Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  Ignoring him, Jack picked up the last card of the second deck. The queen of hearts, of course. He looked at it, trying to make it signify something, but the red, flat-faced monarch had little to do with the black-haired enchantress who’d just slipped from his fingers and into the arms of a snake. Scowling, he released the card, but instead of landing in the fire, it curved at the last moment and landed, face up, on the edge of the hearth.

  Beside him Price leaned forward, looked at the card, and sat back again. “Female troubles, I presume?” he commented, sliding a third deck of cards from the pile on the table toward Jack’s reaching fingers.

  “No.”

  “Ah.” Ogden cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Miss Benton’s betrothal, then.”

  “Is she engaged?” Jack forced out, glancing briefly in his companion’s direction. “Hadn’t heard.”

  “Liar.” Price picked up another of the decks and began absently shuffling the cards in nimble fingers. “Doesn’t really matter to me, anyway, except that I’ve apparently won the hundred quid Landon wagered me. I told him you’d never bed her.”

  And Dolph Remdale will be able to take her whenever he pleases. “Season’s not over yet,” he ground through clenched teeth.

  Price lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps you could use—how shall I say—an evening with a pliable female companion.”

  “Probably.” A meaningless wallow with one of the new Italian divas gracing the opera stage was likely what he needed. It had been weeks since he’d broken with Camilla, and there’d been no one since then. He’d been concentrating all his efforts and all his energies on Lil Benton—and all because what had begun as a petty revenge had now evolved into something he couldn’t put words to, except to acknowledge that he was a damned fool for thinking any woman would ever choose to follow her heart over her per annum, and that—even more frustrating—he wanted her more now than he had at the onset of this idiotic little game.

  “You’re not going to go find one of the fashionable imputes, though,” Price commented after a moment. “Are you?”

  “No.”

  Price cleared his throat again. “Well, perhaps I’d best leave, then.” If he was expecting a request to stay, he didn’t receive one, and finally he stood. Even then he continued to shuffle about from one foot to the other, while Jack continued to ignore him. “The actual reason I came by,” he finally said, “was to mention that after you rather abruptly left the Cremwarren soirée, some speculation began that old Wenford may have been poisoned.”

  Jack paused in mid-throw and looked up at him. “So that’s how I did it, then. I was wondering.” The nine of clubs cascaded into the fire.

  Price clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes, apparently with the bottle of port you gave him. The empty bottle was found upstairs in his study.”

  It hadn’t been there when Jack had visited Wenford’s study, the night before the body was found. If it had ended up there, it hadn’t done so until after the duke’s unfortunate demise was discovered. “Ah,” he said noncommittally.

  Price studied his countenance for a time, then nodded once more and turned for the doorway. “Well, good night, Dansbury.”

  “Price.”

  For a long time after Price left, Jack sat where he was and stared into the fire. He’d seen the speculation in Price’s eyes, the wondering whether Black Jack Faraday might truly have had something to do with Old Hatchet Face popping off. And Price knew him better than most.

  The marquis scooted off the chair to squat before the fire. Idly he began gathering the few cards that had escaped incineration, tossing them one by one into the flames. He’d erred on two counts. He’d badly misread Lilith Benton, had even begun to think that he was becoming more than just a scandalous novelty to her. Second, he’d spent so much time chasing Lilith that he’d forgotten about Dolph. And Wenford had outmaneuvered him.

  Because he’d miscalculated, he was about to be in for another unpleasant bout of rumors and innuendo, being cut and ignored by the good ton. Jack lifted the queen of hearts again. It hurt to know that he’d been wrong about her—though even if he’d been right, he’d long ago lost any chance to earn her respect and consideration. With a scowl he crumpled the queen and threw it into the fire. “Damnation,” he swore, shifting to sit cross-legged on the rug before the fire. Restlessly he ran his hand through his wavy hair. “Damnation.”

  Chapter 13

  “My sister, the Duchess of Wenford.” William grinned, bowing grandly as Lilith descended the stairs toward him. “Who would have thought? Father was right, after all. You have, by God, caught the highest title in London. Dullest, too, no doubt.”

  Lilith swallowed, determined not to begin crying again. She’d done enough over the past two days to last a lifetime. “I’d prefer not to speak of it at the moment, if you don’t mind,” she said haughtily. “I’m going shopping. I’ve an engagement ball to prepare for.” In another two days, when her engagement was officially announced, it would be too late for everything. Though it had probably been too late for her from the moment her mother had vanished without a word six years ago.

  William looked up at her for a moment, clearly trying to read her expression, then shrugged. “All right.”

  “Thank you.” With a nod she stepped past him to collect her gloves from Bevins. She heard William hesitate before he turned and followed her, and she steadied herself for whatever he might say next.

  “Lil, have you ever heard of Jezebel’s Harem?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Her brother wore his clowning expression, the one that generally accompanied his attempts to cheer her up. For once, she was not in the mood to listen to his silliness. “Does that sound like a place I would have heard of?” she snapped.

  A heroic smile touched his lips, then faded. “I suppose not,” he continued gallantly. “But I wish you were a gentleman, so I could take you next time I go with Jack. We went there again last night, and there’re these women, wearing nothing but veils all over their bodies. They didn’t hide very much, though. One of ’em kept sitting in Jack’s lap, but he was more interested in emptying his bottle of brandy.” William gave a mock frown. “Jack turning down a chit wearing nothing but a few handkerchiefs. Odd, eh?”

  Lilith flinched at the mention of Dansbury’s name. “William, I do not wish to hear about it,” she informed him coolly. Looking into the hall mirror, she placed her bonnet over her hair and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. Her brother’s face appeared over her shoulder.

  “What’s gotten into you? Jack’s antics always send you flying up into the boughs.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” she returned, pulling on her gloves. “I am the Ice Queen.”

  “No, you aren’t, Lil,” he protested. “Stop it.”

  She turned to face him. “Why?”

  “Because you aren’t, that’s why. If you don’t want to marry Wenford, then just tell Fa—”

  “It’s a good match,” she interrupted, patting him on the cheek and smiling as best she could, though it couldn’t possibly look authentic. “And I’ll be a duchess, as you said. Who could ask for more?”

  Before he could reply, Lilith turned away so Bevins could help her on with her heavy shawl. She was halfway out the door, heading toward Milgrew and the waiting carriage, before her brother finally spoke.

  “Jack doesn’t like to talk about you anymore, either,” he offered in a quiet voice.

  Lilith faltered, and tried to hide the motion by straightening her shawl. “I don’t care,” she said without turning around, and Milgrew helped her into the coach.

  Thankfully Lady Sanford seemed to realize that Lilith and Penelope wanted a chance to talk in private, for after Milgrew stopped for the other two ladies and then drove them to Bond Street, Pen’s mother became very interested in a particular hat shop, and refused to leave until she’d found something to wear. Lilith and Pen stood outside in the wan sunlight and waited for her.

  “I know you
aren’t happy,” Penelope said quietly, glancing about the busy street, “but His Grace is handsome and wealthy, Lil. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  To her father, it did. “It doesn’t matter. Pen,” she returned, gazing uninterestedly at Lady Phoebe Dewhurst as that formidable woman and her retinue of footmen arrived, laden with packages, at the Dewhurst carriage. “It’s been decided. He and my father shook hands on it, and their solicitors drew up some sort of agreement about my dowry. And in two nights, Aunt Eugenia will welcome everyone to Benton House for my engagement ball.”

  “Why so soon?”

  “His Grace wished it,” Lilith returned, not willing to reveal the exact conversation. “No dawdling,” her father had said upon his return from Remdale House. “That’s what he wants. To be wed and done with the nonsense. And so we shall be.” The look he’d given her had stopped any protest in her throat. He’d wanted this marriage for six years, if not for his entire life.

  “His Grace must truly be in love with you,” Pen offered, though neither her voice nor her expression seemed very enthusiastic.

  “He must be,” Lilith agreed tonelessly. “Do let’s speak of something else.” She’d tried to convince herself that she’d misheard Dolph at the ball, or that he’d been nervous about proposing and so had spoken poorly. She hadn’t seen him since that night, but he had absolutely no reason to be cruel to her. They barely knew one another.

  “All right,” Pen agreed, scrunching up her nose in concentration. Finally she brightened. “Was the Marquis of Dansbury devastated at the news?”

  “I doubt he possesses the ability to feel such a thing,” Lilith said flippantly, glancing at her friend and then away. She’d figured Jack Faraday out, as well. He’d realized he’d lost whatever game he’d been playing with her, so he had yelled and stomped his feet and gone off to pout, and she’d never see him again. Good riddance—and he was not the reason she’d gone to sleep weeping for the past three nights.

  “You truly did like him, didn’t you?” Penelope asked.

  “Not a bit. He’s a scoundrel and a rakehell and a gambler, and if I never see him again, I will be quite happy, I assure you.”

  “You left out murderer.”

  Lilith blanched. “What?”

  “Haven’t you heard? Everyone says he actually killed old Wenford. That he gave the duke a bottle of wine, and it was poisoned.” She leaned closer. “They even found the bottle, I hear.”

  “That’s…that’s nonsense,” Lilith protested. “Awful as Dansbury is, he’d never murder anyone. It’s absurd.”

  “But what about that woman in Paris, Lil?”

  “If you think he’s a killer, then why were you so excited when you thought he was pursuing me?”

  Pen shrugged. “Because you don’t think he’s a killer.”

  “I—”

  “And because you seemed to like him.”

  Just how much she did like him had become painfully clear when he’d abandoned her. Jack Faraday brought something to her life that she’d never had before—a sense that she didn’t need to watch herself, that she could do as she chose. With a ragged sigh, she caught her daydreams and pulled them back to the ground. The reality was, she could do anything she chose, so long as her highly uncharacteristic behavior amused him. Well, he’d made it perfectly clear how he felt about her, and she was glad the silly, stupid pursuit he’d pretended was over with.

  She looked over at Pen. “I was wrong.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes as Price looked about the crowded parlor at Boodle’s, avoiding Jack’s gaze as he had been for the past five minutes

  “Go, then,” he murmured, and lifted his glass, draining the brandy it contained. “I didn’t expect to see you again after the other night, anyway.”

  Price sat back. “I’ve an engagement,” he said emphatically and for the third time, as though volume and repetition made his excuse more believable. He glanced about again and leaned toward Jack. “I don’t know what in hell you think you’re accomplishing by sitting here, anyway,” he continued in a lower tone. “Is being cut by your fellows another part of your game?”

  “I am not being cut,” Jack stated, refilling his snifter to the brim. “They are being cut. By me. And so are you. Go away.”

  The tables immediately on either side of him were empty, despite the evening’s crowd, and he knew without looking that he was being widely discussed by the other patrons. William was at Antonia’s. He’d nearly gone there himself, but he didn’t feel up to Mademoiselle St. Gerard’s smooth prying. Neither had he wanted to attend White’s or the Society, knowing whatever snubbing he was going to receive was bound to be worse there. Boodle’s had seemed safe enough, but even here he could feel the suspicion and the tension in the air. He didn’t care. All he wanted to do was to get drunk enough so he could sleep without that damned chit’s face and eyes taunting him through his dreams.

  “Jack, go home,” Price implored, then stood and left.

  Jack didn’t bother watching him depart. Dolph Remdale was doing a fine job with his rumors. Ernest Landon had failed to appear at all tonight, and he’d heard that Thomas Hanlon had been called to the country to visit an ailing relative. His cronies were fleeing like rats from a sinking ship. William Benton was the only one who’d actually offered to spend the evening with him, but William was Lilith’s brother, and thereby far too much of a reminder of his own idiocy.

  When Price hesitantly sat opposite him again a few minutes later, Jack didn’t bother looking up at his companion. “The only thing worse than a coward is an indecisive one,” he said. “Bugger off, Price, before I kill you, too.”

  “They say confession is good for the soul,” a very different voice said from where Price was supposed to be sitting. “But given the setting, it’s likely not the best way to defend your reputation.”

  Startled, Jack looked up and waited for his eyes to focus. “Richard.”

  “Well, that’s an improvement,” his brother-in-law continued in the same low tone. “You’re not blind drunk, anyway.”

  An encounter with his sister’s shining hero was exactly what he didn’t wish for the evening. “I haven’t been near your precious family,” he hissed, sprawling forward across the table and nearly spilling his glass in the process. “I haven’t spoken to my sister, or to my niece, or to your damned dog or your damned wash maid. So leave me alone.”

  Richard examined his fingernails, then looked up again. “I would, except that Alison told me to find you and make certain you were all right.”

  “I’m splendid. Good night.”

  “Look, Jack, I don’t want to be here any more than—”

  The marquis jabbed a finger in his brother-in-law’s face. “You look, Richard. I don’t want you here. I did quite well the last time you turned your back on me. So don’t think I want whatever charity you’ve decided to dole out.”

  Richard-was very quiet for a moment. “I turned my back on you?” he repeated slowly. “Is that what you said?”

  Jack should not have been speaking. He knew better than to begin rattling on about something he was angry about when he was this drunk. But he was so damned tired of it all. He was tired of himself, of Black Jack Faraday. “You heard me.” The footman approached again with another bottle, but Jack waved him away. “Family is everything. Did you know that?” He downed his glass, and without pause poured himself another. “Don’t embarrass your family, don’t disappoint your family, and don’t put yourself before your family.” Jack glanced about the room, but he was still being given a wide berth by the rest of the patrons, damn them all.

  “What she doesn’t know anything about, though, is what your family is supposed to do for you.” He leaned back and took another drink, beginning to doubt he’d make it out to his carriage without assistance. It would serve him right if he ended up on his face, out in the gutter. “They’re using her. That’s all.” He sat forward again and pounded his fist on the table. “You know, maybe she does
realize about family. She’s afraid if she disappoints them, they’ll turn away from her. You know all about that, don’t you, Richard?”

  From Richard’s expression, Jack’s speech had sounded as garbled as it felt. “Who is ‘she’?” he finally asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Just a chit I’ve been trying to ruin.”

  His disapproval palpable, Richard’s lips tightened. “Lilith Benton, I presume?”

  Jack glanced at him. “Don’t worry. I’ve returned my attention to drinking and gambling and whores, where it belongs.”

  From Richard’s expression, he remained skeptical, but Jack didn’t much care. If he never set eyes on Lilith Benton again, he would be perfectly happy. Or at least, just as happy as he was this evening.

  “She’s made a good match politically,” Richard offered quietly.

  “Who? Oh, Miss Benton. Yes, Dolph Remdale’s a fine, upstanding gentleman. I’m certain she’ll be perfectly happy.” He couldn’t help the bitter tone, for even the words tasted sour on his tongue. Damn her for playing such havoc with his mind.

  “She invited Alison and me to her engagement ball.”

  Now Richard was just fishing, to see whether he’d bite. “How wonderful for you. My invitation seems to have been lost in the London mail. Blasted shame, I’m sure.”

  “I would hope that didn’t surprise you. Perhaps you might consider worrying about your own reputation for a moment, rather than ruining someone else’s.”

  “I told you, I don’t need your advice.” The footman approached again, and Jack glared at him. “I’m leaving. Have my coach brought around.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Richard grabbed his arm. “Don’t you realize, Jack,” he said urgently, “there’s talk that you murdered—murdered—Wenford? How can you sit about making a spectacle of yourself?”

  Jack yanked free and lurched to his feet. “Apologies if I’ve embarrassed you, Richard. Just turn your back again, and no harm will come of it. Everyone knows we don’t speak, anyway.”