Stolen Kisses (3 page)

Dansbury led the applause as Josephine took her seat and straightened her music. He leaned over and murmured something to his companion, then glanced back
at Lilith. His dark eyes caught hers, and she met his gaze squarely. For a brief moment something changed in his eyes, as though she had surprised him. Then a devilish, sensuous smile touched his lips, and he faced forward again.

Lilith’s breath caught. She
was
the reason he was here, tormenting Lady Josephine and her mother. She glanced quickly at Aunt Eugenia, but her chaperon was whispering to Mrs. Hadlington. She sneaked another look at the marquis, to find his attention was on poor Lady Josephine as the poor girl badly mangled the concerto.

She couldn’t imagine having the temerity to stroll into an event to which she had not been invited—and then announce that she was late because she had been out drinking all night! Yet there Dansbury sat, from all appearances enjoying himself immensely. How in the world had he known she would be here?

Lilith clenched her jaw. She was becoming obsessed with the scoundrel. It could be a coincidence. He and Mr. Price might simply have heard the music and wandered in, knowing they wouldn’t be turned away. And he had merely been surprised to see her. That was it. A coincidence.

After all, she had done nothing wrong last night, she thought indignantly. He had been the one in error, to approach her so boldly and then look her up and down as though he were sizing up his next meal!

“Lilith,” her aunt hissed.

Lilith blinked and turned to face her. “Yes, Aunt?”

“Do not stare at that man.”

“I wasn’t…” She
had
been staring, and stifled another frown. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We have nothing to do with persons of that sort, members of the peerage or not. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Aunt Eugenia,” Lilith answered stiffly. “I am aware of that. I have no desire to have anything to do with him.”

“Good. Your father would be very disappointed if he saw you ogling such an infamous creature.”

That wasn’t fair; she’d only been glaring at the back of Dansbury’s head and wishing he would go away. But arguing with propriety-obsessed Aunt Eugenia only caused more trouble. “Yes, ma’am.”

Finally the concerto banged to a close. Again Dansbury led the applause, then went forward to congratulate Lady Josephine on her performance.

“Awful man,” Aunt Eugenia muttered, and dragged Lilith by the arm toward the doorway. “Going about terrorizing young girls now, I see. Thank goodness your dance card was full last night.”

Lilith nodded, more than happy to make her escape. She could only hope that the Marquis of Dansbury
was
just having a bit of fun antagonizing all the debutantes, and that she’d merely been last evening’s selection. Even so, she imagined she could feel his eyes on her back as she followed her aunt down the stairs and out to her father’s coach.

“Good God, that was horrendous,” Price uttered, as they made their way out to the marquis’s waiting carriage.

Jack turned from watching the vehicle carrying Lilith Benton disappear down the street. “Well worth the agony, I think.” He waved on his own coach, preferring to walk. He needed to think, and couldn’t do it while being jolted all over Bedlam. “Besides, I seem to recall that just last evening you said a jaunt into proper society would be good for me.”

Price grimaced. “I said it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, you were wrong. Young Lady Josephine’s playing sounds very like a caterwauling feline. But I accomplished what I set out to do.”

“You never exchanged a word with her,” his companion said, looking sideways at him.

“I know. It wasn’t necessary.”

Price shook his head. “You’re mad,” he muttered. “I said so ten years ago at Oxford, and you’ve only gotten worse since then.”

They crossed the avenue onto Grosvenor Street. It had been some time since Jack had seen the inside of any of the homes along the way, belonging as they did to the oldest, most respected families in Mayfair. And it had been some time since any of them had come to call on him at Grosvenor Square. At least
he
still found it humorous that the most disreputable peer in London lived in one of its finest homes. He shrugged, swinging his cane easily in his hand. “Has it really only been ten years since we graduated? It seems a lifetime ago.”

“Made me feel a hundred last night, listening to that fledgling going on about his adventures in London,” Price said woefully.

“Young William Benton is a key piece in my game. Leave him to me, if you please.”

Price sighed. “I do wish you wouldn’t drag me into your insane schemes.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Particularly when they involve innocents, who don’t know what kind of devil you are.”

“Why, thank you, Price.” Jack paused to sketch a bow and continued on his way. “And no one is innocent. Besides, she started it.”

“Cutting you for good reason is a poor excuse to ruin a girl.”

It probably was. He had decided last night, some
where between the fourth and fifth bottle of port, that the cut was not what he had taken offense to. It had been her denial of the attraction between them. And there
was
something between them; he’d felt it again today when she’d met his gaze, damn her. “Miss Benton didn’t seem to recognize you, Price,” he said, turning the subject again. “How long did you say you’ve been pursuing her?”

“I didn’t. As I recall, I said she was pleasant to look at.”

And Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
was simply a piece of music. Jack supposed that to be part of the rub, as well. If she hadn’t been the most exquisite thing he’d ever set eyes on, her repeated dismissals of him mightn’t have been so…irritating. The chit needed to be taught a lesson she wouldn’t forget. And if everything went as he planned, he would have an evening of very intimate acquaintance with her, to compensate for his trouble. “Where did our young informant say his sister was going tonight?”

“The opera.
Cadmus and Harmonia
, I believe.” Price looked at Jack expectantly. “By Lully.”

The marquis sighed. “Opera.”

His companion nodded. “Opera.”

“Damnation.” Jack cracked his cane against his boot. “I still have a box, don’t I?”

“Not that you’ve used it in the past two years.”

“Yes, but it looks so lovely empty, don’t you think? Especially with Tarrington yammering after it.”

Price chuckled. “He’s only been yammering since you invited his mistress to join you there.”

“A captivating little thing, Amelia. And quite adventurous.” He glanced sideways at his companion. “I don’t suppose you wish to accompany me?”

“I’d rather contract the plague.”

“I can’t very well go alo—” Jack stopped, a slight smile curving his mouth. “Ha. Sometimes I am quite brilliant.”

“What?”

“Antonia. I can introduce her to William, afterward.”

“You’re going to go to hell for this, you know.”

Jack nodded unrepentantly, his mind already plotting the maneuverings of the evening. “I’ve already paved my way to Jericho. If you don’t have the stomach for a bit of amusement, then go. But you won’t be asked back.”

Price shrugged. “Someone needs to remind you how badly you’re misbehaving.”

Jack laughed, genuinely amused. “I’ve all of London for that, m’boy.” And one blasted chit in particular.

The theater box directly beside that of Lord and Lady Sanford stood empty. Given that
Cadmus and Harmonia
was Lilith’s least favorite French opera, she couldn’t help but envy the missing occupants of the adjoining box.

“Lilith, sit up straight.”

She sent an annoyed glance at her aunt. “I am.”

“Well, I should hope so. The Duke of Stratton is watching us right now.”

Lilith lifted her fan and peeked around its edge. Up in a lavish box on the far side of the theater, a pair of opera glasses was aimed in her direction. She quickly returned her gaze to the stage. “I hate being stared at,” she muttered. “It’s so rude.”

“Well, make a face at him,” William whispered, leaning toward her.

From his seat at the rear of the box, Lord Hamble rapped his son on the back of the head. “Idiot.”

“Ouch.” William sank lower in his seat, gazing
around in an echo of Lilith’s boredom. Abruptly he straightened and pointed to the adjoining box. “Well, I’ll be damned. Will you look at that?”

Lilith glanced over and stifled a very unladylike curse. The box was no longer empty—and apparently the Marquis of Dansbury enjoyed the opera.

Jack Faraday sat back in his seat, his eyes on the high drama being played out on stage. Next to him, wearing a blue plume that had no doubt cost the lives of several ostriches, sat a petite, dark-haired woman. A stunning necklace of sapphires twinkled in the dim glow of the stage’s gas lights. Unmindful of the growing stares and whispers from the other boxes and the orchestra seats below, the couple spoke softly to one another as they watched the drama unfold.

Lilith kept one eye on the scoundrel, waiting for him to do something disreputable. Whatever miniscule interest she’d had in the opera vanished, and though she hardly considered that to be a pity, neither could she be comfortable with Dansbury so close beside her. Only a few feet of wood and open space divided them from one another, and she wondered that he couldn’t feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull.

Intermission arrived before she expected it, and she stood quickly to move into the shadows at the back of the box.

“Lilith, what are you doing?” her father grumbled, as she trounced on his toe.

“Apologies, Father.”

“Ah, Miss Benton!”

Lilith stopped, then slowly turned around. The marquis leaned across the edge of his box, completely unmindful of the long drop below him. His dark eyes took in her blue beaded gown with such intensity that it made
her feel completely naked. “My lord,” she said with a quick curtsey, and turned away again.

William stood, though, and hurried over to shake Dansbury’s hand. “I say—”

“Do you mind?” Aunt Eugenia glared haughtily at the marquis.

“Actually, I do, but I don’t suppose that will make you go away,” he replied regretfully.

Lilith choked back a shocked snort. No one spoke to Eugenia Farlane that way—though she’d wished to on many occasions.

“Stephen!” Eugenia gasped, flailing her fan in her brother’s direction.

“I don’t want any trouble, Dansbury,” the viscount said, rising.

“Neither do I, Hamble. I merely wished to give greetings to your daughter, and thank her again for her astute observation at the soirée last evening. It has quite turned my life around.”

Lilith glared at him. “I did not—”

Her father took her by the arm and half-dragged her to the back door of the box. “Good evening, Dansbury,” he grunted, shoving her into the narrow hallway and following her out.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aunt Eugenia’s face was drawn tight with fury as she practically bounded into the back corridor. “You actually spoke to him?”

“He told a lie!” Lilith replied. “I did not speak to h—”

“That’s enough,” her father interrupted. “William, let’s go.”

William shook his head and stepped back toward their box. “I think I’ll stay and see the end of the opera, Father. Quite interesting, really.”

The neighboring door opened, and Dansbury strolled out into the hallway beside them. “Dear me, I have caused a ruckus, haven’t I?”

Hamble clenched his fist, and Lilith—remembering Dansbury’s reputation as a duelist and fearing her father might actually hit him—stepped between them. “Yes, you have, my lord. Good evening.”

She stepped past him, her father and her aunt hurrying to follow her.

“Good evening, Miss Benton,” came softly from behind her. “A pleasure to see you again.”

Though she expected another tongue-lashing, her relations were silent as she led the way out to their coach. Apparently for once she had acted properly. Lilith frowned as she sat back in the cushioned seat, wondering who in the world that woman had been, who’d dared to go out in public with the Marquis of Dansbury, and whether he had given her those blasted lovely gems.

L
ilith sat eating breakfast when Bevins opened the front door to admit her brother. She looked up at the sound, then sighed and resumed spreading jam on her toast, thankful that her father and Aunt Eugenia were still abed. It was far too early for another round of arguments over William’s carousing. At least now he’d be off to sleep, and by the time he arose Father would be gone on his “political” visits, trying to resume relations he’d cut off when he’d left London six years earlier.

“Lil?”

She looked up. The breakfast room door creaked open, but no one appeared through the narrow opening. “Good morning, William. No one else is awake.”

“Thank goodness.” The door opened farther, and her brother sauntered into the room. “I’m far too disguised to listen to Father bellow at me.”

William’s cravat was thoroughly wilted and hung listlessly down both sides of his collar, and his eyes were red and ringed with dark lines of fatigue. He positively reeked of liquor and cigars, and—unless Lilith was mistaken—women’s perfume. Worst of all, he was grinning. That didn’t bode well.

“I assume you had a good time last night?”

She poured her brother a cup of tea as he slumped into the chair beside her. Sometimes it was difficult to believe that William was three years her elder, for he had never been much for responsibility and common sense. Father said that he took after Mama, just as strongly as he insisted that Lilith would
not
do so. Lilith remained unconvinced of William’s apparent foolishness, though; she thought he’d simply rebelled against applying himself. On occasion, she wished to do the same thing herself.

“Oh, it was splendid. You know, I don’t think even the lads at school who’d been to town had any idea what sort of fun could be found here.” He cradled the hot cup of tea in his hands and slouched further. “It all relies on becoming acquainted with the right people, you know.”

“Ah.” Lilith watched him out of the corner of her eye, less than enthusiastic. “And you have become acquainted with the right people, then?”

William chuckled. “Absolutely. They know everything about London, and all the cracks and crevices therein.” He sipped his tea, then leaned forward to capture a slice of toasted bread. “Hell’s bells, Lil, there are private card parties here that almost no one knows about, and even fewer people are invited to attend!”

“Really?” she said in mock amazement, and propped her chin in one hand. “Do tell.”

“You can make fun if you want, but it was prime. And Jack says even Prinny attends Antonia’s card parties at least once a Season.”

Something very unpleasant wrenched Lilith’s insides. “Jack?”

William nodded. “Jack Faraday. The Marquis of Dansbury. He knows everything about gambling, but I
have a few tricks up my sleeve, as well.” Her brother set down the tea and grinned. “I took him for thirty quid last night, and he never figured out how I did it.”

“The Marquis of Dansbury,” Lilith repeated numbly. William truly did have absolutely no sense at all. “The Marquis of Dansbury.”

Her brother took her hand in his. “Don’t fret, Lil,” he cajoled. “Dansbury’s a good sort. Really, he is. Top of the trees. He took me to Jezebel’s Harem, night before last. He and Ernest Landon and Price.”

“He took you to Jezebel’s Harem.”

“What’s wrong, Lil? You’re echoing, you know.” William grinned again. “You need to have a bit more fun, I think.”

“I need…” Lilith stopped when she realized she was continuing to echo. “William, do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

He furrowed his brow. “No idea. Why?”

“Dansbury is a very base character,” she said earnestly. “He—”

William shook a finger at her. “Nonsense. You’re only flying off because he overset you the other night.”

“He did
what
?”

“You know, when he came up to introduce himself, and you went all wobbly on him.” William chuckled. “Said he was afraid you might faint right there in the ballroom, but I told him you’d never do such a silly thing. You weren’t much better at the opera, though, I must say.”

That was simply too much. Lilith pushed to her feet. “I did not go all
wobbly
when Dansbury approached. He is completely disreputable, and I wanted nothing to do with him!
That
is what I told him. And you should do the same, before he drags you down with him, William. My goodness, why do you think he suddenly be
came acquainted with you? Because he wants revenge against me, for embarrassing him! And—”

William stood as well. “You’re all about in the head, Lil. You have nothing to do with us taking up together.”

“Taking up with whom, William?”

Lilith and William started as their father strode into the room. Despite the question, from Viscount Hamble’s tight-jawed appearance, he had heard at least the last part of their conversation. Except for the lines across their father’s forehead and the light hair whitening at his temples, Stephen and William Benton looked very much alike. In temperament, though, they stood as far apart as the earth’s two poles. William was lighthearted and easygoing, while the viscount was sober and even more reserved than Lilith. It bothered her that she had so seldom seen him smile since his wife’s adulterous flight six years earlier, and she could only hope that her success in society and in marriage would lighten his grave heart.

“Just some new cronies, Father,” William mumbled. He stretched and yawned ferociously. “Well, I’d best get some sleep if we’re to attend the ball at the Feltons’ this evening.”

“William, I’ll say it but once.” The viscount took a seat at the head of the breakfast table. “Your comportment in London reflects on all of us. I trust you will use what intelligence you have to avoid disgracing this family any further. Is that clear?”

Stiffly William nodded. “Yes, Father. Clear as glass.”

“Good.”

Lilith frowned at her brother’s back as he left the breakfast room. She’d received a sounder scolding than that from Aunt Eugenia simply for glaring at Dansbury. William had spent two evenings carousing with the man, and was only reminded to behave himself! And her brother was so thrilled with his new cronies that he re
fused to see the real reason someone like the infamous Marquis of Dansbury would want to have a stripling like him about.

“Lilith, be certain tonight that you save a waltz for both Nance and Jeremy Giggins. Only a quadrille for that idiot Henning, and I think a country dance for Peter Varrick, unless they offer four waltzes for the evening.” The viscount rang for a fresh pot of tea.

“But you’ve accounted for only three waltzes,” Lilith pointed out.

“One must be kept free for the next most likely gentleman in attendance,” her father answered, and glanced at the footman. “Bring me the morning paper.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lilith looked down into her tea. “Have you decided about Lionel’s proposal yet, Papa? It is the second time in a fortnight that he’s asked your permission to marry me.

Her father nodded as the freshly ironed morning paper materialized at his elbow. “I could hope his holdings were a bit more noteworthy, but I’ve heard no ill spoken of him. I think he might do, though I intend to wait until at least the end of the week before I give my answer.”

Though Lilith had hoped to be more excited about her impending marriage, at least her father seemed to have given up on the Duke of Wenford’s suit. And she did like Lionel, for if he was a bit…solid, he was always kind and pleasant. “It will be a relief to have a decision made.” She sighed and looked teasingly at her father. “Though I do wish Lionel was a more proficient dancer.”

The viscount looked at her. “I don’t believe that to be a requirement for a good match,” he stated flatly. “He has an impeccable reputation. I don’t give a damn whether he can dance or not.”

“Yes, Papa,” Lilith said, with a pained grimace. “I was only teasing, you know. Though I do like to dance.”

Unexpectedly her father chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, my dear. As the Countess of Nance, you would have far too many duties to worry over missing a waltz or two.” He leaned forward to touch her cheek. “Even so, don’t turn away any of your other suitors until I’ve made my final decision. We can’t risk insulting anyone.”

She nodded at him. At least he was smiling again. “Of course, Papa.”

The bitter wind was up, howling through the narrow carriage paths dividing the mansions just beyond Mayfair. The air smelled like rain again, though there was a board up at White’s for those daring enough to wager on whether snow would fall this June. The Marquis of Dansbury had gambled on a full six inches, expecting to lose, but he was beginning to change his mind. Icy weather it was, fitting for his pursuit of an Ice Queen.

“Why do you think that is?”

Jack blinked and looked up at the woman seated in the overstuffed chair opposite him. “Why do I think what is?”

Antonia St. Gerard uncurled from the deep cushions and refilled her glass with brandy. “Why we never became lovers, Jack.”

The marquis grinned and lowered his gaze to finish perusing the brittle newspaper in his hands. “Because we’re exactly alike. Two battling tarantulas. We’d kill one another before we ever finished spawning, or whatever it is that tarantulas do.”

With a soft chuckle, Antonia curled up again, catlike. In the firelight, her brunette hair looked the color of burnished copper. It hung down her shoulder in a single
braid, curling a little at the end. “It is the female spider who kills the male after mating, is it not?” she asked in a faint French accent.

“Another splendid reason why I’ve not engaged in the process with you, my dear.” Jack glanced up again, amused, and went back to reading.

“When you came calling, I didn’t know you intended to sit about in my drawing room. I thought you at least wanted to play cards. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered rising yet. I didn’t go to my chambers until after seven this morning, you know.”

“You should keep more sensible hours.”

“Ha,” she scoffed. “If you left here at a more sensible hour, I would. One would think you never sleep.”

He pursed his lips, continuing to read. “I don’t.”

Antonia gestured at the stacks of newspapers resting on either side of his chair. “Whatever are you looking for in those old things, anyway?”

“You’re the only one I know who collects back issues of the
London Times
,” Jack answered. “I’m looking for a death notice.”

She shrugged, running her fingers along the rim of the glass. The fine crystal hummed an A-sharp in response. “One never knows what knowledge one may have use for later. Whose death notice?”

“Elizabeth Benton. Lady Hamble.” He folded the paper, set it down on the stack to his left, and lifted the top issue from the even more substantial pile to his right. “No one could give me an exact date.”

“Is this lady a relation to the handsome young man who joined us after the opera last evening?”

“His mother.” Jack started to read again, then paused. Antonia was mercenary to the core and saw people only in terms of profit and power. Or so he had thought. He
regarded her for a moment, lifting one eyebrow. “‘
Handsome
young man,’ Toni?”

Antonia smiled and stretched, which did some very enticing things to the low front of her dressing gown. That sight made him wonder if it would be worth risking death or dismemberment to know her on a more intimate level. Occasionally, especially after he’d consumed several glasses of port, that question became a complicated one to answer. This morning, though, he happened to be almost completely sober and knew better than to indulge himself with her.

“Handsome, yes. And wealthy as well, I assume,” she continued, “from the fact that you actually let him win a few quid from you. You never bother reeling them in unless they are exceptionally well heeled.”

The marquis looked at her speculatively for a moment, as a slow smile curved his mouth. He’d had a hunch that Mademoiselle St. Gerard would enjoy meeting his new companion. And it obviously would serve to further ensnare Lilith Benton if he held the key to both her brother’s salvation and to his ruination. Antonia could do a fine job of ruination. He’d seen it before. “Perhaps I’ll bring him by for you later.”

She smiled and sipped her brandy. “Thank you, Jack.”

“My pleasure.” He began scanning the headlines of the paper he held. It was from nearly six years ago, in late May 1815, and the country—or London, at least—had been obsessed with Bonaparte and whether he would strike north from Paris and meet Wellington, or head west across the Channel and invade England itself. Jack wondered how many people knew just how close Bonaparte had actually come to doing the latter. Not many—or not many who were still alive, anyway.

“Something
intéressant
?” Antonia queried.

“Not really.” He flipped the page. “Ah, here we go. ‘Elizabeth, Lady Hamble, beloved daughter of blah blah blah, died of influenza on May 14, 1815, at the age of thirty and five’.” He sat back. “Hm.”

“What, ‘hm’?” Antonia asked. “It says nothing.”

“It says everything,” Jack answered. “‘Beloved daughter.’ Nothing about beloved wife or beloved mother. Her parents placed the notice.” He snapped the paper with his fingers. “Nothing about ‘she will be missed’ or whatever contributions she’d made to her title or society or her embroidery circle.”

Antonia chuckled. “What contributions have you made, my lord marquis?” She stood and glided over to his chair, sliding her warm arm along his shoulders. “What would your death notice say?”

“‘Jonathan Auguste Faraday, the Marquis of Dansbury, is dead. Thank God.’” He refolded the paper and dropped it back onto its pile. “
Merci
, Antonia.” Jack finished off his glass of port, glanced down at his pocket watch, and stood.

“Aren’t you going to tell me why you wanted to see this death notice?”

He shouldn’t, because although he looked upon Antonia with some affection, there was a reason she collected people’s pasts in newspapers, letters, and whatever else she could get her hands on. She’d never attempted to use anything against him, but then, he’d always made certain there wasn’t much to find, beyond the general ill manners and aversion he displayed to all his fellows. “Just a point of interest.”