Page 81 of Undercover Duke
“Hardly. I can tell from the way you’re clutching that wineglass that it’s not ‘all in the past.’”
“I suppose you want the details of my ill-fated romance with Helene.” He stared down at the glass in his hand. “You insist on dragging the whole of it out of me.”
She reached over to clasp his free hand. “I insist on knowing why it has kept you from marrying. Why you would not have marriedmeif it hadn’t been for our being caught together in the garden.”
“You do deserve to know that.” He sipped some wine, then set the glass down and gently withdrew his other hand from hers.
Swallowing hard, she put her hands in her lap and tried not to show how his withdrawal bothered her. But she needed to know the rest, to know what—or who—she was up against.
“I courted Helene for the whole Berlin season,” he said in a measured voice, as if he were controlling his emotions. “She and I had little in common. But we both loved music, especially Mozart, whom I had seen play when I was nine.”
“Mozart wrote wonderful music for dancing.”
“He did indeed. Of course, by the time Helene had heard of him, he’d already been dead for ten years or more.”
Vanessa didn’t think it wise to point out that Helene might have only “loved” Mozart’s music because Sheridan did. She didn’t want Sheridan thinking she was being petty. But she did know plenty of young ladies who routinely changed their likes and dislikes to suit a man they wanted.
He set his wineglass on the table between them. “In any case, we discovered we were well-suited temperamentally, both being of a rather taciturn nature.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “I offered for her, and she accepted. But her family wanted a long engagement, so we agreed to wait a year to marry.”
“Ayear!” she exclaimed. “That is long indeed.”
One corner of his lips quirked up. “Considerably longer than a week, to be sure.”
“True. Though, to be fair, you and I have known each other for a year and a half. We just weren’t betrothed but a week.”
He gazed at her with an odd expression, then abruptly rose to go stoke the fire. “Anyway, I think Helene’s parents were concerned that as a diplomat, I might take her away from Prussia for my postings. And perhaps they would have been right.”
Returning to the table, he took another sip of his wine. “Neither of us was pleased about waiting so long, as you might imagine, especially Helene, who wanted us to elope. I refused, thinking of the damage it would do to my diplomatic career. I came to regret that decision, because by the time the year was up she was dead.”
“That must have been awful for you,” Vanessa said. “And her family, of course.”
He nodded, as if to acknowledge the veracity of her statement. “As she grew more ill, she told me I should end our betrothal. But that felt . . . wrong somehow. Eventually, Mother prevailed upon me not to visit her, for fear that I might catch the disease myself.”
“But you went anyway.”
He started. “I did indeed. How did you know?”
“Because you’re a good man, a responsible man. And that’s what such a man does.” She smoothed her skirts. “Especially a man in love, who has already committed himself to a woman.”
“Yet I wasn’t there at the end,” he said in a hard voice. “She died alone in her bed at night. And I—”
“Felt guilty.” She reached across to cover his hand with hers again. “But you shouldn’t. Many people die alone simply because none of us know when the moment of death will be.” She caught her breath. “Papa died alone. And despite all the awful things he’d done, I still wished I could have been there to say good-bye.”
He gripped her hand. “Now you understand why my family and I feel compelled to solve our fathers’ murders. Especiallymyfather’s, since he was essentially father to us all. He died alone, too, with only his murderer as companion.”
A lump stuck in her throat. That explained so much about his and his siblings’ obsession. She remembered Sheridan’s father, a nice man, if a tad reserved. Much like his son, actually.
Sheridan stared down at her hand in his. “I’m telling you all this now by way of warning you that I’ve lost much because of the deaths of those I love. You asked me why I would have chosen to remain a bachelor if I could have. The truth is . . . I just can’t go through that pain again.”
“You’re expecting me to die soon, too, are you?” she quipped.
His gaze shot to hers. “Don’t even joke about that.” He reached up with his other hand to stroke her cheek. “Losing Helene and then Father hurt so very much that I have no desire to repeat the experience. I would rather have the sort of marriage my parents had than suffer through such agony again.”
“In other words, you don’t intend to let yourself love me or let me see the real you.”
He tensed, then nodded.
“What if our marriage becomes something more like what Grey’s parents had, or, worse yet, the sort of marriagemyparents had? Not allowing yourself to love doesn’t guarantee a life free of pain.”
