Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Because she was a flirt. He could possibly steal her away from Juncker if he so desired. But of course he didn’t want that. Should not want that.

  He definitely shouldn’t keep standing here kissing her in a corridor where anyone might easily see them! Regretfully he broke off the kiss and stepped back to give her room to move.

  There was no shove this time. She merely stared up at him with her crystalline blue eyes as if seeing him in a new light. That wouldn’t do either. It tempted him to let her in, and he’d already vowed never to do so, even though she looked fetching in her fashionable turban and her costly gown, with its décolletage that showed far too much of her breasts for his peace of mind.

  Why, Vanessa wasn’t even the sort of woman he usually desired. Helene had been precisely that sort—tall and willowy and elegant. Vanessa was a short, voluptuous vixen, the sort of fresh-faced, flirtatious female any man wanted to tumble in a haymow somewhere.

  He drove that observation ruthlessly from his thoughts. She would break his heart—this he already knew. And one heart-breaking was more than enough for him.

  Besides, his life was too complicated right now. The last thing he needed was a woman like Vanessa muddying the waters even more.

  He drew in a deep breath. “Now you know how easy it is for a man to play the rogue. Even me.”

  “I do indeed,” she said, her tone wary. “I confess I’m surprised. You don’t seem the sort.”

  “The sort to do what?”

  “Kiss a woman passionately.”

  That stung. But he mustn’t let it. Instead he forced coldness into his tone. “That’s because I’m not. I merely thought you could use the lesson. It might save you from ruin one day down the line.”

  “So your kiss was a lesson?” she said skeptically. “If so, it was certainly a convincing one.”

  “What good is a lesson if it’s not convincing?”

  “True.” Her gaze turned frosty before she dropped it to her gloves, which had slipped down her forearms, exposing her elbows.

  As she pulled them up, he felt a stab of disappointment. She actually had very pretty elbows. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

  “In any case, it doesn’t change a thing,” she added. “I still mean to catch Mr. Juncker if I can.”

  The sudden roaring in his ears caught him off guard. Over my dead body. Only with an effort did he not say the words aloud. She might not be the woman for him, but Juncker would never be the man for her. Somehow he had to keep her out of that scoundrel’s arms.

  Besides, he did have to spend more time with her mother. Lady Eustace hadn’t yet told him what he needed to know. “Well, if you’re determined on that score,” Sheridan said, “I can help you with that.”

  She looked up at him and raised one silky black eyebrow. “Why on earth would you? You went to great lengths to hide me during our first kiss, when I tried to make him jealous.”

  “Because I thought that would be the end of it. You’ve made it clear I was wrong. So if you still mean to pursue him, I will help you, if only to demonstrate he’s not the man you think.”

  “But why do you even care about that? For that matter, why care if he ruins me? Or I marry him and he gains my dowry? Or whatever you think will happen if I keep going after him?”

  Her expectant gaze sent him scrambling for a convincing answer. He could hardly say it was because he needed to interrogate her mother. “I consider us friends.” Yes, that was the way to go. “Don’t you?”

  She laughed hollowly. “You barely talk to me at balls. You avoid me when you encounter me with Grey and Beatrice. You certainly don’t seek me out in public. What exactly makes us friends?”

  “Our connection to Grey, for one thing. Think of me as an older brother.”

  “Yes,” she snapped, “I could tell how brotherly you were when you were kissing me.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I told you—”

  “You were looking out for me. Teaching me a lesson. Right.”

  She sounded angry. Why should she be angry? That made no sense. But when he searched her face, whatever anger had been in her tone did not match her nonchalant expression, making him wonder if he’d imagined it.

  “And in any case,” she went on, “I don’t need another older brother. Grey is more than enough, trust me.”

  “Ah, but he’s preoccupied these days. And I am not.”

  “I see.” She tucked a wayward curl up in her turban. “Very well. Tell me how you intend to go about helping me snag Mr. Juncker.”

  “You might have failed in making him jealous tonight, but I can give you plenty more chances to do so.” He quickly amended that. “Chances that won’t mean your ruin.” He stared her down. “I’ll court you publicly. But as a gentleman. If that doesn’t wring an offer of marriage from him, then nothing will, and I will be proved right about his character.”

  Sheridan could practically see Vanessa’s clever mind weighing the proposition, turning it this way and that in the light to figure out if it had any dark side.

  To his surprise, as he awaited her response his breath quickened and his pulse raced. He told himself it was only because he needed to get more information from her mother. So far, he’d learned practically nothing about that period of Lady Eustace’s life and Mother’s, except that his mother had been considered a diamond of the first water in her youth, which he already knew. According to Lady Eustace, men had done extraordinary things to get Mother’s attention. One fellow supposedly even killed himself when she refused him.

  That was the most absurd thing Sheridan could imagine—killing oneself over a woman, even a woman as widely admired as his mother. He would never allow himself to get into such a state over anyone again. Aside from the scandal and the financial burden of it, it didn’t make sense in terms of one’s family. His had been through enough grief. He would never add to it.

  “You’re willing to pretend to court me,” Vanessa asked, “and risk being branded a fool once I marry Juncker just on the chance you’ll be proved right about his character?”

  If it helps find my father’s killer, I am. He shrugged. “I like being right. That’s not unusual in a duke, you know.”

  “Oh, trust me, I know. Grey has that particular vice himself.” Vanessa stared down the corridor in the direction Juncker had gone. “And if your plan doesn’t wring an offer from Mr. Juncker? Aren’t you worried you’ll be irretrievably linked to me? That people will expect us to marry?”

  “They can expect whatever they wish,” Sheridan drawled. “Men court women all the time without success. All you need do is say the word, and I shall suddenly lose interest in you. Or, if you’re worried such behavior will hurt your future with other suitors, you can jilt me. Either way, we’ll be done with each other.”

  He would have to arrange it, however, so that it only happened after he’d gained from her mother what he needed for their investigation.

  She tipped up her chin. “All right then. I agree to your proposal. With one caveat. That if Mr. Juncker does show an interest in marrying me, you will bow out gracefully.”

  “Of course.” But Sheridan would wager any amount of money that Juncker would never do so. Sheridan knew his type. They didn’t marry—not for love or money.

  The sound of applause came to his ears, signaling the end of the second act.

  “Oh, dear,” Vanessa said. “We must hurry if I’m to catch Miss Younger before she and Lady Whitmarsh leave the box.”

  She started off in the direction she’d been heading before, and Sheridan hurried to follow. “Wait,” he said. “Do you mean there really is a Miss Younger?”

  “Certainly. What kind of ninny do you take me for? I could hardly invent a friend when it would be very easy to check if such a person existed.”

  He had to admit there was no escaping her logic. Did that mean she hadn’t been heading off to search for Juncker? That they’d really only encountered the man by chance?

  Somehow he doubted that.r />
  Vanessa watched uneasily as Sheridan went out of his way to charm her friend Flora Younger. Not that Vanessa was surprised. Flora wasn’t pretty so much as she was arresting. Unlike most tall women Vanessa knew, she didn’t try to play down her height. Then there was Flora’s dark blond hair, which lay in elegant waves in her coiffure, and Flora’s eyes, an unusual amber color that shone golden in candlelight.

  Vanessa fought not to be jealous of her, but it was difficult since Sheridan had never shown her such warm congeniality. He was certainly capable of it. Vanessa had seen glimpses of it in his behavior toward his half sister and his cousin Beatrice. But after having been kissed by him so thoroughly and then dismissed like a . . . a maidservant, Vanessa couldn’t bear that he still couldn’t show her such warmth.

  The only thing that kept her from resenting her friend was Flora’s complete lack of guile. Flora knew that the Duke of Armitage was as unlikely to marry her as the king himself.

  “Don’t you think so, Vanessa?” Flora said.

  Vanessa blinked. “Um . . .”

  “Pay her no mind,” Sheridan told Flora, nodding to Vanessa. “Your friend there has a tendency to woolgather.”

  “How would you know?” Vanessa asked. “Why, you’ve seen me in society only a handful of times—scarcely enough to form an opinion of my character.”

  “On the contrary, I think I know your character very well,” he quipped, eyes gleaming. “You love fashion, frolics, and folderol.”

  Vanessa scowled, but Flora burst into laughter. “Clearly, you don’t know her at all, Your Grace.”

  “And you know her better, I suppose,” he teased Flora.

  “I should hope so. I’ve been attending the same balls as Vanessa since her debut. Her mother is related to my employer.”

  Sheridan raised an eyebrow at Vanessa. “Employer?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance to explain earlier,” Vanessa said. “Flora is the companion of Lady Whitmarsh.” Who presently sat chatting with a friend in the corner. “Flora is also two years older than I.”

  That seemed to stymie Sheridan. But only for a moment. “So her post as companion is why she hasn’t had a debut,” Sheridan said smoothly. “Ah. That makes sense.”

  To Vanessa’s pleasure, Sheridan in no way showed what he had to have surmised—that Flora had little money and no rank in society. Only the kindness of Lady Whitmarsh allowed Flora to do such things as attend plays and go to balls. Vanessa could have kissed him for not changing his manner one jot now that he knew.

  Vanessa cast her friend a smug smile. “His Grace assumed you to be much younger than I. He thought you some blushing schoolgirl. Didn’t you, Sheridan?”

  “Pray do not drag me into such a conversation. A man speculating on women’s ages can never get out of it without scars.”

  Flora and Vanessa laughed together.

  Then Flora winked at Vanessa. “Your Grace has not yet allowed me to correct your impressions about my friend’s character. The fashion part, I’ll grant you. Vanessa’s attire is always flattering and in good taste—she works hard to make it so.”

  “By her judicious shopping, you mean,” he said, with annoying condescension.

  “No, indeed. Vanessa spends quite some time reworking her gowns and retrimming her bonnets and hats. That sparkling net overdress on her present gown? She took it off of one of her mother’s old dresses and put it onto her plainest claret evening gown from last season. And that trim on her white satin turban? She embroidered it of gold silk thread. Once she added the dyed claret feathers, her suit of clothing was complete, with only the cost of some thread and a couple of feathers.”

  Vanessa blushed at being thus unmasked. So to speak. “Heavens, Flora, don’t give away all my secrets.”

  “He’s a man,” Flora said. “He probably doesn’t understand half of what I just said.”

  “I beg to differ,” he put in, leveling his intent gaze on Vanessa. “My sister used to do such things. Probably still does.”

  “My point is,” Flora went on, “while I will admit that Vanessa enjoys frolics and folderol as much as the next young lady, she also has hidden depths.”

  “Don’t waste your breath, Flora,” Vanessa said. “He thinks me merely a frivolous fribble, and nothing you say will alter that impression.”

  “I never called you a fribble,” he pointed out.

  “Perhaps not, but admit it—you think me foolish, frittering my days away in featherbrained fun.”

  At Vanessa’s unconscious alliteration, Flora cocked her head. “Have you ever noticed how many words there are that begin with an F and mean something silly or useless? Especially things often attributed to ladies. Why, we’ve already mentioned frolic, frivolous, fribble, foolish, fritter, featherbrained, fun, and folderol. Then there’s flibbertigibbet and—”

  “Fashion,” Vanessa said. “Men think fashion is the utmost in silly. Unless, of course, they’re talking to their tailors, at which point they all wish to be fashionable.”

  Flora nodded. “Meanwhile, women are criticized for that very thing. There’s flashy and fancy and fast, fudge and fustian—”

  “And ‘fuss,’” Vanessa said. “Women are always accused of making a fuss out of nothing. Except that it’s only ‘nothing’ to the men.”

  “Which is why the most obvious word is ‘female,’” Sheridan drawled.

  Both women gasped. When they drew themselves up to give him an earful, he held his hands up. “I’m joking, for God’s sake. There are F words meaning inconsequential used specifically for men, too, you know. Fop. Foxed. Um . . .”

  Vanessa tipped up her chin. “You can’t think of any more, can you?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But there are numerous words meaning ‘fool’ or ‘nonsense’ for every letter in the alphabet. A for arse, B for buffoon and blockhead and balderdash, C for clodpate and clown, D for dolt and dunderhead—all of those are generally reserved for men, by the way—and dunce—”

  “Not to mention dimwit,” Flora said helpfully.

  “Every letter, hmm? What about Z?” asked Vanessa.

  “Zany,” Sheridan said.

  “Q?”

  “Questionable,” he said.

  “I’ll accept that, although it’s a bit questionable.”

  Sheridan rolled his eyes. “You are the soul of wit.”

  Vanessa laughed. “What about P?”

  “Poppycock.” He smirked at her. “I can do this all day, you know.”

  A voice came from the door to the box. “Please don’t.” Mr. Juncker flicked some lint from his coat sleeve. “It’s best to leave wordplay to the writers.”

  Sheridan eyed him askance. “Let a man pen a few farces and suddenly he’s an expert.”

  “They’re not farces,” Vanessa said. Thanks to her bargain with Sheridan, she was forced into the position of defending Mr. Juncker. “They’re comedies, and excellent ones, too.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Sheridan drawled. “What do you think, Miss Younger?”

  Belatedly, Vanessa realized she hadn’t yet introduced Mr. Juncker to Flora. But as Vanessa turned to her friend, words left her entirely. Flora’s face was the pallor of paper and her eyes were haunted.

  When Vanessa looked back at Mr. Juncker, she saw him staring at Flora as if she’d risen from a grave.

  “Miss Younger?” he asked in a clipped tone. “Still?”

  “Yes, still.” Flora looked as if she wished to sink into the floor. “And you, sir? Are you still a bachelor?”

  “I am,” Mr. Juncker said. “I’m just . . . I did not expect . . . How long have you been in London?”

  “Not long.” Flora clearly wished she could be anywhere but London at the moment.

  Sheridan looked at Vanessa as if seeking an explanation of this stilted interaction. She had none to give. Flora hadn’t once mentioned Mr. Juncker. Then again Vanessa had never encountered her friend at one of his plays, either.

  “The two of you kno
w each other?” Vanessa asked.

  Flora merely nodded, but Mr. Juncker said, “We met in Bath. Years ago.”

  Lady Whitmarsh rose, having just then noticed the new arrival in her box. “Haven’t you done enough to my dear Flora, Mr. Juncker?” She made a motion as if she were shooing a hen. “Go on now. The next act is about to begin, and you don’t want to miss your chance to glory in it.”

  Apparently Lady Whitmarsh knew what had happened “years ago,” too. Now Vanessa was desperate to know it herself, although she would have to put off finding out until she could get Flora to herself.

  Mr. Juncker bowed to Lady Whitmarsh and started to leave, but Sheridan called out, “Juncker, hold up! I need to speak to you.”

  Vanessa tensed. What was Sheridan up to now? She didn’t trust him to keep quiet about their supposed plan to make Mr. Juncker jealous, so she followed him into the corridor just in time to hear him say, “Thorn told me to remind you that you’re invited to Thorncliff after the play.” Sheridan saw her and added, “You’re invited to Thorn’s supper as well, Miss Pryde. You and your mother.”

  Mr. Juncker glanced past them through the doorway into the box, to where Flora had already turned to face the stage and Lady Whitmarsh still stood glaring at him. “Tell your half brother I had already fully meant to attend. But I may be a bit late.”

  “As may we,” Sheridan said, tucking Vanessa’s hand into the crook of his elbow in a wonderfully proprietary manner.

  Mr. Juncker appeared too distracted to notice. They could hear voices on the stage, signaling the beginning of the third act, but even that didn’t make him stir from contemplating the back of Flora’s head.

  Then he shook himself, as if to free his body from a spider’s silken web. “I shall see you both then.” He walked back to his box, obviously deep in contemplation.

  “What was that all about?” Sheridan asked.

  “I have no idea,” Vanessa said.

  Sheridan’s gaze bored into her. “Why not? Surely she’s heard you speak of Mr. Juncker frequently and would have commented on it. God knows you speak of him often enough around me.”