Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Because he didn’t wish it to.” Lilith set her glass back on the table carefully, so Pen wouldn’t see that her hands had begun to shake. He’d taken the trouble to go look for her earring and then had sought her out to let her know he’d been unsuccessful. No one could upset her equilibrium like that dratted man!

  “I know you don’t like that he’s become friends with your brother, but don’t you find him attractive?” Pen pursued. “He’s quite handsome, and so very…scandalous.” She shuddered delicately.

  “And you find that attractive?” Lilith queried, refusing to look after him.

  “Don’t you? The way you were talking together, it seemed as though you were absolutely going to devour one another! I hadn’t realized you could be so ferocious.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Lilith shot back, angry that Pen might think her behavior improper.

  “It was meant as one,” Penelope answered, obviously hurt. “I wish someone would look at me the way he looked at you.”

  Lilith paused, very curious as to what her friend had seen in the Marquis of Dansbury. “How did he look at me?”

  “As though he was absorbing everything about you, inside and out.”

  A cascade of shivers ran up Lilith’s arms. She turned to look in the direction Dansbury had gone, but he had vanished. This time, she was disappointed. Wenford had best be found soon, for she couldn’t stand much more of the emotional confusion the last weeks had awakened in her.

  Jack stood and stretched, then strolled over to the nearest window to look out at the rain, falling steadily outside in the darkness. Behind him the noisy game of faro resumed without him, and he sighed as he leaned against the wall and sipped his glass of port. He’d been losing slowly but steadily all evening, to an altogether poor group of opponents. And he had a damned good idea why.

  “You are quiet tonight,” Antonia commented, coming up behind him and sliding her arm through his.

  “I am being reflective,” he corrected, not looking down at her.

  “A dangerous pastime for one such as you. Unless you are plotting someone’s demise?”

  “Nothing so devious, I’m afraid. Merely thinking.” And contemplating endlessly the face, the features, and the voice of a petite, black-haired beauty whom he desired more with each passing moment.

  “This thinking. Is it about anyone in particular?” she crooned.

  Either Antonia had gained the ability to read minds, or he was being frightfully obvious. In neither case did he wish her to know how close she was to the truth. “Just general ruminations on the sorry state of mankind.”

  “Hm. Allow me, then, to turn the subject for you.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “But I haven’t heard anything of your little game with Miss Benton lately,” Antonia pursued, “except that you’ve been spending a considerable amount of time in proper company.” She paused. “I thought you detested proper company.”

  She was fishing for information. “As that is where Miss Benton may be found, it makes sense I would be there, don’t yon think?” he countered, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. “I would hardly expect to find her here, for example.”

  “Oh, for shame, Jack,” she pouted. “There is no need to be insulting.”

  He glanced at her again, then returned his gaze to the dark street outside. “No, there isn’t.”

  “Well, not to interrupt your foul mood, my love, but I do have news you might be interested to hear.” Practically purring again, Antonia leaned her cheek against his arm and rubbed her fingers along his sleeve.

  “I wait with bated breath.”

  “I find it so delightful. William Benton actually mentioned the word marriage today on our lovely little picnic,” she murmured.

  He looked over his shoulder, but William was occupied with losing a fair-sized purse to Lord Hunt and the Marquis of Telgore. “It doesn’t count if you were unclothed when he said it,” he pointed out softly. “I believe you’re aware that a man will utter almost anything in the…heat of passion, shall we say.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, I know. I have found it to be very useful, in fact. But no, it was well after that. ‘Antonia, have you ever been in love?’ he asked me. And then he wanted to know whether I considered marriage to be a worthy institution.” Antonia sighed. “He has five thousand a year, you know.”

  “So he does.” Jack straightened, recognizing the predator’s edge to her voice. “You aren’t seriously considering him, Toni, are you? A virginal country pup?”

  “Not so virginal as he once was.” She smiled silkily. “And he hasn’t actually asked me yet, of course. But I have thought that five thousand a year would be a very nice bit of pin money to play with.”

  It would kill Lilith. Jack was as surprised at the thought as he was dismayed at its implication. He wasn’t supposed to care what happened after he had her. He certainly wasn’t supposed to care what she felt—considering what he was going to do to her. Jack took a deep breath. She had started it; everything that happened afterward was her fault.

  “Have at it, then,” he muttered brusquely, and turned back to his view.

  Antonia started to reply, but stopped when Price and Ernest Landon entered the room. They were highly agitated about something, and as they immediately hurried in his direction, Jack had a very good idea what it must be.

  “Dansbury, have you heard?” Landon chortled, obviously highly amused over his news.

  “I’ve heard a great many things. Did you have something particular in mind?”

  “You look as though you’re going to burst,” Lord Hunt commented with a grin. “Out with your news, man.”

  Landon chuckled. “You’ll never guess. Well. Ahem.” He cleared his throat. “It seems—”

  “Price?” Jack cut in, lifting an eyebrow.

  “The Duke of Wenford is dead,” Price said succinctly.

  “Damnation, Price!” Ernest protested, “you’ve no sense of drama at all.”

  Hunt stood, quickly followed by the Marquis of Telgore. “What?” they demanded, almost in unison.

  Jack sipped his port. “Do tell,” he murmured.

  William turned a bright red, and Jack hoped the idiot would have enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

  “It gets even better,” Price said.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Landon countered. “I’ll tell the rest—leave me some amusement.”

  “Unless you intend to do it in pantomime, I suggest you get on with it,” Hunt demanded.

  “All right, all right. Do get me a glass of port, though, if you please.”

  Antonia impatiently motioned to one of her servants. “We eagerly await your news,” she purred at Ernest.

  “Apparently, one of Wenford’s footmen sneaked down into his wine cellar to steal a bottle of the duke’s finest. And what do you think he found down there?”

  “Wenford?” Jack suggested smoothly.

  “Yes, but in what condition?”

  “Dead?” Price contributed with a short grin.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Landon, get on with it,” Hunt repeated darkly.

  Ernest sighed at the unappreciative crowd surrounding him. “He was lying there, holding a bottle of the cheapest bloody wine you can imagine, already gone to vinegar, it was, and he was completely in the altogether.”

  “In the altogether what?” William asked, sending him up a point in Jack’s estimation.

  “He was naked,” Landon explained impatiently, shaking his head. “Clothes in a neat little pile at his feet.”

  “By God,” Hunt muttered. “Are you certain?”

  Price nodded. “Carriage came to White’s to collect Dolph Remdale. While they were waiting, his driver told mine the entire story.”

  “How delightful,” Antonia murmured in Jack’s ear.

  “The tale’ll be all over London by morning, I would wager.” Price smiled. “Or so one would hope.”

  “Mr. Benton,” Peter A
rlen said from a table in the far corner, “wasn’t your sister nearly betrothed to His Grace?”

  William paled, his eyes darting in Jack’s direction.

  The marquis turned to face Arlen and chuckled. “I believe she’s nearly betrothed to every unattached male in London.”

  Arlen and most of the others in the room laughed, and William scowled at him. What the idiot didn’t realize was that if he had tried to protest her innocence he would have gone too far, and could very likely have gotten them all in a great deal of trouble. Lilith, at least, would have enough sense to distance herself from Wenford without causing any suspicion.

  The news effectively put an end to any more gambling for the evening, but Price cornered Jack before he could gracefully make his exit. “Dansbury.”

  “So, you’ve taken to joining Dolph Remdale at White’s, have you?” Jack commented, trying to put his friend on the defensive to evade any less pleasant topics of discussion.

  “I’ve simply been avoiding you,” Price countered. “I have no wish to be dragged to another tea sampling.” He glanced about the room. “With the news I had, though, I thought it unfair if you should not be among the first to know.”

  Jack nodded. “I appreciate it. Though it was only a matter of time, I suppose; Wenford was older than Northumberland.”

  “He was that,” Price agreed with a chuckle. “Do you think Dolph will wear the title with more…aplomb, shall we say?”

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t really care. All Remdales are a waste of air, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You’ll get little argument from me. But tell me, how goes your game? Any results yet?”

  “I am moving in the right direction,” Jack admitted, reluctant to discuss Lilith Benton with Price. It cheapened the game, somehow—though it was laughable to think that he was doing anything remotely noble. It was only that justifying the end, even to himself, was becoming difficult. And coming up with a different reason why he continued to pursue her was something he refused even to contemplate.

  “My God,” Viscount Hamble groaned, his head in his hands. “My God. All this time, and he’s been dead.”

  Eyes downcast, Lilith stood quietly beside her father’s desk as he lamented the passage of the Duke of Wenford. She could have told him several days ago. She probably should have. And yet, for the past few days she’d felt almost free.

  Since no one else had known her most-favored suitor was completely out of the running, they left her fairly alone. Except for Lionel, of course, who had just moved into primary position by default—and Jack Faraday, who seemed determined to insinuate himself into her life without any regard for propriety at all.

  “It was bound to happen sooner or later, Papa,” she soothed. “After all, His Grace was quite elderly, and given, I believe, to near fits of apo—”

  “He might have waited to expire until after you were wed,” the viscount growled, cutting her off. “And until after he’d given you an heir to ensure your continued status in the Wenford household.”

  Lilith frowned. “But Papa, you said I wouldn’t have to marry him.”

  He lifted his head to look at her, then abruptly turned his gaze away. “I had hoped to change your mind.”

  That made sense. He would never have given in to her request and turned down Wenford, unless he thought eventually to bring her around. “Well, I told you I would marry anyone else you chose,” she reminded him, though the face that came to her mind for a disturbing moment was not on the approved list of suitors.

  He looked at her, then slowly nodded. “Yes, I suppose there’s no reason to delay our own plans.” The viscount straightened. “In fact, we should get you out and about immediately. We don’t want to give the impression that you are in any way mourning His Grace. If he had died in a more respectable manner, a show of regret would be appropriate, but in this instance, the sooner we distance ourselves from Geoffrey Remdale, the better.”

  Jack Faraday, then, had done her a double service by seeing both to Wenford’s resting place and the manner in which he was laid out, “I had planned to attend the Doveshane ball this evening,” she suggested.

  “Yes, splendid.” Her father eyed her critically for a moment, then abruptly stood. “You know, I have just hit upon the perfect idea.”

  Lilith shifted, less than pleased at the information. She was beginning to think that his ideas were nothing but more work and strain for her. “Whatever is it?”

  “This can’t displease even your high ideals for a good marriage,” he continued. “How to go about it, though…?”

  “Go about what, Papa?”

  “About seeing you married to the new Duke of Wenford, of course.”

  Lilith froze. The idea had never even occurred to her. except as a jest from Jack Faraday. “R-Randolph Remdale?” she stammered.

  “Randolph Remdale, indeed,” he agreed. “You can’t have any complaints about him. Handsome man, and well mannered—and now, thanks to his uncle’s demise, a very powerful individual.” He sat down again, obviously contemplating his strategy.

  “But…but won’t Dolph—His Grace—be in mourning?”

  “Haven’t you heard anything, girl? Wenford’s will forbade it. He wanted no time wasted in such nonsense.”

  That didn’t sound like Geoffrey Remdale, especially not from their last conversation. He seemed to think that the world revolved around him, and that complete chaos would reign upon his death. She stifled a surprised smile. That part had been true, thanks to the Marquis of Dansbury.

  With her father distracted with forming his plans, Lilith slipped upstairs to the drawing room. She’d only just sat down when Bevins opened the door to announce that Jack Faraday was requesting to see her, in private. It seemed a measure of how far things had decayed in the household that Bevins didn’t even lift an eyebrow at the idea of her entertaining Dansbury without a chaperon. No doubt the butler considered it part of the entire scandalous affair with Wenford’s body, but Lilith had to wonder at herself. A very short time ago, the thought of seeing any man alone, much less the marquis, would never have occurred to her. Now she actually welcomed the opportunity.

  “Are you armed?” Dansbury asked, stepping into the room as Bevins shut the door behind him.

  “Not at the moment,” she retorted, glancing at the nearest bookshelf. “There is an abundance of ammunition to hand, however.”

  He grinned. “I shall keep that in mind.” He looked at the bookcase, then strolled over to examine the contents more closely. “Yours,” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, “or part of the family heirlooms?”

  “Most of them are mine,” she said. “Father keeps the heirlooms in the library.” She studied his profile. “I’ll warn Bevins to keep you out of there.”

  He chuckled as he lifted a book down and opened it. “Greek mythology.” He flipped through the pages. “An odd choice for a young woman determined to marry well.”

  “Why do you say that?” she demanded, rising.

  Dansbury shrugged. “Seems to me you’re setting yourself up as a pretty bauble—a gentleman’s showpiece. A bit of advice, my dear: peers on the whole are a stupid lot, and they don’t like their wives knowing more than they do. But I imagine you can disguise that, if you’ve a notion.”

  Another of his insults flipped into a compliment, so that Lilith had no idea how to respond. “What are you doing here?” she demanded instead. “This early, I thought you would barely have returned home from your gambling, or drinking, or…whatever else it is you do all evening.”

  “I assume you mean whoring?” he asked offhandedly, returning the book to its place and choosing another.

  Lilith blushed. “Whatever you choose to call it,” she replied flippantly.

  “Ah. Well, for your information, I haven’t been doing any of that ‘whatever you choose to call it,’ lately. I was at a friend’s last evening when I heard the news of Wenford’s demise, and I could hardly contain myself until a decent hour when I could
come and determine your family’s and your own reaction to the news.”

  “It’s still too early to be a decent hour,” she informed him. “William hasn’t risen yet, and neither has my aunt.”

  “You, however, have risen. Jane Austen?” he read, looking at the spine of the book he held. Jack lifted an eyebrow. “A romantic, as well, are you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Another odd choice for a gel marrying for a title. You are full of contradictions, sweet one.”

  She realized that she had made a mistake in admitting that the books were hers. Now Dansbury thought he had unlocked some sort of treasure chest to her mind and soul, and was invading it with a single-minded curiosity, as he did everything else remotely connected with her. “Do leave off, will you?”

  Immediately he returned yet another book to its place and turned to look at her.

  Unsettled, Lilith wondered how Alison’s eyes could be so humorous and gentle, when the same shape and color was so cynical and darkly sensual in her brother.

  “Very well,” he replied. “But do tell me how your father reacted to the news.”

  She walked over to the window. “Badly.” She had no intention of telling him about the viscount’s decision regarding Dolph Remdale. The scoundrel would find out soon enough, and she had no desire to be hounded and teased about it. Not by him.

  He followed her. “And?” he prompted, obviously sensing that she was leaving something out.

  “And nothing. Go away now.”

  “But I’ve been polite this morning, haven’t I?”

  So he had. “That doesn’t matter,” she returned. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  “Hm,” he murmured from beside her. “But that’s what you like about me, isn’t it, Lilith?”

  “I did not give you leave to call me Lilith!” Half out of her mind at his antagonisms, and completely out of patience, she turned to slap him.

  He intercepted her hand and yanked her against him. Before she could take a breath, he bent his head and kissed her.

  Lilith shoved her hand against Jack’s chest, only to find her fingers wrapping around his lapel. She pulled herself closer against him, shivering as she kissed him back with a passion that stunned and startled her. She groaned against his mouth as he reached up to brush the sensitive hairs at the back of her neck with a feathery light touch. Finally he released her mouth and stepped back, a look of surprised triumph in his eyes.