Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  William shook a finger at her. “Nonsense. You’re only flying off because he overset you the other night.”

  “He did what?”

  “You know, when he came up to introduce himself, and you went all wobbly on him.” William chuckled. “Said he was afraid you might faint right there in the ballroom, but I told him you’d never do such a silly thing. You weren’t much better at the opera, though, I must say.”

  That was simply too much. Lilith pushed to her feet. “I did not go all wobbly when Dansbury approached. He is completely disreputable, and I wanted nothing to do with him! That is what I told him. And you should do the same, before he drags you down with him, William. My goodness, why do you think he suddenly be came acquainted with you? Because he wants revenge against me, for embarrassing him! And—”

  William stood as well. “You’re all about in the head, Lil. You have nothing to do with us taking up together.”

  “Taking up with whom, William?”

  Lilith and William started as their father strode into the room. Despite the question, from Viscount Hamble’s tight-jawed appearance, he had heard at least the last part of their conversation. Except for the lines across their father’s forehead and the light hair whitening at his temples, Stephen and William Benton looked very much alike. In temperament, though, they stood as far apart as the earth’s two poles. William was lighthearted and easygoing, while the viscount was sober and even more reserved than Lilith. It bothered her that she had so seldom seen him smile since his wife’s adulterous flight six years earlier, and she could only hope that her success in society and in marriage would lighten his grave heart.

  “Just some new cronies, Father,” William mumbled. He stretched and yawned ferociously. “Well, I’d best get some sleep if we’re to attend the ball at the Feltons’ this evening.”

  “William, I’ll say it but once.” The viscount took a seat at the head of the breakfast table. “Your comportment in London reflects on all of us. I trust you will use what intelligence you have to avoid disgracing this family any further. Is that clear?”

  Stiffly William nodded. “Yes, Father. Clear as glass.”

  “Good.”

  Lilith frowned at her brother’s back as he left the breakfast room. She’d received a sounder scolding than that from Aunt Eugenia simply for glaring at Dansbury. William had spent two evenings carousing with the man, and was only reminded to behave himself! And her brother was so thrilled with his new cronies that he refused to see the real reason someone like the infamous Marquis of Dansbury would want to have a stripling like him about.

  “Lilith, be certain tonight that you save a waltz for both Nance and Jeremy Giggins. Only a quadrille for that idiot Henning, and I think a country dance for Peter Varrick, unless they offer four waltzes for the evening.” The viscount rang for a fresh pot of tea.

  “But you’ve accounted for only three waltzes,” Lilith pointed out.

  “One must be kept free for the next most likely gentleman in attendance,” her father answered, and glanced at the footman. “Bring me the morning paper.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Lilith looked down into her tea. “Have you decided about Lionel’s proposal yet, Papa? It is the second time in a fortnight that he’s asked your permission to marry me.

  Her father nodded as the freshly ironed morning paper materialized at his elbow. “I could hope his holdings were a bit more noteworthy, but I’ve heard no ill spoken of him. I think he might do, though I intend to wait until at least the end of the week before I give my answer.”

  Though Lilith had hoped to be more excited about her impending marriage, at least her father seemed to have given up on the Duke of Wenford’s suit. And she did like Lionel, for if he was a bit…solid, he was always kind and pleasant. “It will be a relief to have a decision made.” She sighed and looked teasingly at her father. “Though I do wish Lionel was a more proficient dancer.”

  The viscount looked at her. “I don’t believe that to be a requirement for a good match,” he stated flatly. “He has an impeccable reputation. I don’t give a damn whether he can dance or not.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Lilith said, with a pained grimace. “I was only teasing, you know. Though I do like to dance.”

  Unexpectedly her father chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, my dear. As the Countess of Nance, you would have far too many duties to worry over missing a waltz or two.” He leaned forward to touch her cheek. “Even so, don’t turn away any of your other suitors until I’ve made my final decision. We can’t risk insulting anyone.”

  She nodded at him. At least he was smiling again. “Of course, Papa.”

  The bitter wind was up, howling through the narrow carriage paths dividing the mansions just beyond Mayfair. The air smelled like rain again, though there was a board up at White’s for those daring enough to wager on whether snow would fall this June. The Marquis of Dansbury had gambled on a full six inches, expecting to lose, but he was beginning to change his mind. Icy weather it was, fitting for his pursuit of an Ice Queen.

  “Why do you think that is?”

  Jack blinked and looked up at the woman seated in the overstuffed chair opposite him. “Why do I think what is?”

  Antonia St. Gerard uncurled from the deep cushions and refilled her glass with brandy. “Why we never became lovers, Jack.”

  The marquis grinned and lowered his gaze to finish perusing the brittle newspaper in his hands. “Because we’re exactly alike. Two battling tarantulas. We’d kill one another before we ever finished spawning, or whatever it is that tarantulas do.”

  With a soft chuckle, Antonia curled up again, catlike. In the firelight, her brunette hair looked the color of burnished copper. It hung down her shoulder in a single braid, curling a little at the end. “It is the female spider who kills the male after mating, is it not?” she asked in a faint French accent.

  “Another splendid reason why I’ve not engaged in the process with you, my dear.” Jack glanced up again, amused, and went back to reading.

  “When you came calling, I didn’t know you intended to sit about in my drawing room. I thought you at least wanted to play cards. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered rising yet. I didn’t go to my chambers until after seven this morning, you know.”

  “You should keep more sensible hours.”

  “Ha,” she scoffed. “If you left here at a more sensible hour, I would. One would think you never sleep.”

  He pursed his lips, continuing to read. “I don’t.”

  Antonia gestured at the stacks of newspapers resting on either side of his chair. “Whatever are you looking for in those old things, anyway?”

  “You’re the only one I know who collects back issues of the London Times,” Jack answered. “I’m looking for a death notice.”

  She shrugged, running her fingers along the rim of the glass. The fine crystal hummed an A-sharp in response. “One never knows what knowledge one may have use for later. Whose death notice?”

  “Elizabeth Benton. Lady Hamble.” He folded the paper, set it down on the stack to his left, and lifted the top issue from the even more substantial pile to his right. “No one could give me an exact date.”

  “Is this lady a relation to the handsome young man who joined us after the opera last evening?”

  “His mother.” Jack started to read again, then paused. Antonia was mercenary to the core and saw people only in terms of profit and power. Or so he had thought. He regarded her for a moment, lifting one eyebrow. “‘Handsome young man,’ Toni?”

  Antonia smiled and stretched, which did some very enticing things to the low front of her dressing gown. That sight made him wonder if it would be worth risking death or dismemberment to know her on a more intimate level. Occasionally, especially after he’d consumed several glasses of port, that question became a complicated one to answer. This morning, though, he happened to be almost completely sober and knew better than to indulge himself with her.

&nbs
p; “Handsome, yes. And wealthy as well, I assume,” she continued, “from the fact that you actually let him win a few quid from you. You never bother reeling them in unless they are exceptionally well heeled.”

  The marquis looked at her speculatively for a moment, as a slow smile curved his mouth. He’d had a hunch that Mademoiselle St. Gerard would enjoy meeting his new companion. And it obviously would serve to further ensnare Lilith Benton if he held the key to both her brother’s salvation and to his ruination. Antonia could do a fine job of ruination. He’d seen it before. “Perhaps I’ll bring him by for you later.”

  She smiled and sipped her brandy. “Thank you, Jack.”

  “My pleasure.” He began scanning the headlines of the paper he held. It was from nearly six years ago, in late May 1815, and the country—or London, at least—had been obsessed with Bonaparte and whether he would strike north from Paris and meet Wellington, or head west across the Channel and invade England itself. Jack wondered how many people knew just how close Bonaparte had actually come to doing the latter. Not many—or not many who were still alive, anyway.

  “Something intéressant?” Antonia queried.

  “Not really.” He flipped the page. “Ah, here we go. ‘Elizabeth, Lady Hamble, beloved daughter of blah blah blah, died of influenza on May 14, 1815, at the age of thirty and five’.” He sat back. “Hm.”

  “What, ‘hm’?” Antonia asked. “It says nothing.”

  “It says everything,” Jack answered. “‘Beloved daughter.’ Nothing about beloved wife or beloved mother. Her parents placed the notice.” He snapped the paper with his fingers. “Nothing about ‘she will be missed’ or whatever contributions she’d made to her title or society or her embroidery circle.”

  Antonia chuckled. “What contributions have you made, my lord marquis?” She stood and glided over to his chair, sliding her warm arm along his shoulders. “What would your death notice say?”

  “‘Jonathan Auguste Faraday, the Marquis of Dansbury, is dead. Thank God.’” He refolded the paper and dropped it back onto its pile. “Merci, Antonia.” Jack finished off his glass of port, glanced down at his pocket watch, and stood.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me why you wanted to see this death notice?”

  He shouldn’t, because although he looked upon Antonia with some affection, there was a reason she collected people’s pasts in newspapers, letters, and whatever else she could get her hands on. She’d never attempted to use anything against him, but then, he’d always made certain there wasn’t much to find, beyond the general ill manners and aversion he displayed to all his fellows. “Just a point of interest.”

  “I see,” Antonia said to his back as he headed for the door. “And does this point of interest have anything to do with a certain Ice Queen?”

  Jack stopped. Given that Ernest Landon knew of his game, most of the more disreputable ton no doubt had a fair idea what he was up to. Jack wished, though, that Antonia wasn’t quite so astute. “And where might you have heard that, my dear?”

  She rose to join him in the doorway. “Simply because you have stopped seeing Camilla doesn’t mean I have.” Antonia smiled and ran a finger along the line of his jaw. “You are very angry at this girl, yes?”

  “No. I am…irritated.” And after seeing her again yesterday, even more intent on getting Lilith Benton into his bed. Ice Queen or not, she was stunning. But he had no intention of letting Antonia know that his lusts ran toward that vein. “But I am taking steps to remedy the emotion.”

  “I have no doubt you are.” She smiled again. “Poor girl, I don’t know whether to pity her or envy her. She hasn’t a chance.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Antonia followed him as he collected his hat and greatcoat. “I have learned one thing about Miss Benton which you might find of interest, my dear,” she offered.

  Jack shrugged into his caped overcoat, wishing the damned weather would warm up before it came time for winter again. “And what might that be?”

  “Her suitors.”

  Ah, the vultures. “Yes, there are several dozen, I believe.”

  “Did you know one of them is the Duke of Wenford?”

  The marquis faced her again, myriad new possibilities and plots coming to his mind in rapid succession. He’d had no idea even the Ice Queen was that chilled. In an odd, unexpected sense, he was disappointed in her. “Oh, really?”

  Antonia chuckled. “With your gift of young William, you many consider us even, Jack.”

  “Thank you, Toni. I shall.” He tipped his hat jauntily. “I’ll see you tonight. Late, I think. I’ve several things to take care of first.”

  “I thought you might.”

  The Countess of Felton liked to consider herself progressive, so she had requested four waltzes from the substantial orchestra she had hired for the evening’s festivities. While the older guests were quick to declaim the large number of scandalous dances, the younger set in attendance voiced no complaints at all.

  Lilith wasn’t pleased, though. Not one bit. She nervously ground her palms into one another while Penelope pretended to admire a vase of sad-looking spring flowers. The poor things were likely the only ones from the countess’s garden to have survived the late frost.

  “What’s he doing now?” Lilith whispered, pressing closer against the wall and wishing she’d chosen something more drab to wear so she could escape the duke’s notice.

  “Still talking with your father,” Pen muttered out of the side of her mouth, peering through the flowers at the crowded ballroom.

  “Oh, Pen, what am I to do? Why couldn’t Lady Felton have scheduled two waltzes? Then they would have been over with before he arrived.”

  “Perhaps you could claim tired feet and leave early?”

  Lilith shook her head. “Father would be furious.” She sighed and braced her shoulders. “I shall simply have to do it. It’s only one dance, after all.”

  When her father had told her to leave the fourth waltz open for a likely peer, she hadn’t expected the Duke of Wenford to make an appearance. Or that he would ask her for a waltz, of all things. She hadn’t even been aware that he could waltz, had never imagined he would have wanted to learn the steps to something so obviously modern.

  “Oh, Lilith, I’m certain it’s not as bad as you believe. Perhaps you are only overset by…well, you know, the Marquis of Dansbury.”

  “I am not overset by Dansbury,” Lilith stated firmly. “I am annoyed by him and wish he would go away.” She emerged from her hiding place. “At least he isn’t here tonight.”

  “I still think his appearance at Lady Josephine’s recital must have been a coincidence,” Pen stated. She had been skeptical at Lilith’s suggestion that Dansbury was hunting her in revenge.

  Lilith shrugged. “I hope you’re right. It hardly seems fair, with everything else I must tend to this Season.” For nearly two months she had been dancing with, speaking with, and smiling at the most well-bred peers in London. Although she had heard the rumors that she was some sort of ice princess, she had tried to ignore them. If someone could point out a better way for her to make a match with an appropriate man, she would gladly try it.

  “Miss Benton.”

  Oh, dear. Lilith locked eyes with Pen, then swallowed and turned around. “Your Grace.” She smiled. “How wonderful that you decided to attend tonight.”

  The Duke of Wenford looked back at her, no expression on his angular, bony face. His gray eyes, sunken behind high cheekbones and severe slate gray eyebrows, assessed her, and she again felt like some sort of farm animal. For a fleeting moment she wanted to whinny at him.

  “It is time for our waltz.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Her earlier encounters with Geoffrey Remdale had been blessedly brief, requiring little conversation from her except for a few Yes, Your Graces and No, Your Graces. As they turned about the floor now, he again made no effort to engage her in conversation. Wenford danced adequately, though he moved wi
th little emotion, as though he had simply memorized the steps. At least the Earl of Nance, while he tended to step on her toes, seemed to enjoy himself. The duke might have been reading dunning notices from his creditors, for all the enthusiasm he showed.

  “You look well,” he finally said.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “You draw people’s eyes,” he elaborated. “You plan for your family’s meals, your father says.”

  Lilith didn’t like where this conversation appeared to be headed. “Yes, Your Grace, I do. But with just the four of us—”

  “Have you ever planned for large occasions?” he interrupted in the same bored, gravelly tone. “Balls, dinner parties?”

  “No, Your Grace. I have not.” She was abruptly grateful that her father had kept them in virtual seclusion in Northamptonshire.

  “I’ll have someone teach you. If you’re too stupid to learn, I’ll hire someone. No matter. You look the part.”

  Lilith’s heart and her feet faltered. The duke’s lips tightened in annoyance as she stumbled, and she quickly gathered herself. “Your…Your Grace, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she stammered. This was a nightmare. It simply couldn’t be happening—it couldn’t!

  “No need. Your father and I have a few more points to settle, but I’ve little necessity for whatever pittance of a dowry you’ll bring me. I doubt there will be any other complications.”

  Feeling abandoned by her wits, Lilith wished she was one of those silly girls who could simply faint. “You—you take me by surprise, Your Grace. You must know that I cannot give my ans—”

  “As I said,” he interrupted impatiently, “it will be a few days before everything is settled. Until then, you are not to say anything about it.” He frowned, the glowering expression the most natural she had yet seen on his face. “No need to stir up trouble with the damned wags.”

  The set ended. “Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered through the applause. He returned her to the edge of the floor, then without a backward glance made his way over to join the group of older peers who had commandeered the warmest area in the room, before the fireplace.