Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He caught her by the waist. “You’re right. I should have trusted you. I was just—”

  “Jealous?”

  “Yes.” He bent his head to kiss her temple. “It made me insane thinking he might have your heart.”

  “It’s fine that your late fiancée has yours,” she whispered, “but it’s not all right that I might have chosen a different man before you?”

  “Vanessa . . .” he said in that placating voice she hated.

  “I have always wanted you, Sheridan Wolfe. Not because you’re a duke, and not because you’re Grey’s brother, although that’s certainly a consideration. But because you are you. And if that’s not enough for you—”

  “It is, my sweet duchess. I swear it. I’m happy we’re married. I know that’s hard for you to believe, but it’s the truth.”

  He took her into his arms and began to kiss her.

  She tore her lips from his, not quite ready to forgive him. “The servants are expecting us to eat dinner at the appointed time.”

  “Are they?” he murmured and continued trying to kiss her.

  “Sheridan! I just got dressed!”

  “I’ll help you get dressed again,” he said in a husky voice. “But I desperately want to make love to my wife.”

  To be honest, she desperately wanted the same thing. “All right,” she whispered against his lips.

  With a laugh, he backed her toward her bed and she let him. She had no self-control at all when it came to Sheridan.

  He still hadn’t said he loved her, but then she hadn’t said she loved him either.

  Did she love him? She very much feared that she did. He was the only man she’d ever really wanted, and it had taken her years to find him. He was the only one who stood up for her, who shared her love of books and understood her love of gardening. The only one who made her blood roar and her heart leap. But he’d already told her once he had no intention of being in love again, and she didn’t know how she’d bear it if he said those same words once she’d bared her heart to him.

  She would just have to show him how she felt and hope that one day he would share her feelings.

  Chapter Twenty

  Two days later, Sheridan sat in his study in the London manor house, poring over the estate accounts in preparation for the dreaded meeting with Bonham that afternoon. He’d put it off longer than he should have.

  Yesterday, the rest of his family had returned to London, including his mother, who would still be living with them for the time being. But she probably wouldn’t be around much. She planned on heading off to Carymont tomorrow to see how Beatrice and Grey were doing, since Beatrice still hadn’t had her baby. No doubt she’d be visiting the others frequently.

  He didn’t mind that in the least. Having one’s mother around while one was adjusting to married life was very trying. But as soon as Mother left—and the meeting with Bonham was over, he could enjoy spending time with Vanessa. He might actually have a chance to do something with her other than swiving. Not that he minded the swiving. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled to himself.

  “What are you smiling so secretively about, my darling?” Vanessa asked as she bustled into his study.

  “I was merely thinking about last night. And the night before that. Oh, yes, and the night before that. And the—”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, Sheridan Wolfe, and you will not seduce me into telling Bonham you’re indisposed or anything like that. When he comes this afternoon, you’ll need to be prepared.”

  “Damn. Unbeknownst to me, I married a nagging woman,” he said in mock alarm. “Ah, well, I suppose I’m stuck with you now.”

  “Very amusing.” With a lift of her impervious and very lovely eyebrow, she came around to his side of the desk to look out the window at the courtyard garden. “I can see why you said you liked your study. The garden behind you gives you a nice glimpse of the outdoors.”

  “It does, indeed,” he said, turning in his chair to look out at it himself.

  “That will be the first thing I tackle as lady of the house. Your little garden there could clearly use a bit of care, and I will enjoy getting it under good management.”

  Sheridan pulled her closer. “I can think of other things you could get ‘under good management.’”

  She laughed. “You are insatiable, sir. And this is neither the time nor the place for it.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said, smoothing one hand over her hip to her thighs.

  Rolling her eyes at him, she turned to gaze down at his desk. “So these are the account books?”

  That reminder ruined his mood. “They are, indeed.” He dropped his hand from her lovely body. “I realize everyone keeps their accounts differently, but I can’t make heads nor tails of Bonham’s system. Every time I think I’ve figured it out, something else comes up to tell me I have not.”

  She picked one of the books up and looked at it. “Well, no wonder. It makes no sense.”

  “Don’t tell me the numbers swim before your eyes, too.”

  “No.” She eyed him oddly. “What do you mean?”

  God rot it, he shouldn’t have said that. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. Some people have trouble with numbers. My great-uncle used to have a terrible time. Then my great-aunt would complain of how he drove her mad whenever he had to meet with his estate manager.” She pointed to a figure. “What is this?”

  “It’s seven hundred and twenty-six pounds.”

  “No, my dear. It’s seven hundred and sixty-two pounds.”

  He looked at it again. “You’re right. I can see it now, but I’d swear it was—”

  “Here, let’s try another one.” This time she took a ruler and laid it underneath a figure. “What’s this one?”

  “That’s five thousand and twenty-five pounds.”

  “Look at it again.”

  He scowled. “What’s the use? Every time I look at a number, I can’t trust what I see.”

  “That’s just a simple matter of having someone look at the numbers for you. Honestly, you shouldn’t even be bothering with this. You have a man of affairs. It’s his job.”

  “My father always said any man of property ought to be able to look at the account ledgers and tell whether someone was cheating him or he could be doing some aspect of estate management more efficiently.”

  “I suppose your father had a point, but I don’t see why you should have to take it this far.” She raised an eyebrow. “Besides, for how long did your father manage an estate?”

  That brought Sheridan up short. “Six months or so. I always assumed my grandfather had passed down his own rules of estate management, but if he had, he would have passed them down to Uncle Armie, not my father.”

  “So your father really had very little experience at all.”

  “I don’t suppose he had.” He’d never thought of it like that.

  “Your Uncle Armie was the other person you and your siblings think was murdered?”

  “Yes. He’s the one who ran the estate into the ground.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  Sheridan sat back in his chair. “I am. Before I inherited, Father knew it, the tenants knew it, and Bonham knew it. If I could just figure out Bonham’s system, I would know it. He has tried time and again to explain it to me, but apparently my issue with numbers keeps me from being able to make sense of it.”

  “Hmm.” She looked skeptical. “If you want, I could read over the ledgers for you, and see if I can figure it out. I’m good with numbers, and I used to do the books for Papa.”

  “Forgive me, sweetheart, but that’s not a ringing endorsement, given that your parents struggled under your father’s management.”

  She set her hands on her lovely hips. “That was because of Papa’s mistresses and Mama’s overspending.”

  “Uncle Armie had plenty of mistresses himself, and overspending was how he operated.”

  With fire in her eyes, Vanessa
rested one hip on the desk. “Yes, but he had a duke’s income behind him—plenty of tenants and other investments. Whereas Papa, as a second son, only had our country house in Suffolk left to him by his mother. He had no tenants. He couldn’t afford either overspending or mistresses, but that didn’t stop him. Why do you think he tried to steal Grey’s unentailed properties?”

  She did have a point there.

  “And believe me,” she went on, “I did my best to make the argument that we would have plenty to live on if he would stop spending so much on ‘Mama.’ We both knew he wasn’t spending all of it on Mama and me, but he pretended otherwise, and I let him. No one stood up to Papa, least of all me.”

  “Grey did,” Sheridan said softly.

  “And he suffered for it, as you know.” She thrust out her chin. “What little we were left to live on was only available because I . . . hid assets to keep us from debtors’ prison. It’s possible Mr. Bonham did something similar to keep the dukedom afloat. He has been with the Armitage dukes for decades, after all.”

  “Surely he would have said something about it to me if he had.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps he’s waiting to see if he can trust you, whether you’re going to be able to handle the extra funds if he reveals them to you.”

  Sheridan doubted that, but he could tell she was hopeful. A month ago, he would have assumed that her hope stemmed from a desire for money. Now he knew she simply wanted to help him, which was very sweet, but probably a lost cause.

  “What do you have to lose if I look at the books?” she asked. “Are you doubting my intelligence again?”

  “Again? When have I ever doubted your intelligence?”

  “When you thought me a frivolous ninny.”

  “I have long since been disabused of that notion, if I ever really believed it.”

  That was the right thing to say, for she softened her stance. “So you’ll let me go over them.”

  “If you want to so badly, absolutely. But you’ll have to explain to me whatever you find, so I can articulate it for him.”

  “Of course. Let me just glance over this one first to see if I can tell what system he uses.”

  “He says it’s double-entry.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t look like double-entry to me.”

  Suddenly Gwyn burst into the room. “Where’s Mama?”

  Sheridan stared at her. “I have no idea. Why?”

  “I’m hoping she knows what has happened to Lady Hornsby. The countess isn’t in London or at her estate, according to her servants, who are being decidedly uncommunicative about where she actually is.” Gwyn dropped into a chair across from his desk. “Do you think she got wind of our investigation and left London for parts unknown?”

  “I suppose anything is possible at this point,” Sheridan said. “You should send your husband to investigate.”

  “I can’t. Joshua left London last night in furtherance of something he is investigating for you, he told me, though he wouldn’t say what.”

  Sheridan chuckled. “That’s because your husband knows that once he tells you, it will be broadcast far and wide.”

  “Hardly. I’ve kept Thorn’s secret all this time. I’ll bet you don’t even know what it is.”

  “I’ll bet I do,” Sheridan countered. “But I swore I wouldn’t tell a soul, and you, dear girl, nearly told it yesterday.”

  “What secret did she almost tell?” Vanessa asked. “My heavens, your family has a great many secrets.”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Sheridan said to Vanessa in an undertone. He could always reveal how Olivia and Thorn had met. That was a juicy secret indeed. Although at the rate Gwyn and Olivia were going, the secret of Thorn’s identity as a playwright could be out next week.

  His mother walked in.

  “Good God,” he exclaimed. “Why are the lot of you congregating in my study? Don’t you have rooms—or in your case, Gwyn, a home—of your own?”

  Mother pouted. “I learned that Gwyn was here, that’s all. I wanted to see if she’d heard whether Grey and Bea’s baby had been born yet.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” Vanessa said even as she looked over the account book. “They’re still waiting.”

  Sheridan cast her a surprised look. “How do you know?”

  “Bridget heard it from a servant in Grey’s household. She’s on very good terms with his staff.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Sheridan muttered. “Your lady’s maid is quite the resourceful female.”

  Ignoring him, Gwyn turned to their mother. “I have lost Lady Hornsby, Mama, and no one can tell me where she is.”

  “Oh! I did mean to mention to you that she owns a romantic little cottage near Richmond Park. I’d forgotten all about it. It’s where she retires to if she’s having a tryst with a married lover. Here, I’ll write down the direction.” She walked over to Sheridan’s desk and took out a pencil and some paper. When she realized both of her children were staring at her, she said, “What? I went there to keep her company once when her . . . er . . . current lover was delayed up north.”

  “I think you’re right, Vanessa.” Gwyn stood and walked over to take the piece of paper from their mother’s hand. “We do have a lot of secrets. And I guess I know what I’ll be doing the rest of the morning.”

  Sheridan scowled. “You’re not riding out to Richmond Park alone, are you?”

  “I’ll take a footman,” Gwyn said breezily.

  “You damned well will not.” Sheridan shot to his feet. “You’ll take me, and I’ll carry my pistol just in case. Joshua would never forgive me if I let his very pregnant wife go with only a servant to an adulterer’s nest. Anything could happen.”

  “Ooh, yes,” Gwyn said sarcastically. “I might see some marquess—or judge—naked.”

  “And if you did,” Sheridan said, “you might not live to tell the tale. So I’ll bring this just to be safe.” He opened a desk drawer and removed his pistol case, then turned to Vanessa.

  Before he could even say anything, however, she said, “Go, go. I’m just planning to sit here looking over these account books. And if you don’t arrive home before Mr. Bonham gets here, I’ll make your apologies.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” He bent to kiss her, then headed for the door. “Mother? Are you coming?”

  “No, dear,” she said. “I’m traveling again tomorrow, so the last thing I want is to spend an hour each way to Richmond Park in a coach.”

  “Very well. We shouldn’t be too long. With any luck we’ll be back long before Bonham arrives.”

  Vanessa had already only been half paying attention to the conversation, so when Sheridan and Gwyn left, she was quite absorbed in the account books. They made no sense. Sheridan might be blaming himself for the problem, but that was only because he was wary of how he saw numbers.

  She, on the other hand, saw numbers perfectly fine, and these made no sense. They didn’t add up in the least. She needed an orderly way to look at everything because she didn’t have enough time to figure it out before Mr. Bonham arrived.

  “My dear,” a soft voice said, and Vanessa nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Then she realized that the dowager duchess hadn’t actually left. “Forgive me, Duchess,” she said with a smile. “Sheridan’s talk of adulterers’ nests and pistols and such has made me a bit skittish.”

  “We all are these days. And please, call me Mother. All the other wives do.”

  “I’d be honored,” Vanessa said.

  “Anyway, I won’t keep you long, but I did wish to ask you one thing before I return upstairs.”

  Vanessa sat back warily. “And what would that be?”

  “Did my rapscallion son tell you about Helene?”

  “He did. He explained that it was a very difficult time for him.”

  “It was, indeed.”

  Vanessa swallowed. “I gather she was a wonderful person.”

  Her mother-in-law snorted. “Not quite as wonderful as my son
considered her to be. Personally, I found her flighty and frivolous . . . until her tragic condition imbued her with a certain nobility of manner.”

  A sigh escaped Vanessa. “I’m afraid all that remains of her character in Sheridan’s memory is that ‘nobility of manner.’”

  “Don’t misunderstand me. Her death was a tragedy. I knew her parents, and they were lovely people. They didn’t deserve to lose a daughter so young. If it had been Gwyn . . .” She shook her head. “I would never have been the same.”

  “I can well understand that.”

  “The problem is Sheridan is much like his father. Once he takes to a person, he is loyal to a fault. Maurice married me because I was the wife of his friend and I needed a husband, so loyal friend that he was, he wed me. That quality is wonderful in a lord of the manor. I can always be sure that Sheridan’s servants, tenants, and other staff will never go without, not if he can help it. He will fight tooth and nail to make sure that anyone he cares about is provided for.”

  “I’ve noticed that about him. He seems very dedicated.”

  Her mother-in-law sighed. “But somehow, when it comes to Helene, that quality has become twisted in his head. He feels if he admits he no longer loves her the way he used to, then he’s somehow being disloyal to her.”

  “I think you’re right about that.” It made her heart sink even more. “To be honest, he married me out of a sense of duty, which isn’t much different from loyalty. In his mind, he’d ruined my reputation, so he had to fix that. But I wasn’t terribly concerned about that. I just wanted him—want him—to love me. What if he never can?”

  Her mother-in-law came around the desk to put her arm about Vanessa’s shoulders. “I think he already does love you. He merely doesn’t want to admit it to himself, stubborn devil. He’s kept the torch lit over her grave for so long that he doesn’t know how to put it out. I fear it will take something very powerful to change that state of affairs. We shall merely have to hope it comes along before you’ve been married thirty years, as I was to his father.”