Stolen Kisses (20 page)

“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 tomor
row 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 worse.”

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.”

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 be
gan 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 considera
tion. 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.”

“M
y 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 wait
ing 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.”

“That’s the second time tonight you’ve accused me of turning my back on you,” Richard snapped, blocking Jack’s path. “As I recall, you were the one who took it upon yourself to kill Genevieve. I wasn’t in the room.”

“Someday, Richard,” the marquis said, stepping around his brother-in-law and jabbing an accusing finger at him, “someday I’ll tell you what really happened that night.”

“Tell me now.”

“Go to the devil.”

To his surprise, Richard followed him to the door. “Jack, I know you don’t want to listen to me, but the Duke of Wenford is pressing for a formal investigation into his uncle’s death. If you could manage to lie quiet for a few days, it might blow over.”