Stolen Kisses (7 page)

“I will have it and the gold one delivered to you tomorrow,
mademoiselle
.”

She had been hoping for something new to wear to the Rochmont ball. “Thank you,
madame
.”

While Aunt Eugenia asked Madame Belieu if the new French silks had arrived, Pen cornered Lilith. “So tell me, Lil—what did he do?” she whispered.

“Nothing.” Lilith tried unsuccessfully to banish the provoking, handsome marquis and his dratted attractive smiles from her mind. “He sampled tea.”

“Truly?”

“Shh. Yes, truly. Now stop talking about him. Please.”

“But, Lil,” Pen insisted, pulling her friend toward the far corner of the shop, “when I told Mary Fitzroy that the Marquis of Dansbury wanted to be one of your suitors, she—”

“Pen, you didn’t!” She couldn’t have stories like that going around! Such a rumor, especially after the supposedly coincidental meetings at the recital and the opera, might discourage Wenford—which would be the one positive thing about Dansbury’s tormenting her. But it might also discourage the Earl of Nance and all her other suitors from continuing their pursuit.

“Mary won’t tell,” Pen insisted stoutly. “And she said he’s never pursued anyone. He must truly be smitten with you.”

“Nonsense,” Lilith returned, her pulse jumping at the words. Suitors simply didn’t behave the way the marquis did. Besides, she had handed him enough insults to discourage even the most ardent of suitors, and he had shown no sign of anything but amusement. “I seriously doubt he’s smitten with anyone but himself,” she said. “And I’m certainly not attracted to him.”

“But he’s so handsome.” Pen batted her eyes and sighed.

That was the problem. Everyone should look as they truly were, she had decided last night when she couldn’t sleep. It would be much simpler if rogues simply looked like rogues. Then she wouldn’t be tempted by their looks and compelling presence before she knew their despicable character. “You’re the one who told me he shot a woman. And everyone knows how disreputable he is. And he’s ruining William. And he’s only angry because I insulted him, so he’s trying to get even. And—”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain,” she answered vehemently. “Why else in the world would someone like the Marquis of Dansbury concern himself with me?” Despite what he’d said to her, he certainly wasn’t seeking salvation. She hadn’t figured it out entirely yet, but he was somehow cleverly trying to arrange her ruination.

“Oh, I don’t know, Lil,” Pen admitted, shrugging. “But I find it hard to believe that anyone could dislike you, much less want to hurt you.”

“His villainy knows no bounds,” Lilith pointed out. “It may sound melodramatic, Pen, but you know it’s true.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Her friend sighed. “It just seems so romantic, for a rakehell to set his sights on you and threaten your virtue.”

“My virtue can do very well without being threatened,” Lilith returned dryly.

The front bell rang, and a tall, dark-haired woman entered the shop in the company of her maid. Despite the pelisse and heavy wrap, her rounded belly proclaimed her to be several months pregnant.

Madame Belieu excused herself to greet her newest arrival. “Lady Hutton,” she smiled, taking the young woman’s hand and gesturing her to a chair, “you look
enchanteresse
today.”

“Thank you for your kind lies,
madame
,” Lady Hutton replied with a rueful smile that crinkled the comers of her eyes.

“I would have been pleased to send the dress over to you, my lady.” The dressmaker motioned to one of her seamstresses to fetch the garment.

“Oh, heavens, no,” the lady protested. “Richard is determined to keep me prisoner until the end of summer. This is one of the few places I’m allowed to escape to.”

With a smile of her own, Lady Sanford stepped forward to shake the woman’s hand. “Alison,” she said warmly, “I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter, Penelope, or Eugenia Farlane.” She turned to indicate Lilith. “And Mrs. Farlane’s niece, Miss Benton. Eugenia, Pen, Lilith, this is Lady Hutton.”

Pen dipped a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Lady Hutton,” Lilith seconded. Alison Hutton was lovely, with light brown eyes and an olive complexion that spoke of a French or Spanish ancestry. She had an easy smile, which appeared again as she met Lilith’s gaze.

“Ladies. Forgive me for not rising, but it is easier to find one place and remain stationary, these days.”

“Of course.” Amused, Lilith smiled back at her.

Aunt Eugenia was nodding. “Your husband is a baron—Richard, Lord Hutton—is he not?”

“Yes, he is,” Lady Hutton answered promptly, not seeming in the least offended by the direct question. “Do you know him?”

“You own the Linfield estate in Shropshire, then.”

“Yes. How do you know Richard?”

“Lord Dupont, who used to live down the lane from you at Hawben Hall, was a friend to my late husband.”

“Oh, yes. Richard’s spoken often of Lord Dupont. Shortly before he passed away, he gave Richard and his mother most of his late wife’s roses. They are astounding.”

Lilith’s ears perked up at the mention of roses. As though sensing her interest, Aunt Eugenia gestured at her. “My niece keeps a garden here and back at Hamble Hall. Little as we like her grubbing about in the dirt, the girl loves roses.”

“Aunt,” Lilith admonished, smiling reluctantly.
Mucking about in the dirt to tend roses was one of the few vices she insisted on exercising.

Lady Hutton looked at her and chuckled. “My husband has a mad passion for them, as well. I have friends who think it rather foppish of him, but my brother, at least, says it shows backbone.”

“Exactly so,” Lilith agreed. The seamstress appeared with a lovely green and violet-colored evening gown, and Lilith came forward to help Lady Hutton to her feet.

“You know, my husband would love to trade if you have anything unusual. You must call on us.” Her expression turned rueful again. “I’m afraid that is a rather bald way of saying I could use another visitor. Being held prisoner isn’t nearly as romantic or exciting as one might think.”

Lilith chuckled. “I would be pleased to come visit you. Lady Hutton. Roses or not.”

“William, when trying to drink someone under the table, the object is to become inebriated less quickly than they,” Dansbury pointed out.

Even at two o’clock in the morning, the crowds at White’s had barely begun to thin. Lady Helfer’s soirée was tonight, but no one under the age of seventy was ever invited, and there were no other soirées or balls of note. Still, it seemed a large number of lords preferred smoking and playing cards to being at home with their wives. He grinned slyly as he spotted Viscount Davenglen. He knew for a fact that Lady Davenglen was anything but lonely this evening, because Ernest Landon had slipped off to pay his respects some hours ago.

“You’re the one who keeps refilling the damned glass,” William returned.

“And you’re the one who keeps emptying it.” When he had begun the task of leading William Benton to ruin,
Jack had expected the boy to be a slow-witted country dullard. What he was discovering was that although the lad lacked a little town polish, he also lacked town cynicism and the common predisposition toward judging one’s fellows. That alone lifted him several steps above most of the London
ton
. William’s naïveté was actually somewhat refreshing, even if it did tend to complicate matters further—as had Lilith’s plea to spare her the pain her brother’s destruction would bring about, blast her. That had actually bothered him, to the point that he’d led his cronies to White’s rather than to Antonia’s. Not that William had been the least bloody bit grateful to receive a night’s reprieve from ruination.

“You’re drinking as much as I am, Dansbury,” William protested.

The table dealer stifled a smile as he dealt a hand. Across from him, Ogden Price was chuckling, but it appeared that Thomas Hanlon had as much need for the lesson as William, for he was asleep in his chair. Jack raised a finger at William. “It
appears
that I am drinking as much as you are.”

Price’s grin folded into an affronted frown. “You’ve been tossing your port?”

He smiled lazily. “Among other things.”

His crony shook his head. “I’ll be damned. For how long?”

“Whenever the mood strikes me.” As it had tonight, for be needed at least some of his wits in order to get Lilith’s schedule from her brother. Given her reaction to him at the tea sampling, he wondered whether she was beginning to soften toward him just a little. That would be all the edge he needed, and he wasn’t going to ruin it by hanging William this evening.

“But I never saw you dumping your glass,” Mr. Benton stated, leaning forward to eye Jack’s sleeve.

“Actually, I’ve been using that potted plant behind you. I’m afraid it will have quite a head in the morning.” Jack made a show of stretching. “I shall as well. I’m nearly all in.”

“But I’m down two hundred quid,” William protested, cursing and shoving his cards back at the dealer.

Jack looked at him for a moment, waiting for the tingle of conscience that would tell him his life was becoming far out of balance. He sighed. “How much were you willing to lose tonight, my boy?”

“About half that,” William returned, after a hesitation. He banged his fist on the table. “I didn’t think your blasted run would last all night.”

“It’s lasted for years, William,” Price informed him. He tipped his glass at Jack and drank down the contents. “I don’t believe in throwing away port, weak or not.”

Across the room, a flurry of movement began in the entryway, and Jack looked up. The Duke of Wenford entered and was quickly ushered into the second gaming room. Evidently the proprietors of White’s didn’t want a repeat of the Felton ball incident in their parlors.

Dansbury forced a chuckle and raised his own glass. “Hate to waste the stuff, myself.” He drained it. Price was correct; it was definitely watered down. He called one of the footmen over for a fresh bottle. “One of mine this time, if you please, Freeling.”

The head footman bowed and headed off toward the kitchens.

“I still can’t believe you keep your own store of port at every demmed club in town,” William marveled.

“I’ve noticed you have no trouble drinking it,” Jack returned dryly.

“And neither do I,” Price put in. “William, do come with me to the Admiralty after we drink all of Jack’s wine,” he cajoled.

The marquis shook his head, Lilith Benton’s damned threads of guilt still pulling at him. “He’s already out two hundred pounds, Price. Leave us something to play with tomorrow.”

William looked relieved, and the marquis reflected that with the help of Antonia and the other cronies in his circle, young Mr. Benton was probably dropping five hundred quid a week. Still, a few days ago he would have suggested the jaunt to the Admiralty himself.

“William, I would appreciate your taking this sage advice to heart: never, and I repeat, never, wager more than you can afford to lose. It puts you in debt to all sorts of disreputable people. Like me.” Perhaps he was more swaggered than he thought, to be actually warning the boy off from himself.

“According to my sister, you’re just about the worst thing that could happen to me,” William noted happily, finishing off the last of their old bottle. “You’re a devil, she says, and just this evening she called you a malignant Jack-a-dandy. Rather clever, don’t you think?”

Jack looked at him, his amusement draining away. “She called me a
what?
”

“A malignant Jack-a-dandy.”

“It seems the cold north wind is still blowing.” Price studied the cards in his hand, refusing to meet Jack’s angry glare.

So much for going to the effort of behaving himself. That obviously wasn’t working. “You know, speaking of dear Miss Benton, last I saw her, she looked rather tired. It’s been a busy Season for her, hasn’t it?”

William nodded. “Father thought the same thing. He told Lil she didn’t have to go to the Billington breakfast recital in the morning. Wouldn’t let me out of it, though,
dash it all.” He gripped Jack’s sleeve with his fingers. “Do you go, Jack?”

The marquis scowled and twitched his coat out of William’s grip. “Breakfast and recitals have never much appealed to me, especially in conjunction.”

Price chuckled again. “I thought only disreputables like Jack stayed away from Billington’s famous breakfasts.”

“The whole reason I became disreputable, actually.” Lilith Benton would be home, alone, tomorrow morning. It was well past time he stopped dancing about her like a schoolboy and made his next move.

“Dansbury,” a gruff voice said behind him, and Jack stiffened.

“Your Grace,” he drawled, turning. He wished that for once he could leave an establishment without becoming involved in some sort of imbroglio, unless he’d actually intended one. He noted that the diamond pin was back in Wenford’s cravat, no doubt for all the ton to see that the duke had set things to right. Fleetingly he wondered how Dolph felt about being relieved of the family heirloom a second time.

“Just wanted to say that what’s done is done,” the duke said stiffly, and held out his bony hand.

It was a poor apology, and not nearly enough to compensate for the longstanding bad blood between the Faradays and the Remdales. Jack held the old man’s gaze, then reached for the bottle of port the footman had just placed on the table and pushed it into the duke’s waiting hand. “My compliments,” he said, and turned back to the game.

His Grace remained awkwardly beside the table, obviously trying to decide whether the slight was worth beginning another shouting match or not. “Ah,” he fi
nally said, then cleared his throat. “Very good.”

“You’ve got brass, Dansbury,” Price murmured, as the duke turned and walked away.

“It was a bloody good vintage,” Jack returned with a scowl, motioning for the dealer to proceed.

“I
truly don’t mind going to the breakfast, Papa.” Lilith leaned against the door of her father’s bed chamber while he finished his morning’s toilette. She had already dressed, hoping he would give in and let her go to Billington’s. It was one of the few events this Season she’d actually been looking forward to attending. The breakfasts were famous, and the duke held them only once a Season. Everyone who was anyone was supposed to be there.

She wondered if the Marquis of Dansbury would have managed to get himself invited to such a prestigious event, then determinedly cast the thought aside. Undoubtedly he hadn’t even returned yet from his evening’s rambles, and if there was one thing she knew about Billington’s breakfasts, it was that no bad
ton
were invited. Ever. If William had begun his association with Dansbury a few weeks earlier, no doubt he would have found himself excluded, as well.

“Nonsense, Lilith,” the viscount said over his shoulder, while his valet put the final touches on his cravat for him. “There’s no need for you to be tiring yourself out. Especially with the Rochmont ball this evening.
Your aunt and I, and William, if he manages to stay awake through the meal, will make your excuses.”

Lilith sighed and fiddled with the pearl earring pinching her right ear. “All right.” She hesitated again. “And Papa, I do hope you understand my feelings about His Grace. I simply cannot marry such a…dreadful man. As I said last night, I will happily wed anyone else you see fit to choose. I apol—”

He waved her off with one hand, picking up his gloves with the other. “I heard you last night. Wenford is a highly respected man, and a joining of our families would have put us above reproach. But you, fickle girl, decide he has too many gray hairs on his head, and you won’t have him.”

“That’s not it, Papa. Truly.”

“Bah. With all those pretty words that’ve been whispered in your ear by every eligible lord in London, I’ve no doubt you have your handsome fool all picked out for yourself. Who is he, Lilith, some baron’s third son?”

The accusation surprised her, for of course, no one had captured her heart. She hadn’t been looking to find love. “There is no one. Papa.” He continued to look at her suspiciously, and she put a hand on his arm. “I won’t shame you.”

He turned his back. “That’s what your mother used to say,” he muttered. “Those green eyes of hers held nothing but lies.”

“I’m not Mama.”

“I keep praying my blood will be stronger in you than hers. William’s already falling into her flighty ways.”

Although Lilith disliked the pain that showed in her father’s eyes whenever he spoke of Elizabeth Benton, she did wish sometimes that he would remember that he wasn’t the only one who had been hurt by Lady Hamble’s flight. “You’ll see, Papa,” she said encouragingly
“I’ll make you proud of me. Of our family.”

He leaned over to touch his lips to her forehead. “I know you will. And don’t trouble yourself about Wenford. I’m certain everything will work itself out.”

Lilith smiled in relief. It generally took him ages to recover from the foul mood any discussion of her mother put him into. “Thank you.”

William, still half foxed from whatever he and the Marquis of Dansbury had been up to last night, would have been more than happy to trade places with her, but it was clear that their father had no intention of letting him escape. Aunt Eugenia seemed none too pleased that Lilith was to remain, either, but when her father insisted that the girl needed her rest, the arguing finally stopped and Bevins let them out the front entry.

Once they were gone, Lilith wandered about the house for a few minutes, reveling in the quiet, for Wednesday was the day most of the servants were given leave to go about their own business. She headed outside to cut a bouquet of Lord Penzance roses from the garden. As she later arranged the flowers in the hall, someone began rapping at the front door.

It was too early for visitors, and she frowned as Bevins appeared to pull open the door. The Duke of Wenford pushed past the butler without so much as a by-your-leave. Lilith stifled a dismayed curse and turned to make her escape, but he spied her immediately.

“Lilith,” he rasped, coming forward to take her hand and kiss her knuckles.

It was the greatest show of affection he had ever granted her, and because of what it implied, it was also the most frightening. “Your Grace,” she exclaimed, forcing a smile and quickly pulling her hand free.

He was still in his evening clothes, the diamond pin back through the withered cravat hanging about his ca
daverous neck. He or Dolph Remdale must have paid Dansbury the money he had so rudely requested.

“I require a word with you,” the duke said, reeling as he reached for her hand again. His usually pale complexion was flushed and clammy looking, and Lilith realized that he was drunk. Very drunk. And whatever he’d been imbibing didn’t look to have agreed with his constitution, though it had apparently served to render him more amiable than she had ever before seen him.

“Of course, Your Grace. Except I’m not actually entertaining this morning.” It was also far too early to go calling; if this was a proposal, as she feared it must be, Wenford’s timing was inexcusable—for anyone but Wenford.

“This is not entertainment,” he returned, reaching for her again. “This is business.”

Lilith sidestepped. “Allow me to fetch my maid, then.” She gestured the duke toward the morning room, but when she glanced over her shoulder, he was following close behind her. “If Your Grace would care to wait?” she suggested, nervous and irritated.

“Your father is at Billington’s,” he stated.

Lilith leaned up the staircase and called for Emily, but there was no answer. “I’m certain he’ll be back shortly,” she offered stiffly. She’d forgotten; Emily would be at her cousin’s house for the day, visiting.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Wenford grunted. “Billington’s breakfasts are splendid.”

“Then don’t you wish to partake?” Lilith suggested hopefully.

“Stomach’s rather spoiled this morning.” He captured her hand again. “Besides, I wish to partake of you.” He tugged her closer. “A little premarital bliss.” Before she could react, he planted a stale, fetid kiss on her lips.

His breath reeked of liquor and laudanum. “Your Grace!” Lilith frantically pulled free and ducked into the library.

There was no sign of Mrs. Winpole, the housekeeper, or any other female in the entire house. She was on her own. Nearly running, Lilith crossed through the library and into the morning room. Wenford trailed behind her mumbling incoherent snatches of poems, no doubt his version of wooing.

“You know my late wives died without giving me offspring, and a beautiful female of such well-bred stock as you should get me a fine, strapping boy or two.”

Lilith felt ill. To be married to the man—to have him kiss her whenever he wished and to share a bed with him…“Your Grace, I believe you should first speak to my father again,” she said cautiously, not wanting to anger him if she could avoid it.

“Don’t tell me what to do, girl,” he said, immediately annoyed again. “I know there are matters yet to settle. And I’ll speak to Canterbury to get us a special license. No sense in putting off a wedding for no damned good reason.”

This was growing worse and worse. “Well, that’s splendid, but—”

“I must consider the good of the realm. If I were to pass on to glory without heirs, you have no idea what chaos England would be thrown into! No successor to the Dukedom of Wenford? I shudder to consider it.”

Lilith shuddered for a completely different reason. He made another grab for her, but with his poor coordination she was thankfully able to evade him. If this was his attempt at seducing her, he was failing badly. Even the Marquis of Dansbury was more adept at seduction than Wenford. Much more adept. “What about your nephew?”

“Randolph?” he growled. “That dim-witted, gambling wretch? Never!” He drew a ragged breath and stumbled against the couch. “Fetch me a cup of tea, girl,” he ordered, sinking down onto the soft cushions. “Show some bloody manners.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Finally, a chance to escape! And if he thought she was coming back, he was a complete fool.

He grabbed her hand as she hurried by. “But first we shall get acquainted.”

“Your Grace!”

Jerked off balance, Lilith fell hard against his shoulder. Wenford grabbed her chin and placed another foul kiss on her lips. With his free hand, he ripped open the front of her bodice.

“Let me go at once!” Truly frightened now, she struggled to her feet. He pushed upright after her and tangled his hand into her hair to yank her back up against him.

“Cooperate a little, damn you,” he grunted, pawing her breasts through her thin shift.

“Let me go at once, or I will scream!” She shoved against his shoulder. No one had ever touched her like this, and she had no idea what to do. If she called Bevins, there would be a terrible scandal, but if she didn’t, Wenford’s actions left little doubt as to what he had in mind. She took a breath.

“Scream, little spitfire,” he droned. “Then we’ll see wh—”

The duke suddenly gagged and doubled over. When he straightened again, his face had turned a ghastly ashen gray. He clutched at her shoulder, and then, with a rasping wheeze, collapsed. His weight knocked Lilith backward onto the couch—and then the duke fell full length on top of her.

Lilith desperately punched and kicked at him. “Get off me!”

It took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t moving.

“Get off!” Nothing. “Your Grace?” No answer. “Your Grace, get off. Please!”

She received no response to that, either. With a shudder of distaste, Lilith grabbed a handful of his gray hair and lifted his head off her shoulder and neck. His eyes and mouth were half open, a thin froth of spittle around his lips. She shoved with all her might, but only succeeded in further tangling his limp hand into her hair.

Lilith reached up to grasp the back of the couch and tried to pull herself out from under Wenford, but he was nearly twice her weight, and she couldn’t budge herself an inch—which left her three choices. Call Bevins and risk an even more enormous scandal, or hope Wenford rose from whatever stupor he had fallen into and that he would climb off her before she smothered. Or, she could lie there beneath the duke until her family returned home, and hope that no one opened the door to the morning room until then.

The door rattled and opened.

“It’s no worry, Bevins, I’ll only be a moment,” came the deep voice of the Marquis of Dansbury. “William made off with one of my gloves. I’m certain he left it in here.”

Lilith shut her eyes, a wave of hysteria running over her. She prayed fervently that he wouldn’t notice anything.

“Miss Benton? Your Grace?” he called. “I hope I’m not…” His voice trailed off. “Anyone here?” he asked. “Children, servants, small animals?” He chuckled. “Ladybirds? High flyers?”

“Go away,” she said succinctly.

His footsteps approached the couch and then abruptly
stopped. “My apologies, Wenford, Miss Benton,” he said after a moment, an odd edge to his voice. The footsteps turned away again.

“Stop!” she ordered frantically. He couldn’t possibly mean to leave her there!

He stopped. “Yes, my lady?”

“Come back here and assist me, at once!”

A pause. “
Assist
you?”

“Immediately!” She held her breath, praying now that he had barged in, the devil wouldn’t abandon her.

“I had no idea you were so adventurous, Miss Benton,” he said coolly, both his footsteps and the hard cynicism in his voice returning. “I think I should tell you, though, I generally don’t share.” Jack Faraday’s face appeared over the back of the couch. His dark eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. “However, in this instance…” Abruptly he frowned and reached down to put his fingers across the duke’s neck. “Sweet Lucifer,” he murmured.

She took a breath. “Is he…” Lilith couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too terrible to utter aloud.

“Dead as mutton,” Dansbury stated calmly. “Hopped the twig. Put to bed with a shovel. Tipped all—”

“Enough!” she demanded frantically. “Help me!”

The marquis strode around the front of the couch, leaned over to take Wenford around the waist, and hauled backward. “So this is why you decided to forgo Billington’s,” he grunted. The duke slid off her and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud. “You might have told me I was merely too young for your taste. If I’d known you preferred old men, I might have powdered my hair.”

“I would only have found you old and loathsome,” Lilith snapped, as she shakily climbed to her feet. Her heart hammering fiercely, she swayed unsteadily.

Suddenly the marquis was beside her, cupping her elbow in one hand. “Perhaps you should take a seat,” he suggested quietly.

Her legs did feel terribly weak, and she didn’t object when Dansbury’s strong, warm hands guided her to the chair by the window and helped her into it. She shut her eyes, and his touch left her. No doubt the blackguard had fled out to the streets to shout his news to anyone who would listen.

“Here, Lilith,” he said from right beside her.

Her eyes snapped open. Dansbury was squatting beside her, a glass of brandy in one hand and his eyes on her face. With a shuddering glance at the figure sprawled on the carpet, she took a long, grateful swallow.

“Better?” he asked after a moment.

Sputtering from the strong drink, she nodded.

“Not injured?”

“No. Are you certain he’s…deceased?”

Dansbury nodded and stood. “Terribly sorry,” he uttered, shifting the curtains aside to glance outside, “but you really should have known better.”

“Better than what?” she returned, scowling at the sarcasm in his voice.

“Better than to throw up your heels for someone in such poor physical condition before you got him caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”

“Caught in the…” she repeated, her shock swiftly turning to anger.

He nodded. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to wed them before you bed them?”

Lilith stood bolt upright, her face flooding with furious crimson. “I did not—I was not—I had nothing to do with—”