Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  Jack sat up and wondered if she intended to indulge in hysterics, after all. “No, it’s just me. And we’re not often confused, I might add.” It was a poor attempt at humor, and she didn’t smile.

  “What time is it?” she continued frantically, diving from the bed for the pile of clothes lying before the nearly dead fire.

  Jack took a moment to admire her bare backside before he leaned back against the headboard. If she hadn’t been so obviously distressed, it almost would have been amusing to see the proper chit dashing about like some frantic maiden in a burlesque comedy. “Fifteen minutes of six,” he answered.

  “Oh no, oh no,” she cried, trying to pull on her shift. “I’ve ruined everything!”

  The marquis continued to watch her curiously. “Worried about offending Dolph?” he asked offhandedly, clenching his fist in the sheets to disguise the sudden burst of hatred and jealousy that ran through him. This dementia of his was becoming extremely serious and troublesome. The thought of any man but himself—and Dolph in particular—touching her was enough to put him into a blind fury.

  She was having a difficult time with her ball gown, and a tear ran down her cheek as she struggled to yank her arm through the short, puffy sleeve. “Oh, I’m just like her,” she sobbed. “How could I?”

  Jack abruptly realized what she was ranting about. “Your mother, you mean?” he asked quietly. Silently he rose and pulled his robe from the back of a chair. He put it on and stepped over behind her. “Don’t do that to yourself.” He reached out to hold up the other sleeve so her groping hand could find it.

  “I’ve done the same stupid thing she did,” Lilith said bitterly, “and now everyone else will pay for it, just as we did with her.”

  “Nonsense.” She stilled as he pulled her hair free and draped it over her shoulder. “I have several adjectives in mind to describe what we were up to, and ‘stupid’ is not one of them.” He swiftly fastened up the back of her gown. “Your father had no right to put you through this. And Dolph Remdale is a bloated ass.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said stubbornly. “I made an agreement.”

  “Did you? Seems to me it really wasn’t left up to you at all.”

  She turned to look at him, and her frantic expression softened into inexpressible yearning for a moment as he held her gaze. “Jack,” she whispered.

  Perhaps he could set things right for her. He was disreputable, of course, but that could change, and he was titled, after all. Jack swallowed at the enormity of what he had just rather effortlessly talked himself into. “Lil, I—”

  “Please promise you won’t tell,” she cut in, reaching out to touch the robe where it covered his heart. He took a quick breath to cover the tremor that ran through him at the caress. “It’s still early. If I can get back—”

  “London’s most proper young lady, in the arms of the town’s most notorious rake?” he said softly, so she wouldn’t know how deeply she’d just wounded him. She was ashamed of him, of course. “Who would believe me, anyway?”

  He tilted her chin up, meaning to brush the tears from her face, but he was unable to keep from leaning down and touching his lips to her. She didn’t resist, and in fact, pursued his mouth as he straightened, wrapping her arms about his neck and leaning against him. He put his arms around her, holding her close. At least she still seemed to desire him. It was almost as if both of them had been drawn to this, to be together, against all better sense and reason. If this was a punishment for his past misdeeds, he was willing to pay the price.

  “I would believe it,” she said more firmly, and even managed a smile. “You’re not so terrible, I think, whatever everyone else says.”

  “In that case, answer me two questions, will you?” he asked, handing over one of her hair clips and then heading for his dressing closet.

  “It depends on what they are.”

  Apparently she felt steady enough to be defiant again. She might be afraid of scandal, but Lilith Benton was not the least bit faint of heart. “Do you truly think Dolph killed Old Hatchet Face?” Jack dug into the closet for a shirt and breeches, then leaned out the doorway to look at her when she didn’t answer.

  She had paused, her gaze on the smouldering fire. “Yes, I think he might have,” she finally answered, looking over at him. “What is your second question?”

  “What do you wish to do about it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He pulled on his breeches, cast aside the robe, and shrugged into a shirt. “I mean, do you wish to ignore what you know and marry the murdering bastard, or do you want to do something about it?” He wasn’t quite able to disguise the jealousy in his tone, and her expression became more speculative as she looked at him. “You don’t have to decide now, of course,” he forced himself to continue in a more even tone, “but before I go to the gallows for the deed would be nice.”

  He immediately regretted having spoken, for that would only remind her that he was rumored to be a killer. His jaw tightened as she jolted into his mind. Beautiful Genevieve, red-haired and eager to turn him over to Napoleon in exchange for a bag of gold—he was a killer.

  The clock began chiming again, and he grabbed for his waistcoat. “Let’s get you home.”

  Despite the early hour, Peese was already up and waiting for them in the foyer. “I took the liberty of hiring a hack,” he announced, handing Jack the caped cloak Lilith had arrived in.

  Jack glanced at his butler. He’d barely mentioned Lilith Benton to either Martin or Peese, but they both seemed to sense that she was not one of his typical late night trinkets. “My thanks,” he said, and helped Lilith on with her cloak.

  “A hack?” Lilith asked, still looking warily at the butler.

  Peese held up his greatcoat, and Jack shrugged into it. “No Dansbury crest emblazoned on the doors,” he explained. “Shall we?”

  Lilith was silent as they traveled down Grosvenor Street toward Savile Row. For once Jack wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter, either. Too much had happened that he needed to decipher, and she was too lovely sitting there trying not to look back at him.

  He had instructed the driver to stop around the corner from Benton House, and Lilith started as they bumped to a stop. “You don’t have to come,” she said hurriedly as he rose and pushed the door open.

  “I am fairly proficient at sneaking about,” he answered, knowing he was just trying to prolong their encounter. He leaned out the door, looking at the fog-dimmed lane. No one was in view, and he stepped down and held a hand up to her. They quickly walked up the street, then pushed through a thin spot in the hedge into her garden. The stables behind them were silent, and the only light in the house came from the single kitchen window at the base of the wall. “Did you come down that way?” he asked, gesturing at the rose-covered trellis climbing the wall up to the roof, close to the window he knew belonged to her bed chamber.

  “Are you mad?” she whispered. “I left through the servants’ entrance. I think I can get in the same way.”

  “The trellis would be safer, if you don’t wish to meet anyone.”

  “I have no wish to be thorn-bitten,” she retorted, then gave an exasperated smile. “Thank you, Jack, for seeing me home.”

  He took a step closer. “Is that all?”

  “I…” She met his gaze, the passion and yearning of the night before touching her emerald eyes. “I think it has to be,” she said quietly.

  Jack pushed her hood back from her face, cupped her cheeks in his hands, and leaned down to touch her lips softly with his own. “For now, perhaps,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’m ready to give you up yet, Lil.”

  “Jack—”

  He covered her lips with his fingers, not wanting to hear her protest that they would never suit because he was an unredeemable scoundrel.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said. He kissed her again, and her return kiss gave him hope that she had no real wish to end this, either.

  “Excuse me.”


  Jack jumped and instinctively stepped between the voice and Lilith. The Bentons’ groom stood at the edge of a bed of geraniums, his expression curious.

  “Milgrew,” Jack acknowledged stiffly, his hand clasping Lilith’s. “Fine morning for a stroll.”

  “Aye,” the groom agreed slowly, still glancing from one to the other of them. “Bit chilly, though. I had thought to go into the kitchens and get myself a cup of tea,” the Scot continued in his light brogue. “Thought perhaps Miss Lilith might wish to accompany me—t’make sure that certain…busybodies ain’t awake yet.”

  Jack relaxed and smiled. “Splendid idea. My thanks.”

  “Thank you, Milgrew,” Lilith echoed, and looked up at Jack again. “I have to go.”

  “Be careful,” he said quietly, reluctantly releasing her fingers. “And stay away from Dolph, if you can. Until we know. Or until you decide.”

  She nodded. “I’ll try.”

  Jack watched Lilith and the groom slip through the servants’ entrance at the back of the house. Slowly he turned and made his way out of the garden, and back to the coach.

  “Back where you came from,” he instructed the driver.

  The hack bumped into motion, but Jack hardly noticed. Lilith was probably already doing her best to forget the evening they’d spent together, and regretting that she’d ever left her engagement ball. For his part, he doubted he’d ever be able to forget. Nor did he wish to.

  It was useless and idiotic to deny it any further. He was in love with Lilith Benton, had likely been in love with her since the moment he had set eyes on her. She was the only woman he’d ever met who seemed able to make him remember that he did possess qualities of decency and good-heartedness, however hard he’d tried to forget and deny them. And he couldn’t have her.

  Even so, she felt something for him. Though she had tried, she couldn’t hide it from him this morning, and she’d certainly been enthusiastic enough last night. He’d be damned before he’d let Dolph or any of her other blasted swains have her. He wanted her for himself, and he wanted her forever. Which meant he had to accomplish two things: find out what, exactly, had killed old Wenford; and prove that Dolph, and not he, had done it, before the Crown saw fit to confiscate his lands and ship him off to Australia.

  Jack was aware enough of the odds against him to be worried, and cynical enough to be amused at himself. It was a damned good thing he enjoyed a challenge—and turning his life right-side up again for the sake of London’s most proper young lady looked to be the most difficult one he’d ever faced. It was also the one he most needed, and most wanted, to win.

  Chapter 15

  For someone unused to lying and subterfuge, Lilith was suddenly becoming very adept at it. She was even coming to enjoy it a little.

  All along, she’d been assuring everyone that she felt nothing for Jack Faraday but disdain. And this morning she’d told the only lie she regretted—she’d told Jack she preferred to have nothing further to do with him. That was the wisest course, certainly, but it was not the one her heart wanted to follow. In fact, a good portion of her had wished he would whisk her back into the hack and take her away.

  After that, the rest of the lies became progressively easier. She lied to her maid when Emily appeared to help her dress for breakfast, explaining that the reason she hadn’t been found at bedtime was that she’d been sulking in the library. Then, in answer to her aunt’s grating prompting, she admitted that she had come to her senses and that she was looking forward to her marriage with the Duke of Wenford. She even pretended that she didn’t feel betrayed by and furiously angry at her father, and agreed with him when he said that the Marquis of Dansbury was a damned scoundrel, and that hanging him would be performing a service to mankind. And the entire time that she was being pleasant and cooperative and telling the most outrageous lies, she was thinking of Jack.

  Last night had been a mistake, undoubtedly the most foolish thing she’d ever done. And the most wonderful. When Aunt Eugenia insisted they go immediately to have her fit for the most wondrous wedding gown in history, Lilith stood through Madame Belieu’s fitting session hardly noticing anything, answering only when spoken to. In her mind and in her heart, she was with Jack, feeling his touch, hearing his voice; wishing for things that could never be, and hoping that he would come up with a plan to get her out of this mess.

  She might have spent the day dreaming if Penelope Sanford and her mother hadn’t joined her and Aunt Eugenia as they strolled through Hyde Park.

  “You look happier than you did last night,” Pen smiled, tucking her arm through her friend’s.

  “I feel happier,” Lilith admitted, wishing she could tell Penelope why.

  “I’m glad. I was worried for you, you know. You seemed so distressed.”

  “I panicked, I suppose.” Realizing just how little she meant to either her father or Dolph had sent her fleeing to the one man who’d seemed genuinely concerned about her. A risky choice, certainly, but she had been unable to stay away. And he hadn’t disappointed her.

  Pen looked at her for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder to be certain Aunt Eugenia and Lady Sanford couldn’t overhear. “Have you heard from Lord Dansbury?”

  Lilith jumped. “Why would I have?”

  “Lilith, you sneaked out of my library to go see him, and when you came back you couldn’t stop smiling. Why do you have to pretend to me that you don’t like him? I would never tell.” Her friend squeezed her arm “You do like him, don’t you?”

  Lilith sighed, leaning her head against Penelope’s. “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid.”

  “Worse? How?”

  “I love him. Pen.”

  Penelope grinned. “Oh, Lil, that’s won…” She stopped abruptly, frowning. “That’s terrible. You’re engaged to His Grace.”

  A shudder coursed down Lilith’s spine at the reminder. “I know. But even if I wasn’t. Papa would never let me marry Jack. Not even if he wanted to marry me.”

  “Does he? Does he love you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think he does.” A blush touched her cheeks at the memory of his passionate touch. “Other times, I have no idea what in the world he might be thinking or feeling. But it really doesn’t matter, because nothing can come of it.”

  Pen looked down, kicking a pebble out of their path with the toe of her shoe. “So you’re just going to marry Dolph Remdale.”

  “Pen, I don’t want to marry him, but I don’t have any choice! It’s been announced, for heaven’s sake!”

  “You could elope with Lord Dansbury,” Penelope insisted stubbornly.

  “And live forever disgraced in Scotland or America, I suppose?” Lilith retorted skeptically, trying to ignore the nervous, excited flutter of her heart at her friend’s suggestion.

  “At least you would be happy.”

  Lilith started to answer, then closed her mouth again. An unbidden image of her lovely, wild mother came to her, sitting alone in their morning room and gazing out the window. She’d looked so sad, Lilith remembered, though at her entrance her mother had turned away from the window and smiled and said she was only thinking of some silly thing or other. That had been a month before she’d fled with the Earl of Greyton.

  For the first time, it occurred to Lilith to wonder what Elizabeth Benton’s motivation for leaving them might have been. “Bad blood,” her father had always said, and she’d been hurt enough at being abandoned that she’d never really questioned it. But if someone was happy, wild or not, they didn’t flee into someone else’s arms. Certainly if she’d loved Dolph instead of Jack, she never would have gone to the Marquis of Dansbury, and would certainly never have gone to his bed. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to do so.

  “Lilith,” Pen said quietly, looking at her. “What are you thinking?”

  Lilith sighed and gave a small, sad smile. “About what people will do to be happy. Even for a few moments.”

  Jack glanced at his pocket watch, then at the overc
ast sky, and then at the figure kneeling in the garden beyond the low stone wall and the sheltering row of bushes. He was nervous, which was both irritating and annoying. The more calmly and coolly he conducted himself in what was to come, the more success he was likely to have. Not that success was likely under any circumstances.

  Finally, with one last glance at his watch, the marquis snapped it shut, dropped it into his waistcoat pocket, and approached the low gate in the fence. “Weeding?” he said, leaning against the wooden post.

  Richard Hutton glanced up over his shoulder, and then stood and brushed dirt off his loose gardening breeches. “Planting roses,” he replied after a moment, picking up another short branch from the bucket it was soaking in and moving over several feet to dig another hole.

  “Lilith Benton’s roses?”

  “Yes. Do you have a reason for being here?”

  Jack kept a rein on his temper. Beginning another fight now wouldn’t help. “Actually, I do, but it’s not going to make you any more fond of me.”

  “Then go.”

  The marquis shook his head, hurt by the anger still in Richard’s voice—anger that five years had done little to erase. “Richard, this isn’t easy for me either, you know. I’ve been lurking out here in the bloody cold, waiting until Bea went inside, just so she wouldn’t see me.”

  “I’m touched.” Hutton started to say something else, then paused and glanced toward the house. “All right,” he said grudgingly, and straightened. He walked over to lean against the wall a short distance away. “What is it?”

  After a hesitation, Jack opened the gate and strolled over beside him. “I seem to be in a bit of trouble.”

  “I know.”

  “I’d like to discuss it with you, if you can stand to listen.”

  “Alison wagered me that you might come by,” his brother-in-law commented, pulling off his gloves and setting them beside him on the bricks, “though I thought it considerably naive and optimistic of her. I’m listening.”

  The marquis looked across the garden for a moment, not seeing any way to make his news more palatable. “I was the one who left Wenford to be found in his wine cellar.”