Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Well, at least that’s over with,” Penelope grinned, prancing up beside her. “Was it awful?”

  Lilith was shaking. She kept trying to turn what Wenford had said, so that his words wouldn’t mean what she knew they did. “He’s going to marry me.”

  “What?” Pen exclaimed, then covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyes wide, she looked in the duke’s direction. “He said so?”

  “My pittance of a dowry doesn’t concern him. He thinks I’d look an adequate duchess.” Hysteria pulled at the edge of her mind, and she concentrated on breathing evenly.

  “But Lil, surely your father won’t make you. He’s so strange and…awful!”

  “Who’s awful?”

  “William!” Lilith jumped, and turned to see her brother standing beside her, two glasses of punch clasped in his hands. “Shh.”

  “All right, but who’s awful?” he whispered, handing her and Pen the punch. Lilith took a long swallow, but it didn’t help.

  “The Duke of Wenford is,” Penelope answered, when Lilith didn’t.

  “Old Hatchet Face?” William followed her gaze. “He’d send Beelzebub running. Why?”

  “He’s going to marry Lil.” Penelope looked sorrowfully at her friend.

  “What?” William lifted both eyebrows. “You’re bamming me.”

  “I’m not. Really,” Pen returned, blushing.

  “Pen, hush,” Lilith said urgently, hoping her father was nowhere near. “It’s to be a secret until it’s arranged.”

  “Perhaps I should pretend I didn’t hear anything, then,” a deep, musical voice said from behind her.

  Lilith froze. Deliberately, she took another swallow of punch to steady her nerves and her wits before she turned around. The Marquis of Dansbury stood gazing down at her, his dark eyes dusky and cynical. His lips pursed in a faint grin, he handed William a glass of punch, keeping another for himself. Again his dress was plain, dark gray and blue, leavened only by an exquisite diamond pin on his cravat. He was truly handsome as the devil, and apparently at least as tenacious.

  “I believe I made my feelings about speaking to you quite clear,” she said stiffly. Remembering her aunt’s warning about staring, she turned away.

  “Seems you’ve little time for me, anyway,” he said smoothly, “now that you have five proposals to sift through. A record at this early stage of the Season, I believe, though I’ll have to check the wagering books at White’s to be certain. Madeleine, the Marchioness of Telgore, may have had as many as seven before she finally settled on Wallace, but that was over the course of an entire Season.”

  Lilith sent him a disdainful look. “My state of matrimony need not concern you, my lord. And do stop following me everywhere.”

  “Following you?” Far from slinking away, as he should have, the marquis took a step closer. “Following you,” he mused again, rubbing his chin as though trying to decide what she meant. “Oh, of course. The opera. And Lady Josephine’s recital, I suppose. Lovely girl, don’t you think? Quite talented, though she seemed a bit nervous.”

  “You are…evil!” Lilith blurted out, flushing.

  “Lilith!” Pen exclaimed, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, dear me, that does put my plans into some disarray.”

  “What plans, Jack?” William asked unhelpfully.

  Lilith clenched her jaw, determined to say nothing else to the scoundrel.

  His gaze remained on her. “I had intended to throw my hat in, and become your sister’s sixth suitor.”

  That was too much. “You?” she scoffed. “You would be wasting your headgear.”

  “Better you should tread on my hat than on my heart,” he replied, looking at her from beneath dark lashes.

  “You haven’t one,” she retorted promptly.

  A wicked, twinkling amusement touched his eyes. “Only because you’ve broken it.”

  It was amazing that someone hadn’t disposed of him in a duel long ago. “Would that the destruction of it had killed you.”

  “But then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You know, I thought you weren’t speaking to me. I do wish you would make up your mind.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I should have offered to throw down my gauntlet, instead of my hat.”

  His laugh was as musical as his voice, and his smile…“Lilith caught herself staring at him yet again, and shook herself. There was no excuse for her to be ogling this villain, however physically attractive he might be—or for her to forget either her temper or her manners.

  “At least one of us is amused at your cleverness,” she said coolly. “And it is not me, my lor—”

  “Lilith,” Penelope hissed, clutching her friend’s arm, “he’s coming back.”

  Indeed, Wenford had left his companions and was strolling in their direction. To speak with him again tonight would be more than she could bear. She needed time to discuss the situation with her father, to make her feelings of revulsion toward Wenford clear to him before it was too late.

  “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

  The marquis had followed her gaze. “I suppose I should tender him my congratulations.” He stepped around her.

  “Don’t you dare,” Lilith gasped, paling. Wenford would think her a complete gossip, and her father would be furious.

  Dansbury paused, grinning at her over his shoulder. “If we were speaking, I might be convinced to listen to you.” He strolled toward the duke.

  “William,” Lilith commanded frantically, jabbing a finger in the marquis’s direction, “stop him!”

  “Ah, Lil, he’s just looking for a bit of fun with Old Hatchet Face. It’ll put him in a jolly mood, and I want him to take me to the Society tonight.”

  “William, he must not—”

  “Wenford,” the Marquis of Dansbury called in a carrying voice, “I hear that congratulations are due.”

  Cold gray eyes flicked in her direction before they turned to the marquis. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dansbury. As usual, you seem to be acting a complete fool.”

  The acid in the duke’s tone surprised Lilith. Realizing that His Grace had as little liking for the marquis as she did was hardly a comfort, though. In fact, it almost made her look more kindly upon Dansbury. Beside her, Penelope watched the exchange in astonishment while William grinned in admiration of his mentor.

  “Not as foolish as some,” Dansbury replied, glancing down and brushing an imaginary speck of dust from the lapel of his blue coat. The motion brought the duke’s, and their audience’s, attention to the exquisite diamond in his cravat.

  The Duke of Wenford flushed furiously. “You are a thief, boy!” he snarled, striding forward.

  Dansbury gracefully sidestepped. “Now I’m afraid it is my turn to be baffled,” he returned apologetically. “I thought the larcenist was you.”

  “That pin belongs to the Remdale family, and you know it, you blackguard!” Wenford shouted.

  The orchestra raggedly halted, and the dancers on the ballroom floor turned two by two to watch the proceedings. The Countess of Felton stood by the refreshment table looking positively elated. Thanks to Wenford and Dansbury, her ball had just become the event of the Season.

  The marquis looked down at the bauble, as though puzzled at all the commotion it was causing. “This diamond was purchased just this evening with an exceedingly fortuitous throw of the dice,” he drawled. “It now belongs to the Faraday family.”

  “Damn them all to hell!” Spittle flecked the duke’s lips.

  “Do you think there’ll be a duel?” Pen whispered excitedly.

  Lilith shook her head regretfully. “From what I’ve heard of him, no one would dare challenge Dansbury—though I wouldn’t complain if they killed one another.”

  Pen covered her mouth with both hands to smother her giggles.

  “That pin has been in my family for generations,” Wenford growled, coming another step closer to the marquis.

  “Apparently your nephew places less value on its possession th
an you do. Otherwise he would have seen fit to carry more blunt with him to Boodle’s, or he would have dropped out of the game when it became too rich for his blood. Never gamble where you can’t win. ’Twas you who taught my family that lesson.”

  The duke’s hands clenched, his color becoming an alarming crimson. “You—”

  “Besides,” Dansbury continued, glancing at Lilith, “you have another possession you’re about to acquire anyway, do you not?”

  “Oh, no,” Lilith whispered, wishing to sink into the floor as half the rapt audience looked in her direction, the whispers gaining more volume. “That villain!”

  “That is none of your bloody concern. Give me my pin.”

  Dansbury smiled at Lilith, and then with apparent reluctance returned his attention to Wenford. “I apologize, Your Grace, but I am quite late for an engagement.” The marquis strolled for the door. Just before he vanished through the wide entryway, he paused. “Seeing Your Grace’s attachment to the trinket, however, if you or your nephew would care to call on me tomorrow, I would be pleased to return it to your family for its table value.”

  “Which was?” Wenford sputtered.

  “Twelve hundred seventy-seven quid,” Dansbury returned, and exited.

  For a moment the duke glared after him. Then, with an angry roar of commentary, his gray-haired cronies joined him in sending a chorus of black oaths in the marquis’s direction.

  William started as though coming out of a trance. “Od’s blood,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Isn’t he top of the trees?” He handed his glass of punch to Lilith and strode for the door after the marquis.

  “Oh, my,” Penelope said wonderingly. “He’s not afraid of anything, is he?” She fanned her face again. “And you were right, Lil. He is after you.” She blushed again. “He wants to be your sixth suitor.”

  Lilith’s pulse fluttered. “Nonsense. He’s merely angry at me for cutting him, and this is his diabolical way of gaining revenge.”

  Penelope thought about that for a moment. “You may be right,” she conceded, “though I think you’re simply overcome. I know I am, and I wasn’t even at the center of it.”

  “I wish I hadn’t been. I have no desire to anger His Grace.”

  “Lilith.” Her father stalked up to the two of them. “Your brother is a complete idiot.”

  “Yes, Papa, I know.”

  The viscount nodded stiffly at Penelope. “Apologies, Miss Sanford, but I must collect Lilith.” He took his daughter’s arm. “Best if we not stay about, with Wenford in such a foul mood.”

  Finally they were in agreement over the duke. “Papa, has His Grace spoken to you about—”

  “We’ll discuss it later, daughter.”

  “Lil,” Pen said, taking her hand, “Mama and I’ve asked Lady Georgina Longstreet to the Vauxhall Gardens soirée tomorrow evening. Do come with us.”

  Lilith had little liking for the rowdy crowds of the Gardens, and she started to decline. “I—”

  “Will Lady Georgina’s mother be in attendance?” Lord Hamble cut in.

  “I don’t know if the marchioness will accompany us or not,” Pen replied. “She was invited, of course.”

  “Lilith would be delighted to attend,” the viscount answered for her.

  No doubt he wanted the ton to see her in the company of the marchioness and her daughter, especially after tonight’s unpleasantness. And in truth, it would be more fun than sitting at home and having Aunt Eugenia deliver another of her endless lectures on propriety and etiquette, as though Lilith hadn’t memorized absolutely everything by now. She smiled. “I’d love to go.”

  Aunt Eugenia waited for them at the entryway, outraged indignation on her thin alabaster face. “The nerve of that man,” she snapped, “to practically assault His Grace that way. He’s very bad ton, and I can’t believe he’s still allowed to roam free, after everything he’s done.” She glared at her brother. “And your own son is hanging after him like a dog looking for a bone. For shame, Stephen. Mrs. Pindlewide has already remarked on it, and her husband is very influential with Lord Liverpool.”

  “William’s association with that blackguard will end as soon as the fool returns home,” Viscount Hamble returned stiffly.

  Lilith could only hope he was right. The more distance placed between Jack Faraday and herself, the safer she would feel.

  Chapter 4

  Nine o’clock in the morning was far too early for visitors, but the Marquis of Dansbury had a very good idea of who must be pounding at his front door. With a groan he sat up and rubbed his temples. William Benton had grumbled and whined to be taken to the Society club, and rather than listen to the continuous drivel, Jack had given in, little liking as he had for the snobberies there. His aching head was proof enough that his encounter with the Duke of Wenford had irritated him more than he had realized. The Remdale clan always seemed to bring out the worst in him.

  His valet scratched tentatively at the door. “My lord?”

  “Come in, Martin. I’m awake, and fairly civilized this morning.”

  Martin stepped into the room and handed over a cup of hot, strong American coffee, generally used to placate him when his mood was less civilized. Jack took a grateful sip as his valet headed for the mahogany wardrobe. His servants were a generally impudent bunch, which was how he liked it, and Martin would get around to telling him who was at the door in his own good time.

  “Which demeanor do you wish to present this morning, my lord?”

  Or perhaps he wouldn’t tell. “Who’s at the blasted door, Martin?” he growled.

  “Peese says it’s Randolph Remdale. He’s waiting, quite impatiently, I believe, in the morning room. I had thought him a gentleman of good breeding, but to come calling at this hour, I must say—”

  “The nephew, hm?” Jack interrupted, uninterested in Martin’s tirade. It was only for effect, and they both knew it. “I thought so. Something conservative, I think. It will annoy him excessively.”

  The valet frowned. “Why would that—”

  “I wish to make certain he remembers that I outrank him.” He shrugged out of his nightshirt and tossed it onto the bed. He hated wearing the damned things, and if the blasted weather would warm up, he wouldn’t bother with them. “At least, I do for the moment, anyway.”

  After he dressed in a stolid brown coat that looked better suited to a banker than a nobleman, he dropped the diamond pin into his waistcoat pocket and asked Martin to remain in his chambers. “I will be going out directly, and in something less…stiff.”

  “You look better in your worst than most do in their best, if I say so myself.”

  Jack grinned. “Compliments like that will get you an extra five quid in your pay envelope, Martin.”

  The valet bowed his long frame. “They always do, my lord.”

  As he made his way downstairs, Jack reflected that his little game seemed to be skittering a bit off the path. Last evening Lilith had been amusing, by God—five times brighter than any other debutante he’d had the misfortune to come across. He loved a challenge, and whether she intended it or not, Lilith had just raised the stakes. Knowing she had the wits for a battle would make her imminent downfall even more entertaining.

  William, though, was another sort entirely. He’d never seen a lad so determined to earn a tarnished reputation since—well, since himself. It was actually quite enlightening to view the proceedings from the far end of the hell he had put himself through when he’d come into the title at seventeen. Of course, he’d been on his own then. William was far luckier. There was no more willing, or proficient, tutor than himself when it came to self-destruction.

  Peese stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “My lord,” the butler said, handing over Dolph Remdale’s card, “I informed Mr. Remdale that you hadn’t yet risen, but his reply was unrepeatable.”

  “So repeat it.”

  Peese grinned. “He said I was to get you and whatever plum-assed baggage you were rutting with out
of bed and downstairs immediately.”

  “Hm. Did he want to see me or the baggage?”

  “He didn’t say, milord, but I assumed it was you.”

  With a fleeting smile, Jack examined the calling card. Finely inked and bordered with delicate swirls, its refined effect was spoiled by the sweat-stained, bent edges. Dolph Remdale was obviously not in a good mood. “Thank you, Peese. I will require breakfast in five minutes.”

  “In the morning room, my lord?” the butler asked in confusion.

  Jack glanced at him. “If you insist.”

  Peese squinted, then gave up trying to interpret the remark. “Yes, my lord.” The butler stepped down the hallway and opened the door to the morning room.

  The heir presumptive to the Duke of Wenford stood scowling out the front window. There was one thing for which Jack could be grateful to Lilith Benton: making trouble for the Remdales was something he would gladly do. Lilith was a damned fool to take up with Wenford, title or not. Then again, she’d been a damned fool for insulting the Marquis of Dansbury. For a bright chit, she seemed to make poor choices rather regularly.

  Jack paused in the doorway to watch his guest. Antonia St. Gerard had on several occasions referred to Randolph Remdale as London’s blond Adonis. It was widely speculated that the only reason he hadn’t married was that he hadn’t yet come across a woman grand enough to be the Duchess of Wenford once he inherited the title. Jack suspected his continued bachelorhood had more to do with Remdale’s short temper and his unwillingness to share the mirrors in his home on St. George’s Street.

  “Good morning, Remdale,” he drawled, strolling into the room. “Should I go through the pretense of asking why you’re here, or shall we just—”

  “This is beyond belief,” Dolph snarled, turning to glare at Jack with his much-admired blue eyes. “I told you I would make good on that pin. There was no need for you to go about flaunting it in public.”

  Jack nodded, unmoved. The reason he had gone to the trouble of winning everything out of Dolph’s pockets last night, and then suggesting the pin as collateral, was so he could go about flaunting it, after all. “I believe what you said was, ‘Take the damned thing and be done with it.’” He reached over to adjust Sir Joshua Reynolds’ portrait of his father. The old marquis hadn’t quite managed a smile even for immortality. Thank God his wife had been imbued with sense of humor enough for both of them. “Or do I err?”