He scowled at himself. With her breath warm against his skin, she was a hothouse rose, and he was behaving like the wicked seducer who wanted to pluck all her petals.
“Let me,” his mother said from behind him and hurried over to pull down the covers for him.
After laying Vanessa on his bed, he turned to draw the covers up over her.
When he stood staring at her a moment longer, his mother said, “She’s sleeping now. You should leave her alone tonight.”
“Thank you for the advice,” he said tightly. “But she’s my wife, and I can handle matters from here.”
That didn’t send his mother packing, however. “Have you told her anything about Helene?”
With a groan, he darted a look at Vanessa, but she seemed to be deeply asleep, curled up under the covers as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Still, he wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled his mother over near the open adjoining door. Inside the other bedchamber, a couple of maids were busily changing the sheets, flashing each other knowing looks over the bloodstain.
It was one of the things he hated most about being a duke. One’s entire household gossiped about one and felt invested in one’s success. He always felt that any failure dragged not just him but everyone else in his orbit down with him.
He pulled the door to for a moment. “Not that it’s any of your business, Mother, but no, I haven’t mentioned Helene yet. I will, however, when the time seems right.”
“If I were you, I’d make it sooner rather than later. You don’t want her hearing about Helene from one of your brothers—or, God forbid, Gwyn.” She started to push open the door into the other room, then paused. “You should have told her what you were about with her mother, you know, if not while you were doing it, then in the past week, after you became betrothed.”
He ran a hand through his hair before lowering his voice, so as not to wake Vanessa. “I didn’t tell her the truth because I didn’t want to risk having her alert her mother if Lady Eustace happened to be guilty.”
His mother snorted. “You didn’t tell her the truth because you were afraid she wouldn’t marry you if you did.” Mother then walked into the other room and closed the door behind her.
He wanted to call her back, to deny her words, to insist that he and Vanessa had been forced into marrying because of his reckless physical attraction to her. But he couldn’t. Because his mother was right. Somewhere in the depths of his soul he’d had a longing for Vanessa that had been damned near impossible to ignore.
If he didn’t watch himself, he would end up just as captivated by her as he’d been by Helene. And that way lay pain and ruin.
Chapter Seventeen
The sound of curtains being opened and the sunlight streaming through the large, many-paned window to hit Vanessa’s closed eyes woke her in a hurry. Where was she? Her bedchamber in their town house had no window as large as that.
Wait, this wasn’t her bedchamber.
Bridget hurried over to the side table nearest her mistress and placed on it a tray containing toast and tea and everything that came with those. “Forgive me for waking you, miss—I-I mean, Your Grace—but His Grace said he means to leave for London in an hour, so I thought you might need the time to get ready.”
That sent Vanessa bolting up straight in bed. “You needn’t get all formal with me, Bridget. I may be a duchess by marriage, but I’m still the same mistress you have come to know and fear.”
Just as Vanessa knew it would, that elicited a laugh from Bridget. “All the same, mistress, I think I’d best use your proper title when we’re around others.”
“Probably. Especially Mother. Sadly, she is going to have a fine time lording it over everyone. And bemoaning how I had to marry a poor duke.”
“That’s more than likely.”
“Where’s my husband, anyway? Isn’t this his bedchamber?”
Vanessa had seen it earlier in the week when they’d given her a tour of Armitage Hall, and it was every bit as nicely appointed as the rest of the house. It was just a pity that the curtains needed mending and the bed drapings replaced and sundry other items taken care of.
“His Grace dressed while you were sleeping. You didn’t even move!” Bridget poured Vanessa her tea and doctored it with plenty of cream and a tiny bit of sugar. “You must have been exhausted. And his valet is very quiet.”
Vanessa took a big swallow of tea. “Is everyone waiting on me to be ready?”
“Not quite. The trunks are already loaded onto the servants’ carriage, but your carriage is being searched rather thoroughly by two or three burly footmen. Perhaps His Grace’s carriage is prone to breaking down?”
More likely, His Grace’s carriage was prone to being damaged in an attempt to kill him . . . and her and Mama, since they would be with him in his carriage. That sobered her at once. Whatever was happening to the dowager duchess’s family was liable to affect her, too, by association. She hadn’t thought of that last night when they’d been relating the story of all the mishaps and murders.
Bridget examined the pocket watch Vanessa had bought her one year. “Now you have fifty minutes to get ready, mistress. Give or take a few.”
“Oh, all right.” Grabbing a slice of buttered toast, she munched it as she went into her bedchamber and Bridget came behind her with the tray.
Unsurprisingly, her clothes were already laid out on the bed. She’d never had to complain about Bridget. Her lady’s maid was always prepared for any contingency.
With ten minutes to spare, she marched down the stairs, tugging on her gloves of Princess Elizabeth blue and tying her bonnet of the same blue, trimmed with scarlet. This was her favorite ensemble of the trousseau Grey had insisted on buying her as a wedding present: a simple Princess Elizabeth blue carriage dress, a pelisse of scarlet wool lined with white fur, a white fur muff, and the bonnet and gloves that went with it.
As she walked out the door, Sheridan looked up from speaking with one of the footmen, and the admiration in his eyes was unmistakable. It warmed her far more than her fur-lined wool pelisse. Especially when he helped her into the carriage, refusing to release her hand until he had a chance to kiss it.
She swallowed hard. She hoped his behavior was an indication that not all was amiss between them. But she wasn’t ready to forgive him quite yet. Before that happened, she needed him to answer some questions.
Before she could broach even one, her new husband shifted his stance so he could gaze up the steps and said, “Your mother is late.”
Vanessa nodded. “That’s typical of her, I’m afraid. We shall simply have to hope there won’t be too many times we have to travel with her.”
He consulted his watch with a frown. “I trust you slept well?” he said, then turned his gaze to her and banished his frown. “You certainly look well this morning.”
“Why, thank you. I did indeed sleep well.” She straightened her pelisse. “Your bed is very comfortable.”
He leaned in the open carriage door. “And seeing you in it made me very happy,” he said in a low rumble that had her squirming on the seat, remembering their lovely romp in her bed earlier last night. Though she did wonder why he hadn’t made any advances while she was in his.