Stolen Kisses

by Suzanne Enoch

  “If I knew what I wanted to know, I would know it already!” Jack exploded, weariness and frustration eating at him. “I can’t believe that with all the gossip the two of you collect, you haven’t heard anything!”

  “Neither has anyone heard anything about this household,” Martin pointed out more quietly. Jack turned to pin a glare at him, and the valet sketched a short bow. “My lord.”

  Peese took a step forward. “Nor will they,” he concurred proudly.

  “I was about to say,” Martin went on, “I heard a rumor several months ago that one of Mr. Remdale’s—before he became a duke, of course—one of Mr. Remdale’s housemaids broke her arm falling down the stairs.”

  Jack frowned. “It’s unfortunate, of course, but not all that unu—”

  “He had the girl sent off to one of his uncle’s estates. Or rather, old Wenford had her sent away.”

  There was obviously something missing, and Jack had a fair suspicion what it might be. “And the infant’s name was?”

  Martin gave a short grin. “Don’t know that part.”

  “You know,” Peese broke in, “now that you mention it, my cousin’s husband’s sister was hired on there about three years ago, and she gave her notice after a fortnight.”

  Finally. “Why?”

  The butler shrugged. “She said Mr. Remdale frightened her. Said some of the other girls there had bruises.”

  Fury and alarm coursed through Jack. “You mean, he beats and abuses his female staff?” And that bastard meant to get his hands on his Lilith.

  Martin nodded. “T’would seem that way, my lord.”

  “You might have remembered that when I first asked you,” he grumbled.

  The butler assumed a hurt expression. “I said you should be more specific, my lord.”

  “If you’d pay attention to happenings in your own household, you’d have known what he was asking,” Martin interjected haughtily.

  Jack pinned the valet with a glare. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  Martin had the temerity to grin. “I’d not answer that on pain of death, my lord,” he said.

  The marquis decided it would be best to let the subject go. From their behavior the night Lilith had come calling and the morning after, both Martin and Peese knew there was something unusual about her, and the lot of them hadn’t stayed alive in Europe during Bonaparte’s damned war because they were fools. “I trust none of us will have to suffer through that.”

  Immediately both servants became serious. “That lout wants you hanged, my lord, no doubt about it,” Peese growled.

  “No, none at all.” Jack gave a quick grin. “Let’s see that it doesn’t happen, though, shall we?”

  The butler gave a grim smile himself. “We might beat him to the point, my lord.”

  The marquis shook his head. “I’ve thought about that. However clever we were, they’d still blame it on me.” He sighed. “No, we’ll have work within the law this time.”

  “That’s a bloody shame,” Peese grumbled.

  “Yes, well, if everything goes as I…as I hope, we may have to get used to more propriety about the household, anyway.” Jack looked at the two men, daring them to ask anything, and then headed for the door. “Peese, you’re with me. Martin, you seem to have better information regarding the Remdale household. Find out as much as you can.”

  Martin came to attention and sketched a salute. “Aye, Major.”

  When Jack and his butler arrived at White’s, he was somewhat surprised that the law hadn’t been there already. His private stock of port remained locked in the cellar, and, according to the head footman, had not been touched. Apparently rumors weren’t quite enough to stir Bow Street against a member of the peerage. Not yet, anyway. He posted Peese to keep everything tidy and rode to get Richard.

  “You realize what a chance you’re taking,” his brother-in-law pointed out as they removed the offending crate from the club’s cellar and set it down on the largest kitchen table. As it was early evening, the main salon was beginning to fill with the usual midweek crowd. All the footmen, though, stood crowded about the large kitchen.

  “I haven’t much choice,” Jack answered dryly, and motioned at Peese. “Bring it into the salon.”

  “Jack,” Richard warned, stepping back as the legion of footmen crowded behind Peese.

  “Come along,” Jack said with a jaunty bow, as a wave of ill-tempered protests began inside the posh, crowded room. “You might enjoy this.”

  Peese set the crate down in the middle of the table occupied by Lord Dupont and his party, crushing their game of faro beneath its weight.

  “What is the meaning of this, Dansbury?” Dupont growled, leaving his chair as Jack reached over his shoulder for a bottle.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Jack nodded to the assembly at large, then turned his attention to the port in his hand. The wax stopper remained in place, and it looked untouched. Though with cork it was difficult to tell, it didn’t look as though it had been pierced with anything. He turned to find the head footman. “Freeling, you’re certain no one’s been near my store since I last asked for a bottle?”

  The tall, thin footman inclined his head. “I’m certain, my lord. No one has touched it.”

  Jack studied the man’s countenance for a moment, while the crowd muttered around them. Coin could make a lie, but it couldn’t necessarily make a good one. And Freeling had always seemed an upright individual.

  “Well, then,” he sighed, and gestured at Peese, who came forward and uncorked the bottle.

  “I don’t suppose you thought to bring any rats,” Richard murmured. He had looked over the storeroom as carefully as Jack had, and if the marquis hadn’t known any better, he would have called his brother-in-law’s expression concerned.

  “Hate to waste good port on rats.” Jack grinned, lifted the bottle, put it to his lips, and took a long swallow.

  “Jack!” Richard bellowed, belatedly trying to snatch the bottle away. “Are you mad?”

  “If any poor rats perished, I’d hang for it as well.” Jack studied Freeling’s countenance again. The footman looked as startled as the rest of the spectators, and nothing else came to his expression to indicate that he knew more than he claimed. He looked at Richard again. “How long does it take one to perish from arsenic poisoning?” he asked out of the side of his mouth.

  “Under the circumstances, I believe you’d know you’d been poisoned by now,” Richard said shakily. His face was gray. “My God, Jack.”

  Jack shrugged, trying to make light of what he’d done. If he’d acted the least bit concerned, they would all have interpreted it as guilt. Lilith would likely murder him herself, if she ever found out what he’d done, but he’d rather have died of poison than have Dolph Remdale laugh while he swung from the end of a rope. Slowly he took another swallow, and then set the bottle aside. “Now, Freeling.”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Did I request a particular bottle that evening?”

  “Not that I recall, my lord.”

  “And for what purpose did I request the bottle?”

  Freeling cleared his throat. “You said you didn’t want to drink any more house swill, and you’d have one of your own, my lord.”

  Jack turned back to Richard and lifted an eyebrow. “Shall I have a drink from each of them?”

  “Fifty quid for each bottle he lives through!” Lord Hunt called, the wager swiftly taken up by others.

  The bet seemed a sound one, and Jack wouldn’t have minded putting a few pounds on himself. “Why not?”

  Richard hurriedly shook his head and motioned for Peese to collect the crate. “No. Let me take the rest to an alchemist. I’ll round up some more witnesses, and we’ll test the remainder in a more scientific, if slightly less spectacular, manner.”

  Jack put his hand over the case before Peese lifted it. “And you won’t let it out of your sight?” he said softly, catching Richard’s gaze, making certain he knew just how much
trust Jack was placing in his brother-in-law.

  Richard looked straight back at him. “I’ll not let it out of my sight,” he confirmed.

  The marquis stepped away from the table. “All right, then. Goodnight, gentleman.”

  Another point to his favor, and before he continued the battle, Jack admitted to himself that he wanted to see Lilith again. It was almost puppyish, his craving to be in her presence the way a bee craved flowers. The Lord knew he’d been foolish before, but for the first time he felt as though it might be for the right reason. And if nothing else, he needed to warn her about Dolph Remdale’s way of dealing with women. If the bastard laid a finger on Lil, he would be lucky to live long enough to regret it.

  Having become something of an aficionado of irony since beginning her acquaintance with Dansbury, Lilith looked up into the cloudless skies above Hyde Park and smiled. It seemed that the darker and more confused her own life became, the better weather London was having. She leaned forward to pet the withers of her mare, Polly, and sighed, trying for a moment to forget how much trouble both she and Jack were in.

  “What did you say to your aunt this morning?” Penelope asked from beside her as they toured the Lady’s Mile. Milgrew waited in the shade a respectful distance away. “She was absolutely beaming.”

  Lilith shrugged. “I said I would gladly accept His Grace’s invitation to a picnic tomorrow.” She wondered if that wasn’t the main reason for her raised spirits this morning. Finally she was doing something, instead of merely agreeing to what everyone else expected of her. True, everyone might think she was still being dutiful and proper, because no one else knew precisely why she wanted to spend more time with Dolph Remdale. And hopefully he wouldn’t realize it, either—at least, not until she had discovered for certain if, how, and why he had killed his uncle.

  “You said what?” Pen asked, lifting both delicate eyebrows. “Last night the thought of ever seeing him again made you ill. And what about Lord Dans—”

  “Hush, Pen,” Lilith admonished. “I know what I’m doing.” At least, she hoped she did.

  Pen was shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but…” She trailed off, looking over Lil’s shoulder. Penelope blushed, a smile lighting her face and her eyes. “Good afternoon, Mr. Benton,” she said.

  “Miss Sanford,” William returned.

  Lilith turned around to see her brother rein in beside them. He was mounted on that monstrously expensive black stallion Jack had convinced him he must own. Now that Lilith looked at Thor with a kinder eye, though, she had to admit that he was a magnificent beast.

  “I thought you’d be occupied with your cronies,” Lilith said, looking at her brother curiously. He seemed distracted about something, though she had no idea what it might be. She was well aware, though, that the only thing that seemed to distract him lately was Antonia St. Gerard.

  “My cronies have scattered to the four winds. The only one I can ever find is Jack, and Father’ll thrash me if I speak to him again.”

  That was nothing compared to what their father would do to her if he ever found out about her and Jack. “What about Miss St. Gerard? Last week it was picnics and horse races every day.”

  “Antonia’s nocturnal, mostly,” he answered, his distracted look deepening.

  “Is something wrong?” Pen asked him before Lilith could.

  William looked at Penelope. “Hm? Oh, nothing. Just got my mind a bit occupied, is all.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Gadzooks, no,” William answered, flushing. Abruptly he pounded his fist against the pommel of his saddle. “Sometimes females are just too agreeable,” he blurted out.

  Lilith and Pen looked at one another, and Penelope giggled. “Any female—any person—who is too agreeable is after something,” Pen said.

  William tilted his head to look more closely at her, his expression changing a little. “You’re never cross, Miss Sanford,” he pointed out.

  “I am frequently cross,” Pen countered easily. “I am merely cross at the correct times.”

  “But how is anyone supposed to know—”

  A commotion began across the clearing, and Lilith turned again. A bay gelding came charging toward them, riderless. Polly shifted nervously, and Lilith sternly reined her in. “What in the—”

  “That’s Jack’s bay. Benedick,” William said, turning Thor and kicking him in the ribs.

  The stallion snorted and sprinted off toward the gelding. The horse stopped as soon as her brother leaned over to catch the dangling reins, and in fact looked almost relieved to do so. Lilith looked about in alarm, her breath catching, to see where Benedick’s rider might be. Finally she spied him, strolling toward them through the park, unmindful of the other pedestrians moving out of his path to avoid him.

  “My thanks, William,” he said in a carrying voice when still some distance away. “I was chatting with Lady Henry, and the old boy got away from me.”

  “You are unhurt, then?” Lilith asked, trying to keep her voice cool.

  He glanced in her direction. “Quite, Miss Benton.” Lord Dansbury accepted the reins from William and swung up into the saddle. As he brought Benedick around, he passed close by Lilith. “Leave your window open tonight, m’dear,” he murmured, and with a grin and a jaunty wave of his hat at Penelope, he was gone back across the park.

  “Benedick got away from him, my left bootstrap,” William muttered, looking with some awe at his former idol. “That horse is closer to human than some of the fellows I’ve played against.” He shook his head. “Wonder what the devil he’s up to this time.”

  “Perhaps he misses you,” Penelope suggested, though when Lilith looked up, her friend’s gaze was not on her brother. “Seems everyone’s abandoned him.”

  “Not necessarily by choice,” her brother grumbled, then sighed and straightened. “May I buy you ladies an ice?”

  “I’d love one.” Pen smiled, and William settled Thor in beside her mare while Lilith followed behind.

  Her heart was racing and her mind tumbling about incoherently. If she had any sense left at all, she would lock and bar her windows and doors tonight. She smiled a little, knowing she would do no such thing. Jack was coming by.

  “That brings back some memories,” Martin commented soberly, stepping back to survey his employer.

  Jack lifted his arms and turned, eyeing himself in the dressing mirror. The dark breeches and coarse black shirt and coat brought back memories for him as well, most of them unpleasant. Telling Lilith that he and Richard had “mucked about” the French and Belgian countryside did little justice to the work they had accomplished in the name of God and country. And while it had been necessary, much of it had been bloody awful. Some of it even worse than that.

  “Yes, it does,” he said, picking up his heavy, dark gloves and glancing toward the window. With the night, fog was beginning to roll in. That would make creeping about in the dark easier, for he had no wish to be seen climbing into Lil’s window. “Any word from Peese?”

  Martin shook his head as he straightened up the dressing table. “I think you wounded his pride, my lord, when you said he should have known more about His Grace’s household. As soon as he returned from his assignation with Lord Hutton, he went off and said he’d be back tonight.”

  “He picked a splendid time to go wandering off,” Jack grumbled. “The last thing I need is for my butler to be discovered peeping through Remdale windows, or under the skirts of Remdale housemaids.” He made his way to his study, where he took one of his pistols from its case and loaded it. So far Dolph had been satisfied with rumors and cheap theatrics, but Jack had no intention of going about alone in the dark without some protection. The old duke had been mad, and he’d seen no reason to believe any differently of Dolph.

  “And what might you be about, my lord?”

  Jack spun, pistol gripped in his hand, as Peese leaned into the doorway. “Information. And where in damnation have yo
u been?” He stalked past the butler into the foyer, set down the gun, and waited for Peese to help him into an old, patched greatcoat.

  “Getting some information of my own,” the butler replied, returning the pistol to Jack, who dumped it into his deep pocket. “The butler’s gone.”

  Jack paused, then looked over his shoulder. “What? Whose butler?”

  “Wenford’s. About four days ago. No one belowstairs knows where or why. And no one’s daft enough to ask His Grace where Frawley might be.”

  “What sort of gentleman was Frawley?” Jack asked slowly.

  The butler pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Cook said Mr. Remdale hired Frawley because he was an old stuff, tighter than the former Wenford’s purse.”

  “The kind of fellow who might not enjoy being employed by someone doing something underhanded, you might say?” Jack pursued.

  Peese grinned. “Unlike ourselves, of course.”

  It made sense. Dolph would hire London’s stuffiest butler for the prestige. The fact that such an upright individual had disappeared without a trace could mean that Frawley had discovered some information that either Dolph or the poor butler was uncomfortable with him having. The whole supposition was mostly guesswork, but they had little else to chase after. “Do you have any idea where this Frawley might be?”

  “Not yet. I will.”

  “Splendid.” Jack turned for the front door.

  “My lord, are you certain you don’t wish some company?” Martin asked.

  “No. And don’t wait up. I’ll be back late.”

  “His Grace wants you dead, my lord,” Peese insisted earnestly. “You shouldn’t be going anywhere alone.”

  “He said he wanted me ruined,” Jack pointed out.

  “Hanging’ll do that.”

  Jack gave a short grin. “You saved my life once already, the two of you. I’ll be fine.”

  Peese frowned. “You couldn’t have known Genevieve Bruseille was going to turn traitor on you like that. Me and Martin and Lord Hutton, we trusted her, too.”