Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Nonsense. After what he did to Lilith, seeing Old Hatchet Face dead is certainly not going to offend my sensibilities.”

  “I hope not.” Jack lifted one of the lanterns off the wall and lit it. Racks and shelves of wine bottles, illuminated by the yellow flicker, spread out in all directions in the substantial cellar. Moving silently, he carefully guided William along the wall and down an aisle. “Rather clever of your sister to send me off on her little errand while she gets a good night’s sleep, don’t you think?” he muttered.

  “It would hardly be seemly for her to be creeping about the Duke of Wenford’s house in the middle of the night.”

  “Just as well,” the marquis murmured, turning his head at a slight rustling off to his left. “I’m nearly out of ammunition today, and I don’t think she means to take prisoners.” A faint meow sounded behind the shelving. Thank goodness Wenford kept cats down here to stop rats from chewing his corks, or the sight they came upon might have been a good deal less palatable than William was prepared for.

  “Lil’s not so bad, you know. And it’s not her fault, really.”

  They rounded the end of the shelves. Behind him, William made a small sound in his throat and stopped. Wenford lay where Jack and Milgrew had left him, sprawled on his back in the altogether, a bottle of bad wine clutched in one hand. His clothes lay in a neat pile between his feet. With a sigh, Jack handed the lantern to William and squatted down beside the naked corpse.

  “Good God,” William whispered, the lantern wavering in his hand.

  “Hold the damned light still,” Jack hissed. The earring was in neither of the duke’s hands, nor was it among his clothes. Jack spent several minutes looking about the dirt- and straw-covered floor. He found two pence which had likely fallen out of Wenford’s pockets, but no pearls. “So tell me,” he said over his shoulder, as he began working his way along the base of the nearest racks, “why isn’t Miss Benton’s concern with respectability her own fault?”

  “You’ve likely heard the story about our mother and the Earl of Greyton, yes?”

  “I seem to recall something about it.”

  “Well, I suppose it was all true. Mother was quite a bit wilder than Father was comfortable with. It was an arranged marriage, you know. To be honest, I don’t think he had a clue how to deal with her. When she abandoned us for Greyton—well, Father swore he would never forgive her. And he didn’t.”

  “And he pulled you out of London over it.”

  William nodded. “Lil was twelve. And from that moment, he made certain she knew that Mother’s blood was tainted and that it was her duty to redeem the Benton name. Lil took it all very seriously. She used to make herself sick with seeing that everything was just so. And Father and that old stick Eugenia would damned well point it out if she missed anything.”

  Jack turned one of the coins in his fingers, then pocketed it. “Seems a great deal of responsibility for a little girl.”

  “Too much,” William agreed promptly. “But she’s never stopped trying. And with me for a brother, I sometimes think regaining the Colonies would be an easier task.”

  The floorboards above them creaked, and Jack lifted his head as a light shower of dust drifted down around them. Compared to him, William was a saint. He sighed in the near dark. “Which would place me somewhere between Falstaff and the Devil himself.”

  William chuckled. “Closer to the latter, I think.”

  That explained a great many things he’d observed about Lilith Benton. No wonder she came near to throwing a blue fit every time he approached. He threatened to collapse the carefully constructed respectability she’d worked nonstop for six years to build. On the other hand, he couldn’t forget the way she’d responded to his kiss, or the way she’d shivered at his light caresses. She liked being touched. She liked his touch. Jack gave a slight smile. Perhaps the angel secretly wondered what it would be like to be in the devil’s embrace. The devil certainly wondered.

  “What now?”

  Jack glanced up again. “Wait here a moment. If anyone comes, hide.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Upstairs. There’s something I need to check.”

  “Jack…” the boy protested, as the marquis headed for the stairs leading up to the kitchen.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder.

  The duke had been missing for two days now, and he half expected the house to be in an uproar. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful, however, as he crept down the hallway and made his way to Wenford’s private office. Nothing looked as though it had been touched, so no one had been by to look for clues to the duke’s whereabouts. In the second drawer of the antique oak desk, he found the account ledger he was looking for.

  More than a dozen entries over the last two pages were for debts he knew came from Dolph Remdale, including one of the final notations, for twelve hundred and seventy-seven pounds. The blunt for the diamond pin had come from the uncle. From the look of it, Dolph lost regularly, and heavily, at gambling, and no doubt Wenford made his nephew plead for every penny he required to make good on the losses.

  Jack sat back in the chair. Old Hatchet Face certainly had picked a convenient time to end up dead. A week or two later and he might have been wed to Lilith Benton, and even possibly have an heir on the way—and Dolph wouldn’t have been able to inherit. Now, as soon as the death was discovered, Dolph Remdale would become a very wealthy, and very powerful, individual.

  Admittedly, it was likely nothing more than wishful thinking to hope that one of the Remdales had done the other in. Wenford had been old and given to fits of rage, and there was nothing odd in the idea that he would simply expire from it. On the other hand, Jack had never been one to discount luck. And that was why he took the account ledger and moved it to one of the bookshelves, where he stuffed it behind a volume of Aristotle. No one would think to look for it there—at least, not for some time.

  He slipped back out and through the kitchen, making his way into the darkness of the cold cellar. “William?” he whispered, looking about blindly.

  “Thank God,” came the muttered response from almost directly behind him.

  He spun to see William lowering a bottle of wine, and snatched it away from him. “This bottle is sixty-five years old,” he hissed. “If you’re going to crown someone, do it with a bad vintage.”

  “Sorry,” William grumbled. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “One can only hope. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 9

  Lilith awoke with a dreadful headache, her sleep destroyed by dreams of dead dukes, and dark-eyed demons with charming smiles and deep, seductive voices. And the ache in her head didn’t ease in the least when William appeared in the breakfast room to inform her where he had spent a portion of the evening.

  “You went where?” she gasped, setting aside her knife lest she should be tempted to damage her brother, or herself, with it.

  “Jack needed someone to hold the lantern.” Her brother shrugged, unperturbed, and reached for the platter of ham.

  “I can’t believe he would involve you in this,” she sputtered, then considered what she was saying. “Yes, I can believe it,” she amended. “Blast him.”

  “I volunteered,” William countered, loyal to the last.

  Something else which Jack Faraday had no doubt arranged. “Was there any sign of commotion at Remdale House?” she asked, uncertain whether Jack had mentioned the earring to her brother, and unwilling to explain to William the particulars of how Wenford might have come to have it in his possession, if he didn’t already know.

  William grinned. “Only when Jack nearly took my head off for trying to crown him with an expensive bottle of wine.”

  “Whatever did you try to crown Dansbury for?” she exclaimed.

  “It was dark. I couldn’t bloody tell who was creeping back down into the cellar.”

  Lilith looked at him. Something was missing from this tale, and she didn’t think
she would like knowing what it might be. “Exactly where was the marquis creeping back from?”

  “Jack went looking for something or other upstairs. I don’t know what it was about, and as usual, he didn’t care to inform me.”

  “Perhaps you should have crowned him with the bottle, then.” She hated not knowing what that scoundrel was up to, especially with so much of her own well-being and peace-of-mind at stake.

  William snorted and shook his head. “Said it was too good a year, and next time to crown him with a bad vintage. Never even seen Jack near a bad vintage. He keeps his own store of port at half the clubs in town. Even the bottle he gave Wenford that night was first class, and he don’t—didn’t—like Old Hatchet Face.”

  Lilith’s breath and her heart stopped, and then began again painfully. “That bottle was from his own stock?” she whispered.

  She’d only been teasing before, when she’d suggested that Jack had been more directly involved in Wenford’s death than he let on. But abruptly it wasn’t so amusing. The problem was that after the splendid time she’d had last night, she wasn’t certain she wanted to believe the worst about the Marquis of Dansbury any longer. He’d been so charming and witty, and even generous, and the Lord knew he was handsome as sin itself. Whether that gentleman was just another pose he’d fancied for the evening, or whether the true Jack Faraday had made a rare appearance, she had no idea. She started when Bevins scratched at the door.

  “Miss Benton,” he intoned, holding out his tray with a card deposited on it, “Lord Hutton asks if you have a moment to spare.”

  “I say. Hutton? That’s Jack’s—”

  “Excuse me, William,” she interrupted. She owed enough of her reputation to Bevins’ silence, and had no wish to trust him with any more than absolutely necessary. Lilith smiled as William looked at her suspiciously. “I promised Lord Hutton a cutting of my Madame Hardy rose. I hadn’t realized he was so anxious for it.” She rose and playfully patted William on the head. “I’ll be right back. Stay out of trouble, if you please.”

  Richard stood in the hallway, admiring the vase of yellow-pink roses she had set in the vase there. “Lord Penzance,” he said.

  “They are particular favorites of mine.”

  “Mine as well.” He took her hand. “I apologize for hurrying over like this, but I happened to be coming this way, and I thought—”

  “I’m delighted you came by,” Lilith said warmly, grateful for the distraction. Outside the Marquis of Dansbury’s presence, Lord Hutton showed much of the same warmth that she had appreciated in his wife. “Do you wish a cup of tea?”

  He shook his head. “I really haven’t enough time, but thank you.”

  “Then let me show you my treasures.”

  The admiration Lord Hutton showed her rose garden was quite gratifying. In addition, his presence could serve another, more useful, purpose. “I hadn’t realized the Marquis of Dansbury was a relation of yours,” she said, rubbing her hands together against the cold, and attempting to stifle the inner voice that said she was being sneaky and manipulative. One must fight fire with fire, after all.

  “Yes,” he answered shortly, glancing up at her before he went back to his selection. “Jack actually introduced me to Alison. Might I possibly have a cutting of your Anne of Gierstein?”

  “Of course.” Lilith handed him her clippers. “He seems a very…independent individual,” she ventured.

  “I’ll give him that.” Richard winced as a thorn pricked his finger. “Jack’s ruffled more feathers than a fox in a pigeon coop.”

  Apparently Jack had considerably ruffled Lord Hutton’s feathers, as well. “He and the Remdales certainly don’t seem to get along.”

  He glanced at her again. “No, they don’t. It goes back a long way—something about a piece of land Jack’s grandfather lost in a wager, and now the Remdales won’t sell it back. Not likely to, either, with Jack antagonizing Wenford all the time.”

  Lilith suddenly wished Richard hadn’t been so forthcoming. Perhaps Jack Faraday did have a motive for disposing of Wenford, after all. It was unthinkable, but neither could she ignore what she’d learned, especially in conjunction with the bottle of port.

  That latest bit of information continued to disturb her all morning and most of the way through her luncheon with Pen and Lady Sanford, despite the warming weather and the lovely outdoor café they had discovered.

  “Oh, that’s Darlene McFadden.” Lady Sanford looked across the avenue and smiled. “I hadn’t realized she was in London this summer,” she continued, eyeing the tall redhead entering a hat shop. “I’ll be right back.” She picked up her reticule and hurried across the street.

  “She’ll be gone for an hour,” Penelope giggled, looking after her. Abruptly she straightened. “Isn’t that William?”

  “Where?”

  Pen pointed out at the street. A phaeton emblazoned with the Hamble crest passed by, with William holding the reins. At the sight of her brother’s companion, Lilith groaned. “He said he was going picnicking, but I didn’t know it was with Antonia St. Gerard.”

  “That’s Antonia St. Gerard?” Pen said, looking after them with a downcast expression. “I heard that she never comes out of doors in daylight.”

  Lilith sighed and picked up her napkin. “Apparently he was able to convince her. He makes me so angry sometimes, the way he gets an idea in his thick skull and runs off before he considers anything.”

  “I think he’s quite nice,” Penelope countered, spooning sugar into her tea. “He always makes me laugh.”

  Lilith looked at her friend. “Do you fancy my brother. Pen?” she asked, surprised.

  Penelope blushed. “Perhaps.” She held her napkin over her mouth. “A little.”

  “Well, I hope he comes to his senses, then,” Lilith said feelingly, as she watched the phaeton disappear down the street. “He’s been behaving like…like a rakehell, since he was captured by Dansbury.”

  Pen gave a small frown, and Lilith nodded. “I don’t hold out much hope for his reputation, or his pocketbook, unless I can free him from Jack Faraday’s talons.”

  “Does that make me a bird of prey, or a dragon?” The marquis’s deep voice came from behind her, and she realized why Penelope had been frowning.

  She blushed as he pulled up a chair and sat. He was obviously amused at her insults, and she began to fume. “Definitely a fire-breathing dragon,” she returned hotly.

  “Hm,” the marquis murmured, looking at her with enigmatic eyes. “Dragons are rather fond of…virginal young women, are they not?”

  “Oh, my,” Pen whispered, blushing bright red and fanning her face.

  Lilith refused to be shocked. “That’s rather weak-hearted prey for such a fearsome beast, don’t you think?”

  “Only if you equate virginity with timidity.” He planted his elbow on the table, and chin on his hand, gazed speculatively at Lilith. “I have no doubt you could slay a dragon, if you wished.”

  “Actually, I’ve been considering something very like that, Lord Dansbury,” she returned, narrowing her eyes. She wished that for once he would quit playing these blasted games and let her know what he was truly thinking.

  “Lilith!” Pen exclaimed.

  “Oh, it’s all right, Miss Sanford. I’m quite used to it. Miss Benton and I have a rather unique bond.”

  “You do?” Pen asked hesitantly, glancing over wide-eyed at her friend, who sat stiff-backed as Dansbury signaled for a cup of coffee.

  “Oh, yes. One of the many curious aspects is that she never asks me questions directly,” the marquis continued, turning to meet Lilith’s gaze, “but rather goes to my relations to pry into my personal affairs.”

  So he had found out that she had spoken to Lord Hutton. “What the marquis doesn’t realize,” Lilith said to Pen, though her gaze remained on Dansbury, “is that if he were as forthcoming as he claims to be, no one would need to go elsewhere for potential…evidence.” She used the word intentionally, and w
as pleased to see a muscle twitch in his cheek.

  Dansbury took a swallow of his coffee and gazed into the cup for a moment. “You were much friendlier last night.”

  “Last night, I was not aware that a certain bottle of port came from a private stock. I have also been enlightened as to a disputed piece of property.”

  “Richard is a damned gossip.” Jack scowled.

  “So you say. What is your explanation for the bottle?”

  Pen looked from one to the other, obviously mystified by the conversation. That was just as well, for Lilith didn’t wish her friend involved in what could still be a gargantuan scandal.

  Jack shook his head and leaned forward, brushing the back of her hand gently with one finger before she shivered and pulled it away. “What I think, Lilith,” he said softly, “is that sooner or later you are going to run out of excuses about me. And then what are you going to do?”

  A faint blush crept up her cheeks. “You can play at words all you like, my lord. It changes nothing.”

  “There are other things I’d rather play at,” he responded suggestively.

  “Cards, I would assume?” Lilith was half-surprised that her voice remained steady, confronted with those eyes that saw so much more about her than she wanted to reveal.

  He reached over to pick up one of her biscuits and took a bite. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose it will suffice. For now.”

  “Go away, you scoundrel!” Furious and disconcerted, Lilith clenched her glass of ratafia.

  Apparently remembering the candy dish, the marquis stood. “Perhaps we may continue this later, Miss Benton.” He dug into his pocket to pull out a five-pound note, which he tossed onto their table. “My compliments for the biscuit and the conversation,” he said, grinning down at her. He walked away, but after a few steps paused and looked back. “By the way, there were no pearls before that swine.” With a nod at Pen, he turned and strolled off down the street, whistling cheerily.

  “Do you still think he’s trying to ruin you?” Pen asked, watching after him. “Because it didn’t seem that way to me.”