He thought about what Joshua had said. Vanessacouldbe kind sometimes. But she could also be fiery and engaging and full of surprises. Any one of those things might endear her to him, but all of them combined made her irresistible. That thought had him quickening his steps.
Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave Vanessa alone with his mother for too long after what had happened. No telling what sort of secrets Mother might reveal. And he meant to tell his secrets to Vanessa himself.
When he reached the hall that led to the master bedchambers, he saw his mother slipping out of his wife’s room. She came toward him as if to waylay him.
“You need to fetch Vanessa’s maid.” She paused. “Actually, any maid will do. The sheets on the bed should be changed.”
“Why?”
“There’s blood on them, of course.”
“Of course? I assure you that I would never hurt . . .” He trailed off as he made the connection. “Oh. Right. I . . . er . . . guess I didn’t notice the blood.”
“Hardly surprising, given what the two of you were doing together.”
He could feel heat rise in his face. “I promise I did nothing any other man wouldn’t have done on his wedding night.”
“I realize that. And if you’d actually hurt her during the act, I’m sure she wouldn’t be smiling in her sleep the way she was when I left.”
He lifted his eyes heavenward. “I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this.”
“I’m merely trying to be helpful. Anyway, she’s lying in her own blood right now and needs to be moved. So call a footman, too. Unfortunately, she was so tired that she crawled into bed before I could fetch anyone. You really need to increase your staff now that you’re married.”
Lifting an eyebrow, he muttered, “Tired? Or tipsy on the brandy you forced on her?”
“Tipsy? On one glass?” his mother said. “Don’t be absurd. And I didn’t force it on her, although I’ll admit I probably shouldn’t have given it to her when I knew she hadn’t eaten much and was exhausted to boot. But she’ll be fine in the morning. Before that, however, you should fetch a footman to move her.”
“No footman is going to carry my wife anywhere,” Sheridan snapped. “I’ll do it myself. And while I do, you can fetch the maid.”
“All right.” She said it cheerily as if that was what she’d intended all along, and then hurried off toward the servants’ stairs.
Good God, he wished now he hadn’t sold the dowager house to Grey for a tidy sum—which had gone right back into keeping the estate afloat. Perhaps Grey would rent it to him for a song. Because having Mother underfoot, despite the massive size of the house, was going to be trying. Although he supposed it would be nice for Vanessa to have a female friend other than Bridget in the house. Vanessa and his mother did seem to like each other, after all.
That reminded him—he had to move Vanessa. He walked into his wife’s bedchamber. Sure enough, Vanessa lay on the bed, his banyan now tossed unceremoniously over a chair. He almost hated to disturb her, but Mother was right; she’d be more comfortable in a clean bed.
His own.
A surge of possessiveness made him walk to her bed and pick her up as carefully as he could in an attempt not to wake her. Now that he had her in his arms, he could see the shadows under her eyes. She’d been running full tilt since they’d agreed to marry. That, coupled with their lovemaking and the emotions that hearing about the investigation had probably roused, must have exhausted her.
And callous husband that he was, having her in his arms was rousing his need again. Which was entirely unacceptable.
As he reached the adjoining door, he shifted her so he could turn the knob. She muttered something unintelligible and snuggled against his neck. That only aroused him more, damn it. Because she looked even more enchanting than before, if such a thing were even possible. With her hair tumbling over his arm, her long eyelashes looking like the black fringe on a lady’s shawl, and her nipples forming points against her linen nightdress as he carried her into his colder room, he wanted nothing more than to bed her yet again.
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.
