Page 55 of Undercover Duke
“Of course,” Sheridan said before she could. “We merely need to . . . settle some matters.”
With an understanding nod, Uncle Noah left them together.
Sheridan dragged in a heavy breath. “I don’t know if your uncle told you, but you and I must marry.”
The wordmustrankled. It implied that both of them were being forced, when she felt anything but that. “I don’t see why wemust. The only people who saw us together were Mama and Uncle Noah, and it’s not as if they would tell anyone.” She wasn’t about to reveal the cruel things her mother had said about what she’d do if Vanessa refused him.
“Did your mother not tell youhowthey found you?”
“No. I . . . never thought to ask.” She’d been too worried about what would happen as a result.
“Your mother kept a watch on your garden to make sure you didn’t slip out. But when she noticed you always had your back to the window and weren’t doing any real gardening, she marched out and made your lady’s maid tell her where you were. Of course, Bridget thought you and I and Juncker were in my carriage, since that was apparently the plan. When your mother hurried to the front and didn’t see a carriage, she wasn’t quite sure where to go.”
This was bad, very bad.
Sheridan continued his tale in a somber tone. “Then your uncle arrived for his visit. His carriage had already passed Juncker a couple of blocks away. He’d assumed Juncker was leaving after visiting you. But your mother met him at the door and made him help her find you. So he caught up to Juncker and demanded to know where his niece was. Juncker hesitated to tell him, but not for long, as you might imagine. Andthat’show they discovered where we were.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t see. I said all of that to illustrate why wemustmarry. It’s not just your mother and your uncle who know. It’s Juncker—”
“Who won’t tell anyone.”
“Are you absolutely sure of that? He was willing enough to tell your mother and uncle where you were. What’s to prevent him from putting the tale in one of his plays?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“You’re that sure of it,” Sheridan said. “Of him.”
She wasn’t. And she could read in his expression that he knew she wasn’t.
“Then there’s Bridget—”
“Who won’t tell either,” Vanessa protested.
“Come now, sweetheart. What do you think is going to happen to her now that your mother knows how she helped you?”
Vanessa began to work the sash of her gown through her fingers like a Papist working a rosary. At the very least, Mama would fire Bridget without a reference, and Bridget didn’t deserve that, especially not for helping Vanessa. The only way to prevent it would be for Vanessa to marry Sheridan, in which case Bridget could come work for her directly.
“And other servants know, too,” Sheridan said. “There’s my coachman, your uncle’s coachman, your butler, probably a couple of footmen . . . My point is if you and I don’t get married—”
“—someone will leak the gossip to the press,” she said dully, “and I will be ruined.”
“Yes.Nowyou understand.”
She could feel him watching her, feel him debating what else to say.
He stepped closer to her, keeping an eye on the open door. “Would it really be so awful for us to marry?”
“I thinkyoushould answer that.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re the one who used the words must marry, not I. I don’t need a man throwing himself onto a sacrificial fire for me.”
“And I don’t need a wife who has had her heart set on marrying another man. But neither of us has much of a choice, do we?”
Vanessa looked away. If she admitted she’d never wanted Mr. Juncker, Sheridan would throw in her face the fact that he’d caught her kissing the playwright a short while ago . . . and quite willingly, too. Or at least it probably seemed like that to him.
Even if she could explain that away and tell Sheridan the truth, he’d see her as a “scheming woman” who used Mr. Juncker to make him jealous . . . which she sort of was. Especially given that Sheridan had once told her he had no desire to marry. Ignoring what he’d expressly said so she could try to gain him as her husband definitely fell under the category of scheming. It wasn’t the best way to start a marriage.
Then again, neither was lying. Or rather, shading the truth. A lot. Knowing how much he would hate it. Oh, goodness, what was she to do?
