So after the usual wedding traditions had been gone through, he’d whisked Vanessa away. Let his brothers and his brother-in-law drink and dance with their wives. He meant to have a different sort of entertainment.
He rubbed the unfamiliar gold band on his finger, and Thorn’s words leaped into his mind: She seems a reasonable sort. You should talk to her.
About the murders? Tonight? There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d do that. Not only did he ache to make Vanessa his wife in every sense of the word, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility that telling her about the investigation might destroy the tentative camaraderie he and she shared.
And while he’d been a bit uneasy to leave Mother and Lady Eustace in the same room together downstairs, it couldn’t be helped. They would have to find a way to endure each other’s occasional company eventually. They might as well start now.
Unless he discovered that Lady Eustace was a murderer. Then he’d make sure she’d be out of their lives forever. He supposed he shouldn’t wish that for his new mother-in-law, given it would mean his own family would have to weather yet another scandal, but it was hard not to. The woman was awful, and he despised how she treated Vanessa.
The door creaked open, and he held his breath. But it was just Bridget.
“You may come in now, Your Grace,” the lady’s maid said, averting her eyes.
Good God, it wasn’t as if he were naked. Yet. He still wore his shirt, trousers, and undergarments beneath his favorite banyan. He was miles away from naked at the moment. Too many miles.
Still, he resisted the urge to hurry. If he fell on Vanessa like a ravenous beast, he might frighten her. She might be a saucy wench, but she was still an innocent, and who knew how that would manifest itself? The last thing he needed on his wedding night was a woman sobbing over his unfeeling deflowering of her. So he prepared himself for anything. He might have been imagining this moment practically since he met her, but he could control himself.
Then he walked into Vanessa’s bedchamber to find that Bridget had vanished, and his self-control had apparently vanished with her. How else was he supposed to behave with Vanessa wearing a linen nightdress that, for all its modest, high-collared design, was practically transparent when she stood in front of the fire?
Did she realize it? Was she doing it on purpose to inflame his desires? Because she didn’t need to. His desires were pretty inflamed already.
“Are you all right?” she asked him. “You look incredibly serious.”
He forced his frown away. “I’m trying hard not to ravish you. But I can see every inch of you through that gown when you stand before the fire. Not that I mind, you understand. I merely thought you’d want to know.”
She half turned to stare at the fire as if accusing it of complicity with him, which told him she’d definitely not posed provocatively on purpose. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He wouldn’t mind her being provocative. He would damned well prefer her being provocative.
Then again, something about her guileless responses stoked his need even more.
“Do you wish me to don my wrapper?” she asked.
“No, indeed.” He approached her, his heart hammering in his chest. What he wished her to do was take her hair down. He’d expected to find her that way, actually. Then again, he might prefer to do that himself. “If you want, I’ll remove my banyan.”
She snorted. “That’s hardly the same. You have practically all your clothes on underneath.”
He suppressed a laugh. “Should I strip down to my shirt and smallclothes then?” Please say yes.
“If you wish.”
That was close enough to a yes for him to count it. But the uncertainty in her eyes made him hesitate. “You’re nervous.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Hardly. It’s not the same for a man. Any nervousness we might have pretty much vanishes whenever we see a half-dressed woman.”
That got a tentative smile from her, which was exactly what he’d hoped for.
He approached her to stroke a curl away from her forehead. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. We have all night.”
“True,” she said with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“How about this? Let’s go sit and talk for a while.” Even if it kills me. “Then we’ll progress at whatever pace makes you more comfortable.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “Is this some sort of test?”
That caught him off-balance. “Of what?”
“I don’t know.” She turned away. “Mama told me that whatever you wanted, I was to do. And that even if I didn’t like it, I was to say I did, anyway.”
Good God. Just what he did not want of her. “Do you generally listen to what your mother says?”
Casting him a faint smile over one shoulder, she said, “Not usually, no.” Her smile faded. “But in this case, she has been married, and I have not. I have nothing with which to gauge the truth of her words.”
He walked up to take her hand. “Come sit with me.” He led her to a smallish settee.
“We can’t both fit on that,” she said.
“We can.” He smirked at her. “And anyway, I thought you were supposed to be doing whatever I told you to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. See for yourself.”
Amused by her sudden crankiness, he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “I told you we could fit.”
Clearly fighting a smile, she shook her head. “I should have known you would never do what’s expected.”
“You call me ‘Saint Sheridan.’ Isn’t that the very definition of doing what’s expected?”
“If you were really Saint Sheridan,” she said dryly, “you wouldn’t have landed us in this mess in the first place.”
He chuckled. “True.” Then he sobered. “Now, I know this may be a bit embarrassing, but you must tell me exactly what your mother said was going to happen tonight.”
She looked at him as if he were thickheaded. “I just told you what she said.”
“That’s all? Nothing about the actual particulars?”
“No. Why?” He could see a bit of panic in her eyes. “Don’t you know what’s going to happen? Because I don’t know enough to instruct you in the matter.”
He stifled another laugh. “Yes, I know what’s going to happen. It’s just that most mothers . . .”
She stared at him expectantly.
“Never mind. How about we try this? Once we proceed to the . . . bedding part of the evening, I won’t do anything without preparing you for it first. Will that make it less nerve-racking?”
“Yes, I think so.” She threw her head back. “But honestly, how should I know? I’m not even aware of what I’m supposed to do.” She squirmed on his lap as if trying to find a better position.
He groaned. “Well, to start with, don’t do that for the moment.”
“Why not? Did I hurt you?” With a look of horror, she tried to leave his lap, but he wouldn’t let her.
“It’s fine. All I meant was that since I’m aroused, your wiggling about on top of me is making me want to lay you down on the floor and ravish you too soon.”