, I’m afraid. I couldn’t get her alone, even at the wedding. She was decidedly uninterested in talking about anything but how perfect the ceremony was and how beautiful Vanessa looked.”

  “My wife did look beautiful,” Sheridan said. “She always does.” When the others laughed, he said, “Well, it’s true.”

  “And you aren’t smitten in the least,” Thorn said dryly.

  Sheridan wasn’t smitten, damn it. He dared not be. That would be like laying his heart out on a table and waiting for life to slam it with a mallet.

  Gwyn grinned. “Anyway, I plan to pay Lady Hornsby a call as soon as Joshua and I return to London, which won’t be long after Sheridan. With any luck, the countess won’t be gallivanting around the country somewhere. And you never know—she might have something to say about the other ladies that will prove useful.”

  “One can always hope.” Joshua scanned the room. “Anything else to add? Because I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve covered everything I can think of.”

  “Excellent!” Thorn said. “There’s still ham, bread, and cheese in the dining room. And tarts.”

  Olivia’s eyes lit up. “Apple tarts?”

  “What else?” Gwyn rose and waddled toward the door. “As long as there are also pickles, I am joining you.”

  Heywood shook his head. “Thank God Cass doesn’t indulge in that grotesque combination or I would never make it through a meal.”

  “You get used to it,” Joshua said.

  When he started to follow his wife, cane in hand, Sheridan stopped him. “Could I speak to you alone a moment?”

  “I’ll be there shortly, dearling!” he called after Gwyn. Then he turned to Sheridan, all business now. “Is this about your new wife?”

  “Actually, no. It’s about William Bonham. I can’t figure out if Mother invites him to things because he’s courting her or she’s just trying to be nice or what. But I would like you to investigate him.”

  Joshua blinked. “He’s worked for your family for a good long while, from what I understand.”

  “Yes, ever since Uncle Armie first inherited fifteen years ago. Father didn’t use him for too many matters—most of what he needed done had to be handled in Berlin, so I just want to be sure Bonham has no skeletons in his closet. Especially if he and Mother are involved with each other.”

  “I see what you mean. Although I might remind you that it’s always hard to watch your mother being courted if you’ve only ever seen her with your father.”

  Joshua had a point. And except for Thorn, who thought everyone was beneath their mother, the others didn’t seem nearly as bothered as Sheridan by the . . . By the what? Friendship? Courtship? Sheridan didn’t like not knowing what it was. “You’re probably right. Mother does deserve a bit of happiness, too. I’m just not entirely certain she could find it with Bonham.”

  “Then do you also want me to look into Sir Noah?” Joshua asked. “He, too, seems to be showing an interest in her, judging from how he and Bonham took turns glaring at each other during the ceremony earlier.”

  “I noticed. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to find out more about the man. You might want to ask Grey about him, too. I’ve never heard him so much as mention Sir Noah.” Sheridan sighed. “We may have to do this sort of thing for a while. Mother seems to be attracting every widower around. I had no idea there were so many eligible widowed bachelors.”

  “As long as it’s just the two,” Joshua said with a laugh, “I can handle looking into their backgrounds. But try not to hunt up any more.”

  “Trust me, I didn’t hunt up the two we have. Men are drawn to Mother like bears to honey. Always were, from what I understand.”

  “It’s not surprising. Your mother is a kind soul. Men notice that above all things.” Joshua got a fond look in his eyes. “I certainly noticed it in your sister.”

  “Gwyn? Kind?”

  “You’re her brother, and brothers don’t always see their sisters in the same way as their sisters’ husbands. Speaking of which, if we’re done . . .”

  Sheridan nodded, and they parted at the door, with Sheridan heading upstairs and Joshua going into the dining room. Sheridan’s stomach rumbled, but he didn’t care. He’d had enough of his siblings and their spouses for one night. He wanted his wife.

  He thought about what Joshua had said. Vanessa could be kind sometimes. But she could also be fiery and engaging and full of surprises. Any one of those things might endear her to him, but all of them combined made her irresistible. That thought had him quickening his steps.

  Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave Vanessa alone with his mother for too long after what had happened. No te
lling what sort of secrets Mother might reveal. And he meant to tell his secrets to Vanessa himself.

  When he reached the hall that led to the master bedchambers, he saw his mother slipping out of his wife’s room. She came toward him as if to waylay him.

  “You need to fetch Vanessa’s maid.” She paused. “Actually, any maid will do. The sheets on the bed should be changed.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s blood on them, of course.”

  “Of course? I assure you that I would never hurt . . .” He trailed off as he made the connection. “Oh. Right. I . . . er . . . guess I didn’t notice the blood.”

  “Hardly surprising, given what the two of you were doing together.”

  He could feel heat rise in his face. “I promise I did nothing any other man wouldn’t have done on his wedding night.”

  “I realize that. And if you’d actually hurt her during the act, I’m sure she wouldn’t be smiling in her sleep the way she was when I left.”

  He lifted his eyes heavenward. “I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this.”

  “I’m merely trying to be helpful. Anyway, she’s lying in her own blood right now and needs to be moved. So call a footman, too. Unfortunately, she was so tired that she crawled into bed before I could fetch anyone. You really need to increase your staff now that you’re married.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, he muttered, “Tired? Or tipsy on the brandy you forced on her?”

  “Tipsy? On one glass?” his mother said. “Don’t be absurd. And I didn’t force it on her, although I’ll admit I probably shouldn’t have given it to her when I knew she hadn’t eaten much and was exhausted to boot. But she’ll be fine in the morning. Before that, however, you should fetch a footman to move her.”

  “No footman is going to carry my wife anywhere,” Sheridan snapped. “I’ll do it myself. And while I do, you can fetch the maid.”

  “All right.” She said it cheerily as if that was what she’d intended all along, and then hurried off toward the servants’ stairs.

  Good God, he wished now he hadn’t sold the dowager house to Grey for a tidy sum—which had gone right back into keeping the estate afloat. Perhaps Grey would rent it to him for a song. Because having Mother underfoot, despite the massive size of the house, was going to be trying. Although he supposed it would be nice for Vanessa to have a female friend other than Bridget in the house. Vanessa and his mother did seem to like each other, after all.

  That reminded him—he had to move Vanessa. He walked into his wife’s bedchamber. Sure enough, Vanessa lay on the bed, his banyan now tossed unceremoniously over a chair. He almost hated to disturb her, but Mother was right; she’d be more comfortable in a clean bed.

  His own.

  A surge of possessiveness made him walk to her bed and pick her up as carefully as he could in an attempt not to wake her. Now that he had her in his arms, he could see the shadows under her eyes. She’d been running full tilt since they’d agreed to marry. That, coupled with their lovemaking and the emotions that hearing about the investigation had probably roused, must have exhausted her.

  And callous husband that he was, having her in his arms was rousing his need again. Which was entirely unacceptable.

  As he reached the adjoining door, he shifted her so he could turn the knob. She muttered something unintelligible and snuggled against his neck. That only aroused him more, damn it. Because she looked even more enchanting than before, if such a thing were even possible. With her hair tumbling over his arm, her long eyelashes looking like the black fringe on a lady’s shawl, and her nipples forming points against her linen nightdress as he carried her into his colder room, he wanted nothing more than to bed her yet again.

  He scowled at himself. With her breath warm against his skin, she was a hothouse rose, and he was behaving like the wicked seducer who wanted to pluck all her petals.

  “Let me,” his mother said from behind him and hurried over to pull down the covers for him.

  After laying Vanessa on his bed, he turned to draw the covers up over her.

  When he stood staring at her a moment longer, his mother said, “She’s sleeping now. You should leave her alone tonight.”

  “Thank you for the advice,” he said tightly. “But she’s my wife, and I can handle matters from here.”

  That didn’t send his mother packing, however. “Have you told her anything about Helene?”

  With a groan, he darted a look at Vanessa, but she seemed to be deeply asleep, curled up under the covers as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Still, he wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled his mother over near the open adjoining door. Inside the other bedchamber, a couple of maids were busily changing the sheets, flashing each other knowing looks over the bloodstain.

  It was one of the things he hated most about being a duke. One’s entire household gossiped about one and felt invested in one’s success. He always felt that any failure dragged not just him but everyone else in his orbit down with him.

  He pulled the door to for a moment. “Not that it’s any of your business, Mother, but no, I haven’t mentioned Helene yet. I will, however, when the time seems right.”

  “If I were you, I’d make it sooner rather than later. You don’t want her hearing about Helene from one of your brothers—or, God forbid, Gwyn.” She started to push open the door into the other room, then paused. “You should have told her what you were about with her mother, you know, if not while you were doing it, then in the past week, after you became betrothed.”

  He ran a hand through his hair before lowering his voice, so as not to wake Vanessa. “I didn’t tell her the truth because I didn’t want to risk having her alert her mother if Lady Eustace happened to be guilty.”

  His mother snorted. “You didn’t tell her the truth because you were afraid she wouldn’t marry you if you did.” Mother then walked into the other room and closed the door behind her.

  He wanted to call her back, to deny her words, to insist that he and Vanessa had been forced into marrying because of his reckless physical attraction to her. But he couldn’t. Because his mother was right. Somewhere in the depths of his soul he’d had a longing for Vanessa that had been damned near impossible to ignore.

  If he didn’t watch himself, he would end up just as captivated by her as he’d been by Helene. And that way lay pain and ruin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sound of curtains being opened and the sunlight streaming through the large, many-paned window to hit Vanessa’s closed eyes woke her in a hurry. Where was she? Her bedchamber in their town house had no window as large as that.

  Wait, this wasn’t her bedchamber.

  Bridget hurried over to the side table nearest her mistress and placed on it a tray containing toast and tea and everything that came with those. “Forgive me for waking you, miss—I-I mean, Your Grace—but His Grace said he means to leave for London in an hour, so I thought you might need the time to get ready.”

  That sent Vanessa bolting up straight in bed. “You needn’t get all formal with me, Bridget. I may be a duchess by marriage, but I’m still the same mistress you have come to know and fear.”

  Just as Vanessa knew it would, that elicited a laugh from Bridget. “All the same, mistress, I think I’d best use your proper title when we’re around others.”

  “Probably. Especially Mother. Sadly, she is going to have a fine time lording it over everyone. And bemoaning how I had to marry a poor duke.”

  “That’s more than likely.”

  “Where’s my husband, anyway? Isn’t this his bedchamber?”

  Vanessa had seen it earlier in the week when they’d given her a tour of Armitage Hall, and it was every bit as nicely appointed as the rest of the house. It was just a pity that the curtains needed mending and the bed drapings replaced and sundry other items taken care of.

  “His Grace dressed while you were sleeping. You didn’t even move!” Bridget poured Vanessa her tea and doctored it with plenty of cream
and a tiny bit of sugar. “You must have been exhausted. And his valet is very quiet.”

  Vanessa took a big swallow of tea. “Is everyone waiting on me to be ready?”

  “Not quite. The trunks are already loaded onto the servants’ carriage, but your carriage is being searched rather thoroughly by two or three burly footmen. Perhaps His Grace’s carriage is prone to breaking down?”

  More likely, His Grace’s carriage was prone to being damaged in an attempt to kill him . . . and her and Mama, since they would be with him in his carriage. That sobered her at once. Whatever was happening to the dowager duchess’s family was liable to affect her, too, by association. She hadn’t thought of that last night when they’d been relating the story of all the mishaps and murders.

  Bridget examined the pocket watch Vanessa had bought her one year. “Now you have fifty minutes to get ready, mistress. Give or take a few.”

  “Oh, all right.” Grabbing a slice of buttered toast, she munched it as she went into her bedchamber and Bridget came behind her with the tray.

  Unsurprisingly, her clothes were already laid out on the bed. She’d never had to complain about Bridget. Her lady’s maid was always prepared for any contingency.

  With ten minutes to spare, she marched down the stairs, tugging on her gloves of Princess Elizabeth blue and tying her bonnet of the same blue, trimmed with scarlet. This was her favorite ensemble of the trousseau Grey had insisted on buying her as a wedding present: a simple Princess Elizabeth blue carriage dress, a pelisse of scarlet wool lined with white fur, a white fur muff, and the bonnet and gloves that went with it.

  As she walked out the door, Sheridan looked up from speaking with one of the footmen, and the admiration in his eyes was unmistakable. It warmed her far more than her fur-lined wool pelisse. Especially when he helped her into the carriage, refusing to release her hand until he had a chance to kiss it.

  She swallowed hard. She hoped his behavior was an indication that not all was amiss between them. But she wasn’t ready to forgive him quite yet. Before that happened, she needed him to answer some questions.