Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  Jack paused at the foot of his front steps. He was more than simply acting addle-brained over her. Otherwise, he never would have lost his temper over the idea of her giving an earring to a mad old man. She’d kissed him this morning, and it had been unlike any of the other thousand kisses he’d ever received. Her soft, warm lips, the yearning for him he felt in her, had been so damned arousing, he’d nearly started ripping her clothes off there in his morning room.

  “Let me guess,” a caustic voice came from behind him. “You’re too drunk to make it up the front steps on your own.”

  “Richard,” Jack acknowledged, starting. “How kind of you to come all the way to my humble home to inquire over my health.”

  “Don’t give a damn about it,” Lord Hutton returned brusquely. “You’re allowed about at birthdays, and at Christmas and Michaelmas. But you’ve been to my home twice in the last two days. You’ve abused the privilege.”

  “I will see my sister whenever I choose to do so,” Jack answered, finally turning around. Anger and hurt coursed through him, clenching his jaw and tightening the muscles across his back. Perhaps Richard had better reason to dislike him than anyone else in London, but lately the unrelenting hatred had begun to wear on him. Yet Alison was apparently acquainted with Lilith, and he wanted, needed, to know as much about the chit as he could. She had been what had tempted him to return to the Huttons’, when nothing else over the past five years had been able to do so.

  “I don’t want you about Beatrice,” his brother-in-law said flatly. “She’ll have enough to live down with you as her uncle, without picking up your disgraceful ways.”

  “She’s four, Richard. I’m not likely to teach her gambling or drinking.”

  “She worships you.”

  Jack sneered. “Jealous?”

  Richard started to reply, then turned his back and stalked away toward his bay gelding, pointedly left waiting outside the gates bordering the short drive.

  “Perhaps she’s the closest I’ll get,” Jack called at his former friend and partner, though he didn’t know why he bothered to speak. Richard wouldn’t care.

  The baron stopped. “The closest to what?” he asked, his back still firmly turned but his voice touched with reluctant curiosity.

  “To what you have.”

  He turned and climbed the shallow steps, and Peese pulled the door open as he reached the top. Jack didn’t expect a reply, and was surprised when Peese’s eyes shifted past him to look back out at the drive.

  “I didn’t take the chance from you, Jack,” Richard’s voice came in a more even tone.

  The marquis paused. “No. I did.” And all it had left him was a game of revenge against a chit ten years his junior and a hundred years behind him in ruin. And though the game was proceeding splendidly, he was losing the stomach to continue playing it.

  Jack continued on into the house, then bent to retrieve his book and a piece of paper lying on the hall floor. In Lilith’s graceful writing, the note warned him of terrible rumors for which she in part felt responsible. A slight, unexpected smile touched his face as he lifted the letter and breathed in. It smelled of lavender. It smelled of her. Jack put the letter in his pocket and returned to the morning room and his book of poetry. Whatever else happened, at least the game had left him another waltz at the ball tonight.

  Lilith spent the afternoon renewing her efforts to be a dutiful daughter, attempting to put all thoughts of the Marquis of Dansbury out of her mind.

  It had been intoxicating, maddening, and exhilarating to be in his embrace. He was everything she had been raised to despise, and it was frightening to realize how much she craved seeing him, talking to him, and touching him again. When it was just the two of them, with no one about to chastise her or remind her to watch her tongue and her manners, she felt so free, as though she could say or do whatever she pleased. And the things that were coming to her mind were far from anything she should even be contemplating.

  Deliberately she dressed in her most conservative and demure gown and occupied her mind with as many sober thoughts as she could conjure. Unfortunately, most of those thoughts seemed to center around making polite conversation with the new Duke of Wenford. Jack had repeatedly cautioned her to be careful of him, but she felt in more danger of being bored by Dolph’s dull wits than of falling into his supposedly nefarious clutches.

  Lilith stifled a smile as she descended the stairs to join her family. Now she had the ruined gentleman warning her about the proper one. She already knew which she would have more delight in dancing with, but it would have to be her last dance, and her last encounter, with Jack. Neither her heart nor her reputation could withstand prolonging the acquaintance any further.

  The annual rout at the Cremwarrens’ was famous, and as she entered the crowded ballroom, Lilith had difficulty keeping her aunt in sight, much less watching for any of her acceptable and unacceptable suitors. She sighed as she waved at Mary Fitzroy. It was no use denying that she was more eager to see Dansbury than any of her perfectly proper suitors—or, for that matter, anyone else she knew. Preoccupied, she jumped when her elbow was gripped.

  “I hope this next waltz will be mine,” Dolph Remdale said, smiling warmly at her.

  “Of course, Your Grace.” They stood for a moment, looking at one another and trying to avoid being jostled by the other guests. Lilith felt supremely awkward, and she shifted uncomfortably. After all, she had known of the old duke’s death for a week before his own nephew had been informed of it. “I was sorry to hear of your loss, Your Grace,” she finally offered. “Your uncle was…he will be missed.”

  It wasn’t very smooth, but with a nod of his blond head he seemed to accept it. “Thank you for your condolences. Uncle Geoffrey was somewhat eccentric, but I believe he was rather fond of you.”

  The music began, and he offered her his arm to lead her out onto the floor, polished to a perfect shine with half a dozen layers of beeswax. He danced with nearly the same grace as Dansbury, though the new duke seemed more reserved about it—or at least, more proper. With the marquis, she had the wild sensation that he might sweep her off her feet, or try to kiss her or whisk her out onto the balcony on a whim. Unable to help herself, she glanced about the room to find him. After a moment she spied him, standing beside her brother and watching her while he spoke.

  His dark eyes glinted as he met her gaze, and she wondered for a brief, thrilling moment if he might be jealous. William had better not have told Dansbury about her father’s plans for her and Wenford—though, knowing her brother, he’d probably been gabbing about it from the moment the marquis entered the room. Whatever Jack might think, however, didn’t matter. She couldn’t let it matter. Resolutely, she looked away.

  “I see you looking at Dansbury,” Dolph said unexpectedly, and she hurriedly returned her attention to her waltzing partner.

  “He was staring at me rather rudely,” she improvised, “so I returned the favor.”

  “It might be wiser for you simply to ignore him,” the duke advised mildly. “Those he dislikes tend to meet with unpleasant fates.”

  Lilith’s breath caught. Surely he wouldn’t voice his suspicions about Dansbury to her, of all people. Not when the marquis and her brother were known to be fast friends. “Were you speaking of anything in particular?”

  He nodded. “I don’t like to gossip, but for your own safety, perhaps it’s best that you know. There was a woman in Paris who humiliated him, and he shot and killed her. After he returned to London, there were rumors of at least two men killed in duels. He has a black temper.” Dolph paused, once more looking in Dansbury’s direction. “In fact,” he continued in a more thoughtful tone, “I almost wonder whether he had anything to do with my own uncle’s demise. His hatred for Uncle Geoffrey was quite well known. And my uncle’s…the circumstances of his death were both unfortunate and very out of character.”

  When Jack had spoken of the woman, Genevieve, who had died in France, she had heard the regret in hi
s voice. He’d tried to disguise it, but she was coming to understand his expressions and his moods, and she had to fight the abrupt urge to defend the Marquis of Dansbury’s tattered reputation. “Rumors will abound, I’m certain,” she returned stiffly, “but I have always preferred to judge for myself.”

  “A useless exercise.” The duke smiled down at her.

  Lilith knitted her brow. “What do you mean, Your Grace?”

  He chuckled. “You are a beautiful woman. Anything else is a waste. A woman knows only matters of the heart, I always say.”

  Stunned, Lilith stared at him. Offense and anger swiftly followed. Wenford knew nothing about her—how dared he insult her intelligence! “If that is Your Grace’s opinion,” she said stiffly, flushing, “then perhaps we should—”

  “Don’t bother being offended,” he said patronizingly, his good humor vanishing. “Just smile and look lovely. That’s all that’s required of you.” Before Lilith could think of a caustic response, the duke glanced at Dansbury again. “Speaking up where speech is not required can only get you embroiled in all sorts of idiotic nonsense.”

  “Then I shall not converse any further with you,” Lilith said through clenched teeth.

  Dolph shrugged as his much-admired blue eyes returned to her. “You’ll speak in the flattering manner for which you are known, I believe, to excel. All the gentlemen of the ton discuss the esteem with which you regard them. And the loftier the title, the more pleasant you apparently are. And your father, as well. He finds my title quite fascinating, I think.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “And in truth, I find you rather fascinating, Miss Benton. I can’t seem to help myself, despite your unsavory relationship with Dansbury.”

  “I have no relationship with Dansbury. But even so, I find him to be far more appealing than you, Your Grace,” Lilith snapped, all patience gone. This man was worse than his uncle.

  “Mind your manners, girl,” he grunted, the expression in his eyes turning briefly ugly, “or someone will mind them for you.”

  As she looked into Dolph Remdale’s light blue eyes, Lilith was frightened for the first time. Frightened, and worried. She had promised her father she would wed anyone he chose. And he had chosen the new Duke of Wenford.

  Dolph’s slight smile widened. “It seems you learn quickly. Pity.” He glanced in Jack’s direction again, then as the dance turned them, his gaze found her father. “Your dear Papa looks so hopeful. Do let’s make him happy, Lilith. Shall we?”

  “You…you can’t be serious,” she stammered, white-faced. She wanted to scream, to faint, to pull free of his grip and run from the room.

  He shrugged again. “Why not? I’m bound to marry sooner or later, and I’d rather have you in my bed than any of those squint-eyed chits waiting along the walls.” Wenford tugged her closer, so that his breath was in her face. “I can’t wait to have you, Lilith,” he murmured.

  “Never,” she hissed.

  “Shall we wager on that?” he returned conversationally, his mood changing again with lightning speed.

  The waltz ended, and Lilith tried to pull free. He kept a firm hold, placing her hand over his arm and holding it there tightly enough to bruise.

  “Let me go,” she muttered, tugging at his grip.

  “Smile, my love,” he returned in the same tone. “You don’t wish to cause a scene, do you?”

  He was right. However much she feared and loathed him, there was little that could be done in such a public place. In private she would speak to her father and let him know what kind of monster Dolph Remdale was, and they could quietly decline his attentions. Lilith glanced up at the duke as he stopped before Lord Hamble. He hardly knew her. This was only the first dance, and the first real conversation, they’d ever had. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t be.

  “Hamble,” the duke said, smiling warmly at Lilith, “your daughter is exceptional.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Her father beamed. “I have done my best to raise her well.”

  “I shall have to speak to my man of business, of course, and the dozens of solicitors my uncle seems to have found it necessary to retain,” the duke said, as though discussing the purchase of a coach or a cart mule, “but I see no real obstacle. Will you call on me tomorrow so we may finalize the arrangements?”

  For a moment even the viscount seemed taken aback by the swiftness of the proceedings. He blinked a few times, then smiled broadly and offered his hand. “It will be my pleasure, Your Grace.”

  Dolph shook her father’s hand, then forcibly took her own fingers and lifted them. Lightly he brushed his lips across her knuckles, and then finally released her. Lilith immediately took a step back. She desired to do nothing more than turn and run, but was prevented from it only by Aunt Eugenia’s elated hug.

  “Oh, my dear,” her aunt gushed, beaming, “what wonderful news!”

  “Yes,” Lilith agreed hollowly, pulling free, “thank you. Excuse me.”

  Hardly aware of what she was doing, Lilith turned to make her way through the jostling, stiflingly hot crowd. More than anything, she needed air, a chance for a moment of quiet. Everything was a nightmare. It couldn’t be true! It couldn’t really be happening. Her father had looked so ecstatic, so pleased, and she couldn’t imagine what he would say when she told him she couldn’t—wouldn’t—marry Dolph Remdale. Finally she reached the balcony and grasped the railing to breathe deeply of the crisp night air.

  “Congratulations.”

  Lilith whipped around to see Jack standing in the shadows a few feet from the doorway. The breath which had caught in her throat began again raggedly. Jack would know what to do. She stepped toward him, but he lifted one hand to stop her.

  “Well done,” he continued, in the same soft tone.

  She stopped. “Jack—”

  “A duke, even,” he went on. “I owe you an apology”

  “For what?” This was the Dansbury that she didn’t like—the cold, cynical, arrogant one.

  “I was wrong. You are an Ice Queen.”

  “How can you say that?” she whispered, stunned and shocked for the second time that evening.

  He shrugged carelessly, but his eyes glittered in the moonlight as he looked at her. “How can I not?” he murmured, his voice icy with cynicism, but edged with a dark, heated anger. “You’ve made a very successful match with a monster. Don’t you recall how we were discussing that he may have killed his uncle for the title? Oh, but he is respectable, isn’t he? You must be so pleased.”

  Lilith clenched her fists. “I suppose it’s true,” she said with feigned calm, when she wanted to shout and hit him and tell him she’d been counting on him for support and help. “He may be a killer.” She pointed a finger at his chest, willing her hand not to shake. “You, however, are a self-confessed murderer.”

  At Jack’s quick, angry breath, she knew she’d scored a hit.

  “True,” he returned in a biting voice, “though where you’re concerned, that would hardly seem to stand against me. It’s only confessing to it that you find offensive, isn’t it, Lil?”

  “It is you I find offensive,” she shot back at him, furious and hurt.

  “The feeling is mu—”

  “How dare you!” she interrupted, taking another step forward, tears streaming unnoticed down her face. “You’re so damned selfish, you think everyone else cares only for their own amusements, as well. Not everyone is a self-centered boor like you, Dansbury. My actions affect my family, for better or for worse. My family wants me to marry Wenford. I want to please my family.” Lilith didn’t know whether she was trying to convince Jack or herself, but he didn’t leave her time for reflection.

  “And when your family is safe and happy back at Hamble Hall, and Dolph is sweating and rutting inside you at grand Wenford Park, will you be pleased?” He grabbed her hard by the shoulders. “You’re not a fool, Lilith,” he hissed, shaking her, “and you’re not blind. Open your eyes, for God’s sake, before you get yourself killed. Or wor
se.”

  Abruptly he released her, and without a backward glance returned to the lighted, noisy ballroom. Lilith staggered, and with a sob, returned to cling to the balcony’s stone railing for dear life. She hated him. She hated Dansbury and his stupid, self-centered arrogance. Which didn’t explain why she felt as though her last, best, and only hope of escape from Wenford’s nightmare had just abandoned her.

  Jack Faraday sat in his library before the fire roaring in the gilded fireplace, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Slowly he held up a playing card. The three of diamonds. Carefully he squinted down the length of the card, then flicked it in the direction of the fireplace. With a sucking hiss the card burst into flame and vanished. Methodically he lifted another card and repeated the process, with the same results.

  He was halfway through his second deck, and none of the black anger coursing through his veins had lessened in the slightest. “Fool,” he muttered, sending the five of clubs into the flames. “Idiot.” The nine of hearts followed. “Halfwit.” The ten of clubs became cinders.

  Someone scratched at the library door.

  “I’m not home,” he called, and resumed the destruction of the cards.

  “I know, my lord,” Peese returned, his voice muffled by the sturdy oak door, “but if you were home would you be willing to see Mr. Price, who is waiting in the foyer for your reply?”

  “You’re fired, Peese,” Jack said.

  “Yes, my lord,” his butler answered patiently. “But Mr. Price?”

  “No.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Two more cards had been consumed before Price opened the library door and stepped in. “Yes, I know, you’re not home, and if you were, you’d be in a very foul mood if anyone barged in on you.” He shut the door behind him, then paused as another card sailed into heated oblivion. “My, my,” he continued more quietly, and took the seat to Jack’s right. “I haven’t seen this for a while.”