Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  Before Lilith could conjure another retort, he swept an elegant bow and gestured for William to precede him out the door. “Do show me out, will you?” He paused to look at Lilith. “Until next time, ma chère.”

  As they left the morning room, William chuckled. “I don’t know why you’d think Lil might have done in Old Hatchet Face, Jack. I thought it was you. That bottle of port you handed him at White’s wasn’t full of strychnine, was it?”

  “What?” Lilith asked sharply from behind them.

  Jack stopped abruptly. “That is not amusing, William,” he growled under his breath.

  “I thought it was,” William defended weakly.

  “You gave Wenford a bottle of port before he expired on—on my couch?” Lilith said, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” he snapped. He finally had the chit thinking about him and kissing in conjunction. The last thing he needed was for her to have an excuse to return to her former contempt toward him. “I didn’t want to shake his damned hand. I’m certain he’s been given gifts by peers far worthier than myself.”

  “A less worthy one would be difficult to find,” she returned haughtily.

  “Look among your other suitors, Miss Benton,” he retorted. “Adieu.”

  He knew she wanted the last word, so he quickly shut the door behind him before she could respond. He wanted her to feel that things were unfinished between them—because they were. He followed William out the back way, where he had stashed Benedick. His skull throbbed, but as he’d told Lilith, he’d had worse, and for less reason. In this instance, it had been worth it.

  The craving to touch Lilith Benton, to kiss her, had been driving him half mad, distracting him from the true goal of the game. He was saying things that were completely out of character, all to feel her mouth against his. And he was anything but cured of the desire to kiss her, to touch her, again.

  “Where are we off to, then?” William asked, swinging up onto Thor.

  “Believe it or not,” Jack said, still annoyed at the boy, “I’m off to Parliament. You’ll have to amuse yourself.”

  “You actually attend the House of Lords?”

  “When I can find it.” He pulled Benedick in when he sidestepped. “And I have a previous engagement this evening, as well.”

  William grinned as he dismounted again. “Who is she?”

  “A young lady of fair countenance and bright eyes, with sweet laughter an angel would envy.” Now seemed as good a time as any to forward his secondary plan. “By the by, I believe Miss St. Gerard is hoping a certain young gentleman will escort her to the opera this evening.”

  William brightened. “Antonia? Oh, Jack, that’s…” A frown lowered his brow again. “That’s awful. I have no box, and I can’t very well have her sitting with the commons in the back.”

  Jack produced a piece of paper from his pocket. “Yes, but as you may recall, I have a box.” He held out the note. “Enjoy yourself.”

  William reached up to take it, but Jack kept it gripped in his fingers. “And William, when the news of Wenford’s death comes out, I would suggest you not mention that bottle of port again. Is that clear?”

  “Hell’s bells, Jack, it was a joke.”

  “William…”

  “All right, all right, I swear. I won’t mention the bottle of port again.”

  Jack released the note and nodded. “Good lad. Come by and see me tomorrow morning. I’ll take you to Gentleman Jackson’s.”

  In the meantime, Jack had more planning to do. His initial anger at Lilith Benton had evolved into something much more complex, and he had damned well better decide where he stood, before he took another step. Otherwise, he reflected with a grin, he might very well end up on his backside again.

  Aunt Eugenia canceled their afternoon shopping excursion because of the frightful cold, ignoring Lilith’s protest that she would welcome a chance to get out for a bit. Even shopping with Eugenia would have served to clear her head, to get the blasted Marquis of Dansbury out of her thoughts.

  She filled her schedule with whatever useless projects and entertainments she could find around the house, but however busy she made herself, it did no good. Dansbury was definitely up to mischief, though she was no longer exactly certain what kind of trouble he was planning. She reached up and traced her lip with her fingers, then, with an exasperated sigh, went back to her sewing. Mainly, she wished to figure out why he kept reminding her of her debt to him, instead of collecting on it.

  “Lil?” her brother called.

  “What is it?” she said irritably, regarding the rather large hole she’d been jabbing in her embroidery with her needle.

  William strolled into the morning room. “I thought I might go to the horse auctions. Care to come?”

  She sighed and set aside her stitching. “I’d love to, but Papa would never approve.”

  Her brother leaned over the back of the couch beside her. “He never approves of anything, except finding old, sour-faced widowers for you to marry.”

  “William, hush.”

  “I know, I know. It won’t do any good, and it’ll only make him bellow at me. But it hardly seems fair.” He picked up her embroidery hoop. “This is…interesting,” he offered, studying it and experimentally lifting the needle.

  “William, don’t you dare. Give it back.”

  Silently he handed it over. “This Season’s ruined for you, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Not that you ever had a chance of having any fun. But now with Wenford, and Jack, and me, and—”

  “At least I won’t be marrying His Grace,” she interrupted with a smile. “And the Season’s not over yet.” Lilith looked up at his face, unused to seeing him somber. “I do wish you would be careful around the Marquis of Dansbury, though.”

  He gave a short grin. “Jack’s all right. And I wouldn’t worry about his proposal, either. Ernest and the others’ve been talking about how he’s after some chit called the Ice Queen this Season.”

  Lilith blinked. “Oh?” Her heart began to beat faster again. “And what is he after her for?”

  “To melt her, of course.” He chuckled. “I don’t give the poor gel much of a chance. Jack could burn the Devil’s toes, if he had a mind to.”

  “No…no doubt.”

  He left a few moments later. Lilith sat where she was, trying to figure out why Dansbury would think that endlessly annoying her would make her look more kindly on him. Still more disturbing, she couldn’t dismiss the scoundrel from her thoughts even knowing his arrogant, presumptuous plan. When Bevins scratched at the door, she started.

  Alison, Lady Hutton, had sent over a note cordially inviting her and Aunt Eugenia to attend a party in honor of her daughter’s fourth birthday that evening and apologizing for the short notice the letter gave them. Lilith smiled as she read it. The visit would provide a much better direction for her wandering thoughts than the recital at Lady Wickes’. Immediately she went to the desk to write out her grateful acceptance. The distraction was just what she needed.

  “Miss Benton?”

  It seemed no one could leave her in peace today. “Yes, Emily?” she said, looking up at her maid.

  “Miss Benton, I…I can’t find one of your earrings.”

  “Which one is it?” Emily had been her maid for years, and she couldn’t think for a moment that it had been anything more than misplaced.

  “The…your mama’s pearls, Miss Benton.” Emily looked quite upset, and Lilith patted her hand while the girl took a breath. “Jenny, the downstairs maid, she brought up one of the earrings from the morning room the day before yesterday, and I already put the necklace in its box, but I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find the other one.”

  “Day before yesterday?” Lilith mused, trying to recall what she’d been doing. The past week had been full of tumultuous events, most of them involving Dansbury or His Grace. Abruptly she remembered, and the blood drained from her face. She had been wrestling with the Duke of Wenford, and he
had grabbed her hair. “Oh, no,” she breathed.

  “What is it, Miss Benton?”

  “Nothing, Emily.” Lilith took a deep breath. Those earrings and the matching necklace were the only memento of her mother she’d allowed herself to keep. Little as she approved of Elizabeth Benton’s wild ways, and much as her mother’s abrupt departure had hurt, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to part with the baubles. Perhaps Milgrew or Dansbury had noticed the duke gripping something when they’d placed him in the cellar. Certainly Jack would have, for he noticed everything.

  Emily offered to take another look through her wardrobe, and Lilith agreed, hoping her supposition was wrong. She finished her missive to Lady Hutton and was just rising to give it to Bevins when her father intercepted her. He wore the same dour expression on his face he had since Billington’s, and Lilith sighed. Hearing of Wenford’s death wouldn’t serve to cheer him up. “How was Mrs. Higginson?”

  “Whining incessantly. Six years hasn’t changed her one spot.” He gestured at the note. “What’ve you got there?”

  “My reply to an invitation from Lady Hutton. She’s giving a birthday party this evening, and I would like to attend.”

  “Hutton?”

  “Her husband is Lord Hutton, from Shropshire.”

  “What land does he possess?”

  “A barony at Linfield. What does that mat—”

  “Only a baron?” The viscount frowned. “I thought you were attending Lady Wickes’ event this evening. I heard Lady Georgina ask if you would sit with her there.”

  “But Papa, Georgina’s so…light-headed,” Lilith protested. “And I truly would like to see Lady Hutton again. Lord Hutton’s grandfather was the Earl of Clanden,” she added hopefully. Or so Penelope’s mother had told them.

  Hamble looked at her, his somber expression unchanged. “Flighty girl. Very well. Once you’re married, you’ll have no time for such nonsense, anyway.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Lilith braced herself. “Papa, about His Grace…” she began, hoping to convince him once and for all to choose someone else before Wenford’s naked corpse was discovered and her father had to add embarrassment to his already keen disappointment.

  “Yes,” he returned with a distracted frown, “I’ve been meaning to speak to him.” He headed back for the door. “I’ll send over a card,” he said to himself as he left the room.

  “But I truly don’t want to marry Old Hatchet Face,” she muttered, going off to find Bevins and have her note delivered. “And besides, he’s dead.”

  Chapter 8

  “There are beautiful gardens in Paris,” Richard Hutton conceded, “but no one grows roses like the English.”

  Lady Hutton, seated on the couch beside her husband, took his hand and patted it between her own. “Sometimes I think Richard believes God created English weather solely for the purpose of growing roses.”

  The twenty or so guests gathered in the Hutton drawing room laughed. As Lilith had suspected upon meeting Alison, the Hutton circle was rather boisterous. They had also been warm and generous, and thankfully none of her suitors were there. Aunt Eugenia had been gloomy until the Countess of Ashton’s entry into the party, at which point she had cheered considerably, to her niece’s relief. The occasion was a welcome respite from the pressures of the Season, and Lilith was in no hurry to leave.

  “Well, all I know is it’s too damned cold for me,” Peter Wilten commented, handing over another gaily wrapped package.

  “Mr. Wilten,” Gabriella Wilten admonished, but the others laughed again.

  Beatrice Hutton sat on the floor, surrounded by mounds of opened gifts. Even at four the girl was a beauty, with her mother’s dark, curly hair and her father’s gray eyes. Lilith smiled at her, gratified that the stuffed animal she had purchased seemed to be among the little one’s favorites.

  Aunt Eugenia laughed at something, and Lilith glanced over to see her animatedly chatting with the countess and with Lord Hutton’s mother, who had also been acquainted with Lord and Lady Dupont in Shropshire. Richard’s niece and nephews sat sorting through the pile of gifts on their cousin’s behalf.

  “Miss Benton, how many different varieties do you cultivate?” Lord Hutton asked, as Beatrice climbed into his lap and demanded help with a particularly difficult wrapping job.

  Lilith looked up to find herself the center of attention. “I have fifteen bushes here, and another thirty or so at Hamble. Many are duplicates, so perhaps thirty-five different varieties.”

  “That’s marvelous!”

  Lilith smiled at his enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

  “You know, I’ve been looking for a Madame Hardy. Mine perished in a trimming accident.” He glanced down at his daughter good-humoredly.

  “I have a Madame Hardy at Benton House,” Lilith replied, pleased to be able to render assistance. “I’d be happy to give you a cutting.”

  “I would be grate—”

  “Where’s my Honey Bea?” a voice called out.

  Beatrice squealed and vaulted off her father’s lap. Paper and ribbons flew from under her feet as she ran for the doorway. Lilith could only watch, stunned, as the Marquis of Dansbury strode into the room, picked Beatrice up, and swung her around in the air. Laughing, he kissed the girl soundly and then set her back on the floor. Beatrice promptly began tugging at his pockets.

  “What’s this?” Jack asked innocently. “What are you looking for, little girl?”

  Beatrice giggled. “My birthday present.”

  “You told me what you wanted. Do you remember?”

  “Yes, Uncle Jack.”

  “Do you think it would fit in my pockets?”

  The girl spread out her arms. “Where is it, then?”

  The marquis motioned behind him. A servant stepped into the room, a wiggling Irish setter puppy in his arms. Beatrice laughed happily as the marquis took possession of the puppy and squatted down beside her. “She’s littler than you, Bea, so you have to be gentle. Understand?”

  Beatrice reached out and carefully stroked the puppy’s back while Dansbury cradled it. “Yes.” She nodded.

  “All right, Honey Bea, here’s your red puppy. Happy birthday.”

  With a glance at the Huttons, the marquis set it down. It immediately jumped up on Beatrice and began licking her face. Her cousins crowded around excitedly to greet the four-footed arrival, as well. After a moment, Dansbury rose and strolled over to the couch. Halfway there his lazy, intelligent eyes passed over Lilith. For a heartbeat he froze, plainly astounded to see her there. She raised an eyebrow at him, pleased for a moment to have gotten the upper hand, as he continued on his way.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He smiled, leaning over to kiss Alison on the cheek. He glanced again at Richard. “Shall I stay?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course,” Alison said warmly, and tugged him down onto the couch beside her. “She told you she wanted a puppy?”

  “She was quite specific. She wanted a red puppy.”

  Now that she saw them together, Lilith was surprised she hadn’t realized before that Jack Faraday and Alison Hutton were siblings. They had the same dark, wavy hair and brown eyes, though Alison’s features were softer and more rounded than those of the lean-faced marquis. Alison had even mentioned that she had a brother, and Lilith was disgusted with herself for not realizing sooner who it must be.

  Dansbury reached across his sister to offer his hand to Richard. Unless Lilith was mistaken, the baron hesitated before he shook it.

  “Still busy days for you, Richard?” Jack asked easily, accepting a glass of port from the maid.

  Richard nodded. “The prime minister remains unconvinced that we’ve purged England of the last of Boney’s spies.”

  “I still don’t see what it matters, anymore. Bonaparte is dead. They have no one to report to.”

  Lord Hutton’s eyes narrowed. “Try explaining that to Liverpool.”

  The marquis straightened. “As I recall, I—”

  “Jack,
have you met Miss Benton?” Alison interrupted hurriedly, and gestured at Lilith. “Lilith, my brother, the Marquis of Dansbury.”

  Jack rose to take Lilith’s hand in his long fingers, and brought it to his lips. “We’ve met,” he murmured with a smile, his dark eyes dancing. “Though I’m delighted to see you again, Miss Benton.”

  “My lord,” Lilith responded, retrieving her hand from his warm, strong grip as quickly as she could.

  Dansbury nodded amiably and turned away to chat with the rest of the guests—or at least, those who didn’t seem unnerved by him. Lilith watched him closely. Charming and personable tonight, he still looked like a panther among house cats. It wasn’t until he sat to spend several minutes talking with his sister, his cynical, guarded expression slowly easing into a soft smile, that Lilith thought she again glimpsed the real Jack Faraday.

  He glanced at her, and she self-consciously looked down at the tea cup cradled in her hands. A moment later he had seated himself beside her. Lilith took a sip of tea before she met his inquisitive look. “I thought you would have business elsewhere this evening.”

  “I decided to leave your brother to his own devices tonight. You should be pleased.”

  She looked up to find his amused gaze on his niece and her red puppy. “Still trying to melt the Ice Queen?” she murmured.

  He smiled as he turned back to her. “You’ve already made it quite clear that your temperature runs somewhat to the volcanic.”

  “And it took only one blow to the head to convince you.”

  “It took only one kiss,” he corrected softly.

  “You are a devil, my lord,” she snapped, flushing.

  Unexpectedly, the insult made him laugh. “Your eyes are flashing again, Miss Benton,” he commented. “I have never seen such green, even in king’s emeralds.”

  The flattery made her blush, which made her even angrier. He threw compliments about like daisies, and she knew better than to take any of it seriously. “Were these emeralds you speak of by any chance stolen?”

  Again he chuckled. “So now I am a devil, a murderer of dukes, and a jewel thief,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Are there any other dastardly deeds you wish to accuse me of performing this evening?”