Yet he couldn’t even mourn Helene for more than six years.
You’ll deprive yourself of one of life’s greatest joys out of a determination not to experience the pain love can also bring? That’s like refusing to ride because you fear falling off.
He laid back to stare up at the ceiling. How could Vanessa have the audacity to spout her opinions about love when she didn’t love him either? She certainly hadn’t said she loved him. Did she really expect him to take that leap when she wouldn’t take it herself?
Unless she’d already taken it with Juncker.
And if she had? Then he would have to find some way to tear her from the fellow. Because he refused to be cuckolded—even just in spirit—by that . . . arrogant arse.
As soon as they reached London tomorrow, he would find Juncker and determine exactly how much there had been between the faux playwright and Vanessa. Because Vanessa was his now. He’d meant that when he said it. And no damned poet was going to take her away from him, in spirit or anything else.
Having made that promise to himself, he was finally able to drift off to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
They reached London midafternoon the next day. Sheridan had never been so glad to see the city and rid himself of his new mother-in-law. He’d spent the entire journey watching his wife skillfully manage her mother, and he honestly wondered how she did it without wanting to strangle the woman.
Lady Eustace was a pest, plain and simple. First she was cold, then she was hot, then she needed air, then the air made her cold. The sequence was repeated ad nauseam until he informed his wife that he needed air and intended to get it by riding on the perch with his coachman. When she cast him an apologetic look, he felt guilty about his defection but not enough to offer to stay.
Besides, riding with Vanessa was a torment all its own. Despite the fact that she wore some all-encompassing, dark-green redingote that fastened up to her chin, he could still remember what sweet temptations lay beneath it. He resisted the urge to relive last night’s enjoyments. The last thing he wanted was for his mother-in-law to realize what he had in mind for her daughter. One more reason to sit atop the perch with his coachman, no matter how odd the man probably thought it.
Once they’d left Lady Eustace at her town house and were heading the short distance to Sheridan’s massive, money-eating London manor, Vanessa seemed to revive, at least enough to flash him a cheery smile. “The staff are expecting us, aren’t they?”
“They are.” Fortunately, he’d introduced her to them before the wedding and had watched as she charmed them all with a compliment here and a question for an opinion there. “I do have to pay one call before dinner.”
Her face fell. “It can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not. But it won’t take long, I don’t think.” He lied for all he was worth. “Just a minor business matter I was supposed to handle before I left for Lincolnshire. I’ll be back by dinner, I promise.”
She nodded, though her cheeriness seemed to fade some. “I wanted to have our ‘at home’ day tomorrow. Will you still be able to join me then?”
“Of course.”
Gwyn had already warned him that newly married couples were expected to have a day at home where they could accept callers eager to express their congratulations.
Seeing her fight to hide her disappointment, he shifted from his seat across from her to sit next to her instead and take her hand. “I swear I won’t be gone long.”
He hoped not, anyway. He knew where Juncker lived, and if the arse wasn’t there, he knew to look for him in Covent Garden, though finding the fellow there would take far longer. When she gave him a tremulous smile, he couldn’t resist kissing her. What he’d intended as a quick kiss to soothe her fears rapidly turned into something more passionate.
The coach stopping before Armitage House jarred them both out of their shared pleasure.
She gave him a slumberous look he recognized only too well from when he’d awakened her this morning. “Shall I wait for you wearing only the Armitage pearls?” she said in a low voice that reverberated through every inch of his randy body.
For a moment, he considered having the coachman take a turn about Hyde Park while he seduced his wife.
But no, he had to do this first. Otherwise, he’d always be wondering who she was really thinking about when they made love. “I think that would shock my staff at dinner, don’t you?” he quipped.
She laughed gaily as the footman opened the door and put down the step. Sheridan jumped out and helped her down, then as she climbed the steps, he told his coachman to take him to the Albany.
Thankfully, Juncker was in his rooms, or so a member of the staff told him. Forgoing the man’s offer to fetch Juncker downstairs, Sheridan went upstairs alone, not wanting anyone to warn Juncker he was coming. It had finally occurred to Sheridan that the last time they’d seen each other, Sheridan had punched him. The man might not be that eager to meet with him.
Sure enough, when Juncker opened the door at Sheridan’s knock, the man scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to talk to you about my wife.”
Juncker had the door open only partway and wasn’t budging to let Sheridan inside. “You’ve got it backward. You should talk to your wife about me.”
“I tried. She wouldn’t tell me a damned thing.”
Juncker looked him over, then sighed. “Come in then, if you must.”
As Juncker walked away, Sheridan pushed the door open to enter the man’s rooms. They were much finer than Sheridan would have expected a poet’s to be. “My brother must pay you well to pose as writer of his plays.”
“You know about that?”
“Olivia blurted it out accidentally.”
Juncker chuckled. “That sounds
