Undercover Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He laughed heartily. Apparently men could laugh heartily without reproach. “Surely your mother would never approve of me as a suitor.”

  “True.”

  “But I must start somewhere, and you seem as good a place as any to begin practicing how to please a respectable lady.”

  “You probably shouldn’t use me as an example of respectability. Mama claims I voice my opinion far too readily to be called that.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to marry too respectable a lady,” he said, smirking at her. “I may be settling down, but I still prefer a bit of pepper in my fare, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do, indeed. I like pepper myself.”

  “I fear you won’t find much of that in Armitage.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she muttered as she saw Sheridan take his leave of Flora.

  Vanessa and Mr. Juncker had now reached her uncle. With a bow, Mr. Juncker headed off to find some other female for his foray into respectability.

  She had scarcely joined the small group when someone came up behind her with all the stealth of a wolf on the hunt.

  “Save the supper dance for me, will you?” the man whispered in her ear.

  She jumped and turned to find Sheridan there. “Are you trying to give me heart failure?”

  “Merely trying to secure you for supper.”

  “I will see what I can do. If Mr. Juncker wants it—”

  “You will damned well turn him down,” Sheridan muttered.

  It took all her will to hide her delight. “And why would I do that? He is the man I’m pursuing, after all.”

  Sheridan’s lips tightened. “Be that as it may, you don’t want to tip your hand too early or you’ll lose him.”

  “That does make sense,” she said. “Very well, I’ll save the supper dance for you.”

  “Good. Thank you.” He walked off.

  My, my, but this party was going well so far. Two dances with Sheridan, a demonstration of his jealousy, and the gain of an unexpected ally in Mr. Juncker. What more could a woman ask for?

  Uncle Noah noticed her standing on the outskirts of the small group. “There you are, my dear. Why are you not dancing?”

  “I was, Uncle, but now I need punch. I’m parched, I swear.”

  Her uncle laughed. “I’ll fetch you punch, but first I’d like to introduce the Duchess of Armitage.” He winked at Vanessa. “Your friend Sheridan’s mother.”

  Vanessa had only met the famous Lydia Pryde Drake Wolfe once, at Grey’s wedding, and she’d barely had time to curtsy and smile at the duchess, much less converse. The woman had still been in mourning, after all. Meanwhile, Vanessa had spent most of the wedding breakfast dancing with Sheridan’s half brothers or chatting with him and his brother Heywood, since they couldn’t dance because they had also been in mourning.

  But the mourning period had clearly ended even for the duchess, given that she was splendidly dressed in a white silk robe and petticoat, with a drapery of celestial blue organza fastened on one shoulder with a gold brooch. Even the woman’s fashionable turban was of the same shimmering organza, with two jaunty feathers to accentuate the ensemble. The duchess had come out of mourning with a vengeance.

  “Actually, we’ve met,” Sheridan’s mother said, favoring Vanessa with a smile.

  “Better and better,” Uncle Noah said. “That means the two of you can renew your acquaintance while I fetch you both some punch.”

  Her uncle headed off on his mission. Before Vanessa could even speak, the rest of the small group melted away, some to go dance, some to find the card room, and a few to circle the ballroom in search of friends or acquaintances. That left Vanessa and the duchess entirely alone together.

  “I’m honored that you remember me,” Vanessa said, not sure what else to say, and painfully conscious that she hoped to have this woman for a mother-in-law one day.

  “Of course I remember you.” The duchess’s vibrant blue eyes searched Vanessa’s face. “How could I forget the young lady who was nearly engaged to my son Grey?”

  Vanessa blushed, remembering how Mama had tried forcing Grey into marrying her. “That was a mistake in the newspaper, Duchess. It should have listed Beatrice.”

  “So I’m told,” the duchess said with a wry smile. “And thankfully it was quickly corrected.”

  “Thankfully indeed,” Vanessa said, a bit too heartily. “Otherwise I’d be married to a fellow who is more like a brother to me than a cousin. We both would have been miserable.”

  The duchess regarded her most intently. “So you truly had no interest in Grey.”

  “Not as a husband, no.”

  “But perhaps my other bachelor son interests you? I saw Sheridan whisper in your ear.” The duchess fluttered her fan. “He thinks I don’t notice these things, but I do. Not for nothing have I spent the past year in mourning. When a woman isn’t allowed to indulge in lively social activities, she learns to pay more attention to the people around her. And to notice when her son is dancing with a particularly fetching female.”

  Vanessa was at a loss as to what to say. “Forgive me, Duchess, but are you asking if my intentions toward Sheridan are honorable?”

  Her tart reply made the duchess chuckle. “It’s hard to believe you are Cora’s daughter. She would never have posed such an entertaining question.” Her gaze sharpened on Vanessa. “If I were asking that, what would be your answer?”

  “That you would have to see what happens. I can hardly know what my intentions are without knowing how the courtship will progress.”

  “So it’s a courtship, is it?” the duchess asked.

  With that pointed question still hanging in the air, Uncle Noah approached bearing two glasses of punch and handed them to the two ladies. Thank heaven. Vanessa had the feeling she’d just escaped a dissection by duchess. Next time she’d have to be better prepared.

  If there was a next time. Vanessa drank deeply of her punch. The duchess appeared to have a vested interest in choosing Sheridan’s mate. And Vanessa couldn’t tell if the duchess approved of her or not.

  At least Sheridan would support Vanessa’s claim that they’d been courting. After all, the courtship intended to make Juncker jealous had been his idea, not hers.

  Her uncle looked from Vanessa’s face to the duchess’s. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Not in the least,” the duchess said, to Vanessa’s relief. The woman sipped her punch. “I should like to know, Sir Noah, how it is we’ve never met until tonight. You seem like just the sort of jovial gentleman whose company I enjoy.”

  “My wife wasn’t fond of town,” he said. “Only recently did I begin making forays here again.”

  “Because she changed her mind about town?”

  Uncle Noah stared down into his glass. “Because she passed away . . . early last year.”

  “I’m so sorry,” the duchess said softly. “I didn’t know.”

  He cast her a rueful smile. “I fell out of the habit of coming to London.” His gaze sharpened on her. “But I mean to remedy that.” When the duchess pinkened, he looked a bit triumphant. “Besides, we couldn’t have met anyway. You only returned to England a short while ago, correct?”

  “Actually a year and a half ago,” Vanessa said. “I remember because . . .” Because that was the first time she’d danced with Sheridan. Indeed, she’d danced with him twice during his family’s first week in London, before they’d headed to the country.

  The duchess and her uncle both regarded her with eyebrows raised, and she stammered, “It doesn’t matter why.” She gazed at the duchess. “You did arrive in May of last year, did you not?”

  The duchess smiled. “We did. Maurice and I were still in mourning for his brother, although our children were able to go out and about. Then just as that period ended for me and Maurice . . .”

  When she trailed off and sadness stole over her face, sympathy for the duchess welled in Vanessa’s throat. “You had to go into mourning again.”

&
nbsp; The woman nodded. “My mourning only ended last month.” She paled a bit. “I swear, I have never been so sick of wearing black in all my life.”

  “I can only imagine,” Uncle Noah murmured. “We gentlemen barely change our clothes while in mourning, but you ladies have a more drastic alteration to endure.” A devilish look crossed his face. “And while I’m sure you look lovely in black, Duchess, you look even more beautiful in that shade of blue.”

  “Careful, Sir Noah,” the duchess said with mischief in her voice. “Flattery is the devil’s plaything.”

  Vanessa frowned. “I thought it was ‘idle hands.’”

  “Those, too,” the duchess quipped.

  Uncle Noah laughed. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

  “And that, sir, is but another flattery,” the duchess said.

  “Then perhaps I should demonstrate my admiration in some way other than words.” He leaned close. “Will you give me the honor of dancing this next with me, Duchess?”

  “It’s the supper dance,” the duchess said. “Are you sure you want to be forced to share my company for supper as well?”

  “I can think of nothing I’d like better,” he said, “although a lowly fellow like myself can only dream of having a dowager duchess’s company.”

  “You are . . . are . . .”

  “Handsome? Well-groomed?” He winked at her. “Witty?”

  “Attempting a dalliance,” the duchess answered. “Though I don’t mind that a bit.”

  When he offered his arm and she took it, Vanessa shook her head. She’d never seen her uncle flirt before. It was decidedly unsettling. And very unlike him, too. So to watch him flirting with a veritable stranger—

  “Is that my mother dancing with your uncle?” Sheridan asked as he came up beside Vanessa.

  “Oh, yes. And she seemed quite eager to accept his invitation.”

  Sheridan gazed out over the floor at the pair. “I hope he’s not assuming she’s a wealthy woman. My father left her with only a minimal widow’s portion.”

  Vanessa rolled her eyes. “My goodness, you’re such a cynic. He’s not dancing with her for her money. He has plenty of money and property of his own.”

  “In that case, I find their interest in each other intriguing.”

  “How so?”

  “I wouldn’t think they’d be well-suited as a couple. Unless . . .” He grimaced.

  “Unless what?”

  “Nothing. I’ll ask her later what she sees in him.”

  Vanessa chuckled. “I think she sees a good-looking fellow to partner her for a dance.”

  “And supper. If we were anywhere else and if this were anything more formal, they wouldn’t be paired to go in to supper together.”

  She stared at him. “You are amazingly stuffy sometimes, do you know that?”

  He shrugged. “I was brought up with the idea that my future lay in helping hostile countries negotiate agreements satisfactory to all. I learned proper protocol at my father’s knee.”

  “Then I should point out, Your Grace, that I most certainly would not be the one you’d take in to supper ‘anywhere else . . . more formal.’ So tell me, why are you willing to break protocol to dance with a lowly miss like me?”

  He shook off whatever he was thinking and smiled at her. “Because, my dear, sometimes I like to live dangerously.”

  She caught her breath. So did she.

  Offering her his arm, he said, “Shall we?”

  “Of course,” she responded.

  As they headed to join the others on the floor, he muttered, “Poor William Bonham.”

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  “Just a fellow who will be very disappointed that your uncle is flirting with my mother, and that my mother is flirting back.”

  “And are you disappointed?”

  “Not disappointed so much as . . . concerned.”

  She laughed. “It’s only one dance, Sheridan. I doubt it will lead to anything serious.”

  “You may be right.” He seemed deep in thought as he led her to the end of the line of dancers. When he caught her staring at him, he broke into a decidedly false smile. “Never forget, my mother has had three husbands. I wouldn’t put it past her to try for a fourth.”

  But despite his attempt at joviality, she sensed something else going on beneath his smooth exterior. He was back to being a sphinx. And that worried her.

  Chapter Six

  Sheridan spent half of his and Vanessa’s dance watching his mother. Surely it was no coincidence that the only man Mother had danced with this evening was Lady Eustace’s brother. Mother had said she would help their investigative efforts, and they’d all insisted she not do so. What if this was her helping? She wasn’t good at subterfuge; not their mother. She could very well destroy Sheridan’s own efforts.

  By the time the dance was over and they were headed toward the supper room, Sheridan was already imagining all sorts of scenarios where Mother blurted out something that gave Sir Noah pause.

  “He’s not going to hurt her, you know,” Vanessa murmured. “He is a gentleman, after all.”

  “Who?” Sheridan asked, playing dumb.

  “My uncle, of course. You look as if you want to take him aside and give him a stern warning. Or a good thrashing.”

  He forced his attention back to Vanessa, who wore her worry on her sleeve. “That’s absurd. For one thing, you’re right—he is a gentleman. For another, my mother is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

  “Oh, good. Then we agree.”

  Sheridan chuckled. “We probably agree on a great many things, if you will only admit it.”

  “Really? Like what?” Her sparkling eyes entranced him as she and he stood in the line forming at the entrance to the supper room.

  “That you look lovely in that gown.”

  She didn’t appear as flattered as he’d expected. “Thank you,” she said thinly. “Although it would be rather vain of me to agree with you on that.”

  “True.” He cocked his head. “Then we can both agree that I look dashing in my theater attire. I don’t mind being considered vain in the least.”

  She clearly fought a smile. “But I mind your assumption that I will agree.”

  “How could you not agree?” He grinned. “I’ll have you know my valet worked very hard to make me a man of fashion for this evening.”

  “He can work as hard as he likes, but you will never be a man of fashion.”

  He blinked. “Why not?”

  “You’re too . . . too obviously unconcerned about your appearance. You’re the very opposite of vain.” She reached up with both hands to fool with his cravat. “For example, our dancing seems to have set this askew. A man of fashion would already have noticed that in a mirror and straightened it.”

  His heart thundered to have her so close. And God, but her hair smelled delicious, like lilies. Yes! That was the exotic scent he hadn’t been able to place. Leave it to Vanessa to choose a scent that smelled exotic but was as English as plum pudding. He barely resisted the urge to lean forward and sniff to make sure.

  Clearly he had lost his mind. He must make this less personal at once, before he fell under her spell and did or said something he regretted. “What were we talking about?”

  She smirked at him. “Things we agree on. So far, there has been only the one.”

  “Ah. Then I would point out that we both like polemoscopes.”

  A deep blush spread from her bosom up to her face, which only increased her spell over him, damn it. “I don’t . . . know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do. You used one while I was in your uncle’s box.” He lowered his voice. “Probably to spy on Juncker.”

  She glanced away. “Right. Who else would I spy on?”

  “Speaking of Juncker, what do you think of his poetry?” It still bothered him he couldn’t reveal to her the true author of Juncker’s plays. “I’m assuming you’ve read some of it.”

  “Of
course,” she said, a bit too hastily. “It’s very moving.”

  How curious. Could she not have read his poetry? Wasn’t she mad for the fellow?

  They passed through the doorway, and he led her to a spot at the largest table, where his family seemed to be congregating. Juncker was at an adjoining table, so Sheridan made sure to offer Vanessa a seat with her back to the man before taking the one beside her. Sheridan had not enjoyed watching that fraudulent arse dance with Vanessa and be so charming and theatrical, playing a part in a farce of Juncker’s own making, where Vanessa was the heroine and Juncker was the hero.

  But even if Sheridan couldn’t tell her Juncker hadn’t written the plays that had made the man famous, Sheridan fully intended to, at the very least, expose Juncker’s true character as a roué.

  The food was laid out in an adjoining room, which was normally Thorncliff’s breakfast room, so after placing napkins on the table to save their spots, they went to gather their provisions. As they wended their way around the room, he noticed she took an extra buttered crab, which was one less than he’d taken.

  While they headed back to their seats, he said, “I see you like crab as much as I do.”

  “How ungentlemanly of you to notice.” Her teasing smile belied her words. “A lady isn’t supposed to partake so blatantly of food.”

  “Surely even ladies must eat.”

  She cast her gaze about the room. “Yes. But most ladies I know pretend that they mustn’t. It’s a peculiar game they play—in which they aren’t supposed to eat heartily even though they do so at home.”

  “I take it that theirs isn’t a game you enjoy.”

  A faint smile crept across her face. “You take it correctly. I fear I have quite a lusty appetite and no desire to hide it.”

  Just the word lusty stoked his imagination with flashes of her removing each piece of her clothing one at a time until she wore nothing but a come-hither look.

  He gripped his plate as if it held the key to a wanton lady’s boudoir. She was talking about food, damn it all. Food.

  “Good,” he said. “And I think no less of you for your . . . er . . . appetite. So we will leave those other ladies to starve, if that’s their preference, but in the meantime, we will eat our fill. Agreed?”