“No, you don’t see. I said all of that to illustrate why we must marry. 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. Now you 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 think you should 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?
“Well?” he asked. “Do you see a way out of this that won’t ruin you?”
A sigh escaped her. “Not one that would work.” And telling him the truth wouldn’t change that. She would just have to hope that in time she could seem to have transferred her affections from Mr. Juncker to Sheridan in a believable fashion.
“So,” he said. “We’ll be marrying, whether we like it or not.”
When he put it that way she wanted to cry. She had to do something to make this work. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I wouldn’t have returned your kisses if I hadn’t . . . thought well of you.” Oh, Lord, what a stupid way to put it. It sounded as if she barely knew him.
He could tell, for his jaw tautened. “I suppose that’s the most I can hope for under the circumstances.”
“I don’t want you to feel forced into this!” she burst out. “I know how little you wished to marry. And the thought of pushing you into a situation you never wanted—”
“I took advantage of you, sweetheart, remember?” he said kindly, brushing a curl from her cheek. “All you did was be in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong man.”
“You? Or Mr. Juncker?”
“All right. With the wrong men. What I’m saying is don’t worry about me.” His voice grew bitter. “Besides, I stand to gain a great deal more from the marriage than you. Your dowry will help my current . . . financial situation.”
“I get to be a duchess,” she pointed out. “Does that count?”
“I hope so. You’re going to be something of an impoverished duchess, I’m afraid. So if you wish to bow out, I would understand entirely. Although I don’t think it would be wise.”
“Yes, and we must always be wise, mustn’t we?” she said dryly.
“It’s better than the alternative, wouldn’t you say?”
“I suppose.” When he frowned, she added in a teasing voice, “Yes, Saint Sheridan. Much better.”
“Can I make one request then?” he bit out.
“That I not call you Saint Sheridan?”
“Exactly.”
“You can make it all you want,” she said lightly. “That doesn’t mean I have to grant it. Besides, I’ve been acquiring a full set of nicknames for you. Silent Sheridan. Studious Sheridan.” She gave him a saucy grin. “Seductive Sheridan.”
When he groaned, she laughed. Perhaps this would turn out well, after all. Or at least she would have fun in the process.
And it did mean she no longer had to worry about being forced to marry Lord Lisbourne. As Sheridan had said, when it came down to it, being forced to marry him was better than the alternative. Far better.
Chapter Twelve
Seductive Sheridan.
Sheridan would never forgive Vanessa for that parting remark, especially given that they’d had no chance to be alone in the past week. He’d heard those words a dozen times a day and even in his sleep, along with the provocative laugh that had followed it. Vanessa certainly knew how to keep a man on his toes. All he could think was that he’d soon get to play the part of Seductive Sheridan. Was it normal to be this excited about one’s wedding night?
He hoped she felt the same way. He should have told her how ridiculously pleased he was that she’d accepted his offer. Even though he knew he couldn’t be the man she wanted. Even though Juncker, damn his hide, had her heart. Or perhaps just a youthful infatuation?
God, he hoped that was all it was. Particularly now that he was walking with two of his brothers and Vanessa’s uncle from Armitage Hall to St. Joseph’s Church in Sanforth, where he and Vanessa were to marry. The ladies had gone on ahead of them in a couple of carriages, his mother, Gwyn, Cass, and Olivia in one, with Vanessa and her mother in another, but none of the men wanted to ride to town on horseback in their finery, so rather than wait for the carriages to return, Sheridan had suggested they walk.
That suggestion was quickly embraced. It wasn’t terribly far, so Sheridan had often made the walk into town. Or he’d ridden Juno there. He sighed. He missed his morning rides.
Thorn came abreast of him as Heywood and Sir Noah became engrossed in conversation behind them. “Have you told her yet?”
“Told whom what yet?” Sheridan said.
“You know whom. And you ought to know what.” With a glance back to make sure the two behind them weren’t in earshot, Thorn said in a low voice, “Have you told Vanessa about why you’ve been questioning her mother so avidly?”