Page 15 of Undercover Duke
“Why?” she asked, her stomach sinking. “You’re perfectly personable and aren’t a carouser like him. I’ve never even heard of you associating with a . . . demi-rep. And aside from your woeful tendency to tell women what to do at all times, you—”
“I don’t tell women what to do,” Sheridan bit out. “Ask Gwyn. Hell, ask any woman I know. I believe women should have their due, and I encourage them to decide what that is.”
“So it’s justmeyou make assumptions about, me whom you consider incapable of deciding who is the right man to marry.”
“I’m only trying to advise you.”
Releasing his arm, she narrowed her gaze on him. “You’retryingto get me off the subject of why you’re not the marrying sort. And why would you ever find yourself ‘forced into matrimony,’ anyway? Men rarely are—even when they’ve ruined a woman—and dukes almost never. So unless you’re planning to deflower a princess, you could ride roughshod over anyone seeking to force you into marriage. From what I understand, that’s what all dukes do.”
He eyed her askance. “I have no intention of riding ‘roughshod’ over any woman, princess or peasant. Good God, you don’t know me at all.”
“What do you expect? We’ve already established that you don’t knowme. It only follows that all that lack of knowing means I have no idea why you would end up forced into marriage. So enlighten me.”
He scowled. “It’s not something I wish to discuss.”
“Then why mention it in the first place?”
“Because you asked—” He muttered an oath under his breath. “Forget it. I spoke out of turn, all right? Suffice it to say, I most likely won’t be able to avoid taking a wife, but if I could, I would prefer not to marry. And that’s all I intend to say on the subject.”
Might Sheridan be a secret debauchee, more like Thornstock than she realized? Might he want only to have mistresses or scandalous encounters with married women? That gossip rag had implied he was discreet, so perhaps he was more discreet about his dalliances than either of his brothers.
No, she had trouble believing that of him. It didn’t seem in his character, although Lord knows she could be wrong, given how he’d shocked her with his passionate kiss.
And he’d just made it fairly clear he wasn’t interested in marrying for any reason, money or affection, which meant he probably wasn’t interested in courting her in truth.
“Suit yourself,” she said with a sniff, tired of trying to unravel his secrets. “But don’t blame me if you end up alone and miserable at the end of your days.”
“With a family like mine always hovering about?” he said dryly. “That’s unlikely. Even if I outlive my brother and half siblings, they’re busily trying to fill up their nurseries even as we speak. I’m sure there will be little Greys and Gwyns and Thorns and Heywoods running about wreaking havoc for generations to come.”
She halted to fix him with an earnest look. “Having nieces and nephews isn’t the same as having your own children.”
“How would you know? You have none.”
“True. But I hope to one day.”
“Little Junckers, I suppose?”
“Who else?” she said lightly.
The edge in his voice mitigated some of her distress at hearing him so set against marriage. Somehow she would bring him around. Whatever reasons he had for being determined not to marry could be dismissed if she could make him care for her enough. Because when he went to marryher, she didn’t want him to be forced into it. Her parents had possessed such a marriage, and it hadn’t gone well.
So that would not do at all.
Chapter Four
When Sheridan arrived at the supper, the Thorncliff ballroom was already abuzz with spirited discussions, coming mostly from members of his family. He could only imagine what the place would be like once all the guests arrived.
Thorn’s new wife, Olivia, approached him with a worried expression. “It’s my first affair as Thorn’s hostess. Please tell me I’m not out of my depth.”
“If you are, I’m sure Thorn or Mother would have told you already,” he said as he pressed her hand.
“Your mother is too kind to ever say a bad word about me. And Thorn’s not here yet. He’s still at the Parthenon, trading stories about theater life with Mr. Juncker. Oh, and taking apart tonight’s performance.”
“Yes, my brother is nothing if not critical of theatrical productions.”
“You can hardly blame him for caring what is done to his plays,” she said absently as she scanned the ballroom entrance for approaching guests.
“Hisplays?”
