Undercover Duke

our guests here tonight.”
Damn. He’d already been looking forward to gloating the next time he saw Vanessa.
“Sheridan, are you listening?” Olivia cried in a tone of pure desperation. “You must promise you won’t let Thorn’s secret get out.”
The last thing he wanted was to injure Olivia’s relationship with Thorn. Or, for that matter, risk hurting his brother. “I promise I won’t say a word. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Relief suffused her face. “Thank you, thank you.”
“But in exchange, you must swear not to tell Miss Pryde—or anyone else for that matter—that my sole interest in her lies in finding out what her mother knows about those same two house parties.”
Olivia looked skeptical. “Are we speaking of Grey’s cousin?”
“The very one.”
“Then I shan’t say a word.”
“Purposely or otherwise,” he stressed. “I can’t have you blurting out to Miss Pryde or her mother things about our investigation.”
She drew herself up. “I beg your pardon. I would never—”
“You just told me a secret of Thorn’s that he’s never even hinted at,” he said.
A blush stained her cheeks. “Yes, but . . . well, I wouldn’t . . .” She fixed him with a sullen stare. “That’s different. You’re his brother, and I thought you knew. Besides, even if I did say something untoward to Miss Pryde about your dis-honorable intentions, I doubt she would care. Not if she is as enamored of Mr. Juncker as everyone says.”
He fought the urge to deny that even as he acknowledged he couldn’t.
Fortunately, just then Olivia gazed across the room to where the footmen had brought in more chairs. “Oh, dear. Pray do excuse me. I have to direct the servants as to where I want those.”
“Of course. I understand.”
As he watched Olivia cross the room, it occurred to him that her revelation about Thorn’s playwriting explained so many things, like the close friendship between Thorn and Juncker. Granted, until Olivia had come along, both men had been rogues, eager to blaze a path through London’s gaming hells and brothels. So Sheridan had assumed it was merely their activities in the stews that they had in common.
But although Thorn had inherited substantial wealth, Juncker could never have afforded such a way of living, given that his father had been some sort of tradesman, according to the rumor mill. It wasn’t as if playwrights made much money, either. So if Thorn had been paying Juncker for his name on the plays, not to mention his silence . . .
Well, that made more sense. On top of that, Thorn had always shown a decided interest in the plays themselves—reading reviews of them, attending a number of productions, and even setting up this charitable production tonight. That went beyond what a friend would do for another friend. Sheridan had chalked it up to Thorn wanting to be a patron because of his love of the theater, but Thorn had never supported any other playwrights or artists or musicians. Just Juncker. It was rather surprising they’d even kept it quiet until now.
Damn it all. Sheridan scowled at nobody in particular. He really wished he could tell Vanessa she’d put her eggs in the wrong basket. But he couldn’t, simple as that. For one thing, Olivia would never forgive him for revealing the truth to someone outside the family. Best not to rock that boat.
For another, he couldn’t be sure why Vanessa had set her cap for the blackguard. She could just as easily want Juncker for his skill at writing poetry or his dancing ability or even his ostentatious good looks. Blasted fellow probably spent as much money on his tailor as Vanessa spent on her gowns.
Except that Miss Younger had said Sheridan was wrong about that. Did Grey know? And if so, why hadn’t he said anything?
It didn’t matter. If anything, it made it more imperative that Sheridan keep to his plan to show Vanessa how bad Juncker’s character was. She simply could not end up with that fellow, or all the fashion frugality in the world wouldn’t save her from poverty.
So he needed to play her suitor a bit longer, at least until he was sure he’d disabused Vanessa of her fanciful ideas regarding the man. Besides, Sheridan hadn’t even begun to find out all he needed to know from Lady Eustace.
A sudden commotion in the hall outside the ballroom made him groan. Thorn had arrived. And from the sounds of it, he’d brought half the theater with him. This was going to be a long, noisy night, the kind that generally had Sheridan fleeing. But much as he’d prefer to spend the rest of the evening by his cozy fire with a glass of perry from his estate’s own pear trees, he couldn’t leave.
Moments later, his half brother entered with Juncker at his side. “Olivia!” Thorn shouted. “Olivia!”
His wife hurried toward him. “I’m right here. What is it?”
“We raised a thousand pounds for Half Moon House,” he told her, loudly enough that the entire room could hear him.
“Excellent news.” Olivia seemed to be fighting a smile. “And it appears that you’ve invited plenty of friends to celebrate it.”
As people filled the ballroom, chattering and looking about, Sheridan shook his head. Thorn seemed a bit foxed . . . or perhaps just carried on by the excitement of having raised so much money for his wife’s pet cause. Juncker, on the other hand, looked sober as a church. In fact, he seemed rather angry, if Sheridan was to judge from his scowl.
Was it because of that woman Flora’s rebuff at the theater? Or because Vanessa had been hanging on Sheridan’s arm earlier?
Sheridan found himself disturbingly interested in finding out which it was. Especially since Vanessa and her uncle entered right behind Thorn and Juncker. But what had happened to Lady Eustace? She was the only reason Sheridan was enduring this crowd.
Well, she and her impudent daughter.
Muttering a curse under his breath, Sheridan stalked over to Vanessa. “Where’s your mother?”
Vanessa arched one eyebrow. “It’s lovely to see you