Mr. Juncker bowed to Vanessa. “Forgive me, Miss Pryde, for any insult I may have inadvertently made to your person. I shall leave you in the hands of your most persistent suitor.”
She swallowed. “Thank you, sir.” It was an inane remark, but she honestly wasn’t sure what to say. She was still trying to figure out what Sheridan was up to.
Mr. Juncker was barely out of earshot, heading for the garden gate, when Sheridan fixed her with a dark look. “He had you cornered, entirely isolated. I nearly didn’t see the two of you back here. What were you thinking, letting him get you alone and vulnerable like that?”
“I was thinking you weren’t coming!” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And how did you find us, anyway?”
“Not that it matters, but I rode over in the carriage, hoping to catch up to Juncker inside. As we turned at the corner, I saw the two of you go into the garden, so after my coachman let me out, I followed you in here.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Why did you ask? Were you wishing I hadn’t found you?”
She was beginning to wish it. He acted as if she’d done something wrong. But if he believed her tale about being infatuated with Mr. Juncker, he ought to assume she was behaving true to form. “Don’t change the subject. It’s not my fault you were late.”
“I suppose you’re happy I was.”
Oh, she could strangle him sometimes. Was he jealous? Or merely playing at being an older brother as usual? “I wasn’t happy, no, not after I was forced to sneak out to see the two of you in the first place.”
“What? Why?”
“Why do you think? After yesterday’s debacle, Mama told the butler and footmen to refuse all visitors. She wants me never to see you or your mother again. That’s why I had to find a way to slip out of the back garden and wait for your carriage at the corner. Fortunately, I happened to see Mr. Juncker walking here, despite assuming he’d be riding with you.” She couldn’t prevent bitterness from creeping into her tone. “I suppose dukes are too important to bother with such mundane matters as being on time.”
That didn’t change his stiff stance one whit. “Something came up.”
“And of course, you won’t say what it was.” She’d eluded Mama’s minions just to be chastised by him? To the devil with him. As she’d told him before, she didn’t need another older brother.
But when she tried to push past him, he grabbed her by the arm. “All of that’s beside the point. Do you have any idea what Juncker could have done to you if I hadn’t come along just now?”
She pulled her arm free. “He wouldn’t have done anything more than he did. He’s a gentleman.”
“How do you know?”
“The same way I know you’re a gentleman.”
Frustration shadowed his features. “Then we’re both in trouble.”
When he stepped toward her, she backed away instinctively. “Wh-why?”
“Because I find it more damned difficult by the day to be a gentleman with you.”
Hope sprouted in her chest, try as she might to stamp it out. “What else would you be?”
His eyes glittered at her. “A man who spends far too many nights wanting to do this.” He caught her chin and lowered his head, hesitating a second as if to give her a chance to refuse. But she was too stunned to refuse even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.
Then his mouth covered hers, and her very soul sighed. This wasn’t perfect at all. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing that made her think he did it routinely. No, this was messy and passionate and all the things Mr. Juncker’s kiss hadn’t been.
It was purely Sheridan’s. She would have to give him a new nickname—Seductive Sheridan.
Because what he was doing with his mouth was tempting, intoxicating . . . downright sinful. One hand caught her at the waist, while the hand at her chin slid behind her neck as he held her still for a series of long, luscious kisses that resonated in unexpected places—her breasts, her belly, her privates. Oh, heavens. She’d never been kissed so wildly. His mouth caressed and coaxed until she parted her lips for him so he could explore her mouth with his tongue, that ardent tongue that seemed to know her all too well.
Her blood was in a frenzy now, desperately thundering in her ears. She caught his head in her own hands to hold him where he was, but with a low moan, he broke the kiss.
His eyes glittered in the fading light of dusk. “Do you have any idea how insane it makes me to see you with Juncker?”
Those words alone made her heart thump hard and fast. “How could I? You never seem interested in anything but lecturing me or . . . sternly disapproving of whatever I do.”
“Oh, trust me,” he said with a hint of self-deprecation, “I sternly disapprove of this. But apparently it’s not stopping me.”
And with that, he pressed her against the plane tree, rested one palm on it above her head, and then leaned in to take her lips once more. This time his kiss was savage, needy, a kiss that made her want him drinking forever from her mouth. She lifted her hand to fondle his glorious ash-brown curls, following them down to his neck, which she then gripped as he’d done hers.
He laid his other hand on her waist, but not for long. Giving her another hungry kiss, he slid his hand up to finger her ribs, as if counting them. Then, to her shock, he covered her breast.
She tore her mouth from his. “Sheridan! What are you about?”
“Showing you, my sweet minx, how difficult it is for me to be a gentleman around you when all I can think about is touching and teasing you, trying to tempt you as thoroughly as you tempt me.”
Good Lord, perhaps Sheridan was a poet himself. He certainly made her feel like swooning. Except that if she did, she would miss this, and she wanted to squeeze every carnal drop from his caresses. He rubbed one breast through her thin gown, making her skin feel as tight as a peach’s. Then he fingered her nipple with a shocking deftness. Oh, my. He certainly knew what he was about. She hadn’t expected that.
His breath quickened, and hers did, too, as if attempting to catch and share his rhythm. When she uttered a low moan and arched her back to push her breast more firmly into his hand, he lowered his mouth to suck her neck, hard enough that, when combined with his fondling, it sent a frisson of pleasure through her, making her lift up on tiptoe.
“You’re . . . you’re turning me . . . into a wanton,” she gasped.
He gave a dark chuckle. “Or perhaps just unveiling the wanton you’ve kept buried inside.” He pulled her shawl away to stare down at the swells of her breasts. “Not that I mind. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste these.” Then he buried his mouth between her breasts and began to kiss and lick them at the same time he was pushing them higher from beneath, plumping them up for his tongue.
Lord help her. She wanted to die. She wanted to fly. Mostly she wanted to throw herself into his arms and never let him go. Dared she hope that this time he was finally hers?
Chapter Eleven
Sheridan knew what he was doing was wrong, and he didn’t care. Seeing her in Juncker’s arms had unleashed an unholy hunger in him. He wanted to stamp out every trace of Juncker, to claim her for his own . . . even knowing such an attempt would be disastrous. Her mercurial nature, which kept him oddly entertained, would also make her a terrible duchess.