He chuckled at the thought of how she’d insisted upon his undressing while she watched, right in the midst of his grand seduction. That had definitely aroused him. To have her gaze regarding him with such fascination . . .
Good God. Every time he turned around, she said or did something to tempt him. Not to mention, catch him off guard.
Now he understood what society meant when it dubbed a woman a diamond of the first water. Because Vanessa had more facets than any finely cut gemstone, and every moment he was with her, she showed a new one. He wondered how long it would take for him to discover them all. Even now, the very way she lay showed him new curves he’d missed caressing, soft places he’d missed kissing, and a thousand other small details it would take him a lifetime to catalog.
He sat up, annoyed with himself. He was turning into the most maudlin fellow ever. She didn’t have to wrap him about her finger. He was doing it for her.
She opened her eyes, a slumberous look on her face. “I need to ask a favor of you.”
“What sort of favor?” he asked suspiciously. Given the way he’d been thinking of her, if she asked him for the moon, he’d probably try to kidnap it from the sky.
Worry knit her brow as she laid her hand on his chest. “Do you think you could . . . well . . . promise me you will never do with another woman what we just did together?” She cast him a quick, darting look. “That you’ll take no mistresses as long as I’m alive?”
The request took him aback. Why would he need a mistress? Vanessa was more than enough for him. “No mistresses. I promise.” When relief brightened her face, he added, “Will you promise the same?”
She blinked. “Certainly. I promise never to take a mistress.” Then she laughed gaily, dispelling some of the tension between them.
“Very amusing, minx.” He tipped her chin up with one finger. “I will get you for that later.”
“Oh, I dearly hope so. Just make sure it’s something wonderfully naughty. I’ve only just discovered I rather like being naughty. At least with you.”
When his blood began to race once more, he made himself cast her a stern look. “You’re avoiding the subject.” Not to mention arousing him again, either unwittingly or, more likely, as wittingly as hell. “Do you promise me you will never take a lover? Especially not Juncker.”
Her gaze grew shuttered. “No lovers. And definitely not Mr. Juncker. I promise.”
She was hiding something from him, but he couldn’t figure out what. She’d been chaste before now; that much he could tell. No woman could pretend to be an innocent so convincingly. She had genuinely marveled at each new aspect of having marital relations.
Still, that didn’t necessarily mean she had no intention of seeking out Juncker now that she knew what to do in bed. The very thought of her in love with that puffed-up, theatrical arse, possibly seeking to be with the man, tore him up inside. And if Juncker ever tried to take advantage of her feelings . . . Sheridan would call the bastard out for sure.
Fortunately, Sheridan suspected that whatever weapon was chosen—whether pistols or swords—he would be better at it than Juncker. After all, Juncker had spent his entire life scribbling poetry and pretending to be a playwright. Sheridan, on the other hand, had been trained by his father to be prepared for anything—feast or famine, peace or revolution. And once Sheridan had seen that the family’s investigation might put them all in danger, he’d added lessons in shooting to his activities.
Sometimes the only way to keep the peace was to threaten violence. As Father had always said, “Peace comes at a price paid for by the sword.” And Sheridan would be more than happy to thrust a sword through Juncker’s heart, if it were warranted.
His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Quite possibly she hadn’t either. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Hungry, mmm,” was all she answered.
She was falling asleep! He didn’t know whether to be insulted that he’d bored her or pleased he’d worn her out with his lovemaking. Then again, it had been a very long week of planning and arranging the wedding. His part had only been to meet with solicitors. It was Vanessa—and his pregnant sister, pregnant sister-in-law, not-yet-pregnant sister-in-law, and aging mother—who’d done the rest. He probably shouldn’t fault Vanessa for being tired. He should be shocked she hadn’t fallen asleep before he could even make her his.
Well, when she woke up, he intended to have something here to feed her at least. He could ring for a servant, but he’d rather go see what was left of the food from the bridal feast. Probably some of the colder items were still on the tables in his cavernous dining room. Besides which, he might find a bottle of champagne not yet opened.
After donning the footed silk drawers he preferred to wear under his trousers, he dressed in his remaining clothes, adding a waistcoat and coat. He probably looked a bit disheveled, but at least he’d be presentable to the ladies in the house if he should happen to run across any of them, which he sincerely hoped he did not.
He paused beside the bed to pull the covers up over her shoulders, stifling a laugh as she mumbled something about “naughty food” and “oysters champagne,” and then he headed downstairs.
Immediately, he ran into Thorn, of course. He was probably lucky Heywood wasn’t with him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your marital bed?” Thorn asked. He was carrying a plate piled high with food.
“I enjoyed it quite thoroughly, thanks. Vanessa’s asleep now, so I thought I’d pop down to find nourishment.” With a sly smile, he took Thorn’s plate. “It was kind of you to gather some food for me and my new bride. We’re famished.”
“I got that for Mother,” Thorn said.
“Mother can’t eat all that,” Sheridan said. “Fortunately, it’s just enough for me and Vanessa.”
“I thought you already put the chit to sleep with your accomplished seduction,” Thorn said.
Sheridan took a bite of a chicken leg on the top of the pile. “A gentleman never speaks of such things.”
“Then that’s a yes.”
“No!” Sheridan lifted his eyes heavenward. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I wore my wife out with my ‘accomplished seduction.’ You wouldn’t understand. Poor Olivia has to put up with your bumbling.”
“Bumbling! You’re just jealous of my fine technique.”
“Hardly.” He bit off more chicken. “And don’t call my wife a ‘chit.’ She’s a full-grown woman, as I have thoroughly ascertained.”
Sheridan heard a murmur of voices from the drawing room. When he and Vanessa had “retired,” everyone had still been drinking and eating in the dining room. “What’s going on?”
“We’re having a meeting to assess our progress on the subject of the investigation. We weren’t planning to bother you with it, given that it was your wedding night, but if you’d like to be part—”
“Of course I’d like to be part of it.” Sheridan glanced around the hall and lowered his voice. “What about the other guests? Lady Eustace? Sir Noah? Lady Norley and Lady Hornsby?” He frowned. “Bonham?”