Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  The marquis turned to see Lilith Benton wiping surprise from her face as she quickly looked away from him and took her hostess’s hand. “Indeed I am, Mrs. Falshond. Thank you for inviting us.”

  Jack watched Lilith as she glanced once more in his direction, then quickly away. He felt it again—that queer lifting of his heart which seemed to coincide with her presence. He’d felt it for the first time last night—light, airy, and completely absurd—when she’d slammed into him at the Gardens. He’d canceled his weekly fencing bout to track her down and find out if it would happen again. He was both intrigued and consternated that it had.

  Jack spent the next hour sampling teas from around the world, and charming a roomful of hostile females. Miss Benton remained uncharacteristically silent, but over the course of their several encounters, he had noted that she only seemed to voice her opinion when there was no one of import to overhear her. Evidently she considered him to be of no import—which was acceptable, if it provided him with the opportunity to continue speaking with her.

  Something about the entire situation was askew, but that realization was as intriguing as was the chit herself. Finally he cornered her between a table and the fireplace, while Price unenthusiastically occupied Mrs. Falshond and Lilith’s annoying aunt.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Benton,” he said, reaching over her shoulder for a teacake.

  She started and then quickly glanced in her aunt’s direction. “Lord Dansbury.”

  He smiled as she picked up a pastry, keeping her back carefully turned to him. She might think she was doing her duty by ignoring him, but she certainly made no other attempt to get away. “Have you tried the Madagascar blend?” he asked, brushing his hand down her sleeve as he indicated the nearest teapot.

  “No.” She stayed where she was, as though rooted to the spot.

  “I recommend it,” he continued, reaching for another teacake and trapping her between his body and the table. “Quite subtle, with a light tang of spice in the aftertaste.”

  “Really.”

  Lilith lowered her head to set down her plate, and Jack very nearly kissed the slender, curved nape of her neck. He took a deep breath, wondering for a fleeting moment just who was seducing whom. “Rather like you, I would imagine.”

  “Do go away,” she whispered.

  “Do face me when you’re speaking to me,” he returned.

  Tightly she shook her head. “I’m not speaking to you.”

  “I beg to differ.” She smelled of lavender and tea, and as his breath lightly touched her hair, she shivered. “You are speaking volumes.”

  Lilith’s shoulders heaved with the breath she took, then she turned around and met his gaze directly. “Now will you go away?”

  Price cleared his throat, indicating he’d lost his sway over the two hens.

  “One day,” Jack murmured to Lilith, bringing her hand to his lips and softly kissing her knuckles, “you will ask me to stay.”

  “Lilith,” her aunt’s stern voice came.

  “I shall not, my lord.”

  He smiled and returned her plate to her hands. “We shall see.”

  Lilith and Aunt Eugenia headed directly from the tea sampling to join Penelope and Lady Sanford at their dressmaker’s. Eugenia immediately plunked herself down beside Lady Sanford in the shop window. “Imagine my horror, Daphne,” she said breathlessly, “at stepping into the room to see the devil himself there before us. The Marquis of Dansbury, pretending to be interested in sampling tea!”

  Pen looked sideways at Lilith. “Dansbury was there?” she mouthed.

  Trying to overhear the rest of her aunt’s remarks, Lilith gave a small nod. As the conversation turned to a recitation of Dansbury’s past duels and mad, drunken wagers, she impatiently stepped over to eye the nearly finished gown draped over a mannequin. “Are you certain it’s not too daring?” she asked the dressmaker.

  “Mais non, mademoiselle,” Madame Belieu protested. “You will see when you try it on. It will be parfaite.”

  Lilith had her doubts. The emerald green silk was quite low-cut—something that the Marquis of Dansbury would no doubt find perfectly acceptable, but his standards were so low as to be practically invisible.

  Aunt Eugenia scowled. “It’s perfectly—”

  “Lovely.” Lady Sanford smiled approvingly. “It will show you off to fine advantage. And with the cold weather, dark colors are quite fashionable this Season. A splendid choice, Eugenia.”

  “Hm. Thank you, Daphne,” Eugenia said, sending the gown another distasteful look.

  Lilith smiled gratefully. The gown was truly beautiful, and she had never been allowed to wear such a thing before.

  “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 ha
nd 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.