Stolen Kisses (8 page)

“And here I was beginning to think you truly didn’t care for Wenford. Good show, Lil,” he interrupted, fold
ing his arms across his chest, his expression distant. “I hadn’t realized that any old pot would do, so long as he claimed a dukedom.”

Though she was tempted to throw her brandy at him, Lilith carefully set down the glass before she stalked up to him. “The Duke of Wenford barged into this house, chased me while I went looking for a chaperon, and then attacked me. If you are so obtuse as to think I would welcome that…that
lunatic’s
amorous attentions, then you are an even greater oaf than I believed! And I gave you no leave to use my Christian name!”

Dansbury looked at her assessingly. “Rather bold of you to rail at someone who holds your reputation in his hands—Miss Benton.”

Lilith bit back a retort and eyed the tall scoundrel closely. “Are you threatening something?”

He shook his head and glanced over at Wenford. “Just an observation.” He sighed, the picture of put-upon integrity. “Because to be honest, I don’t exactly wish to be associated with this myself.”

“No one asked you,” she shot.

The marquis gave a slow, dry smile. “I seem to recall some sort of plea for assistance.”

“Then just leave,” she said testily, feeling faint again. “I certainly don’t wish to inconvenience you by asking for any further aid.”

The smile became genuinely amused. “Ah, playing on my sense of honor, are you? Not too wise a stratagem, considering you’ve informed me on several occasions that I have none.” She began to argue, but he raised a hand. “On the slight chance that I am able to summon some sort of propriety,” he continued after a moment, his eyes studying hers, “what would you ask of me?”

Lilith sat again, disguising her relief. Dead men in the
morning room had never appeared in any of her aunt’s lessons in etiquette. It seemed much more in the realm of Dansbury’s experience. “I really have no idea,” she confessed. “I don’t see what else to do but call for the watch. One cannot hide the death of the Duke of Wenford.” Papa would be devastated, and there would be a horrid scandal, but at least she wouldn’t be found trapped beneath His Grace. She did owe Jack Faraday for that.

“Hm,” the marquis said thoughtfully, “I wonder.”

Lilith frowned. “About what?”

“About whether it matters where, exactly, Old Hatchet Face expired.”

Lilith’s muddled brain refused to travel beyond the body on the floor and how her father would react. He would say that she was behaving just as her mother had, that she was a trollop and had intentionally encouraged Wenford’s amorous attentions.

“Please explain,” she requested, putting a hand to her throbbing head.

“I mean that perhaps Wenford might be placed elsewhere, and left for someone else to…discover.”

She looked at him suspiciously. It was a good thing she knew that Jack Faraday couldn’t be trusted. “This is very gallant of you, my lord. I’m surprised you’re willing to go to such lengths to protect my honor.” She folded her hands daintily in her lap. “If it
is
my honor you are concerned with.”

He looked sideways at her. “Not much gets by you, does it?” he said wryly. “And unfortunately, you are correct. I have no doubt Dolph Remdale would use my presence at the site of his dear uncle’s death to try to get me thrown into Old Bailey.”

His offhand compliment surprised and pleased her,
but only for a moment. “Then the authorities should definitely be contacted.”

The marquis actually chuckled. “
Un coup très palpable
,” he said in perfect French. “A very palpable hit. You’ve wounded me with your wit.”

“I believe one is supposed to quote Shakespeare in his native language,” she noted stiffly. It irked her that he thought she might require the translation.

Dansbury pursed his lips, his eyes dancing now. “But Hamlet was Danish.”

He did know which play he was stealing from. Interesting, though it certainly didn’t leave her feeling any steadier. “Then why French?”

“I don’t speak Danish. I do speak a little Italian, if you would prefer me to quote from
Romeo and Juliet
.”

“Why would I wish that? I am not Juliet, and you, my lord, are certainly no Romeo.”

The marquis was wearing his innocent, seductive look again, but with Wenford’s corpse in the background, he was slightly easier to resist than he had been the last time he had waylaid her. “I suppose that would depend on whom you ask.”

“I don’t discuss you at all,” she lied.

He grinned, real amusement in his eyes, and glanced toward the window again. “Miss Benton, it’s still early. Why don’t we simply put Wenford in your coach, drive him home, and place him on his front step?”

“What? What if someone sees?” It was too scandalous to contemplate. Yet at the same time, it was the best idea she’d heard all morning.

“No one will see. Everyone’s at Billington’s, remember?” Dansbury studied her for a moment. “It will be our secret.”

Lilith abruptly understood why he was being so so
licitous. “And I will be in your debt, yes?” she said slowly, meeting his eyes.

He didn’t show any sign of being remorseful at all. In fact, he smiled. “Yes, you will. And make no mistake, my lady—I intend to collect.” He looked down at his pocket watch, then glanced up at her from beneath his long, black lashes. “It is your choice, however.”

There seemed very little choice, to her. Wenford left on the floor and a scandal, or Wenford gone and no scandal, but a debt to a blackguard. And with her family’s, and her own, good name to consider. “I don’t seem to be in a position to bargain.”

Again he gave that sly, seductive smile. “No, you’re not.” He strode to the door and leaned out. “Bevins, Miss Benton requires the coach to be brought around front.” He glanced back at her. “You trust your head groom?”

The rogue of a moment ago was gone, replaced by an efficient, intelligent man who, for a wild moment, she wanted to believe in. “Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Milgrew.”

He turned away again. “Have Milgrew bring it himself.”

Dansbury hadn’t questioned her decision, hadn’t second-guessed her; he’d simply assumed she would have an answer and had followed it. That abruptly made her very uncomfortable. “So, is this how you captured William, as well?” she said, to have something to say. “Some sort of blackmail?”

He laughed as he leaned back against the couch. “No. William walked into my demonic clutches quite willingly.”

That stilled the comment she had been about to make regarding his demonic nature, so she clenched her hands
together and cleared her throat “You returned the Wenford pin.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, to Dolph. Apparently, though, His Grace didn’t see fit to leave it in his nephew’s care.”

“He probably decided it would be safer from you that way,” she countered.

“If I’d wanted it I wouldn’t have given it back.”

That stopped her. “Then why did you bother taking it in the first place?”

“I won it, Miss Benton,” he corrected, faint humor touching his lips. “Because I could.” Dansbury shrugged. “And because the Remdales are a detestable lot of scabs, and I felt like causing them trouble.”

“You pulled me into it as well. I don’t know why you’ve decided to hound me, but I don’t appreciate it.”

“Come now,” he said, “it wasn’t hate at first sight between us, now, was it?”

“At…at first sight I had no idea what sort of scoundrel you were,” she admitted, flushing.

“A scoundrel?” he repeated, grinning. “Only yesterday I believe you called me a malignant Jack-a-dandy. You are beginning to warm to me, I think.”

“William told you,” she gasped, furious at her brother.

“Oh, he tells me all sorts of things,” the marquis returned.

Lilith flushed again. “I shall have to begin asking him for your secrets,” she retorted, though it seemed a rather weak response.

Evidently he agreed, for he chuckled. “I have none. My dark side is on display for the world to shudder at.”

Despite the bold words, she didn’t believe him for a moment. “If you have no secrets, then tell me why you fear Dolph Remdale’s anger.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t fear Dolph Remdale’s
bloody anything. We had a disagreement the other day. That’s all.”

“And he wants you thrown in prison because of a disagreement?” she pushed, interested to see him lose his cool veneer of cynicism.

“He wants me thrown in prison because I threw a bowl of marmalade in his face at the conclusion of our discussion.”

“That would make me rather angry, as well.” She was surprised that Dolph Remdale hadn’t immediately demanded that the marquis make amends. Despite the duke’s description, Mr. Remdale had never seemed terribly dim-witted to her. Some five or six years older than Dansbury, he was quite pleasant featured, and he certainly had rosy prospects. She glanced at the duke. Especially now.

“Wondering if you’d like to marry into the family, after all?” Dansbury asked. She looked up sharply to find the cynical mask firmly back in place. “How very calculating of you. My congratulations.”

“You buffoon,” she growled, and stalked over to the window to watch for Milgrew.

“Hm. That hardly seems fair, considering the kind advice I was about to give you.” He stepped over beside her.

He was baiting her; she knew it, but still she was unable to resist. “And what kind advice was that?” The marquis shrugged. “Just that you might wish to change your clothes before we proceed any further.”

“Change my…” Lilith trailed off, abruptly flushing and looking down to see her shift clearly exposed beneath her ripped bodice. She’d been half naked while she’d argued about propriety with Dansbury, and he’d never said anything! Well, he’d certainly taken his time about it, anyway. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He sketched a bow. “Of course. His Grace and I don’t mind waiting.”

With a deep frown, Lilith slipped out through the library door and rushed upstairs. She swiftly pulled off her gown and slipped on a patterned peach muslin. Her hair was a shambles as well, and she quickly rearranged it. In just a few moments she rejoined the marquis.

He still stood looking out the window, his dark hair curling a little where it touched his collar. After a moment he turned to look at her.

“Very nice,” he approved with a smile. “Now—is Bevins stiff as he seems?”

It took Lilith a moment to turn her thoughts from the marquis’s second compliment of the morning. Bevins wouldn’t like any of this, but she didn’t think he’d say anything if she asked him not to. Her father would not look kindly upon whoever carried this tale to him. “Yes, but I think he’ll do.”

If the situation hadn’t been so dreadful, Lilith would have laughed at Bevins’ expression as Dansbury beckoned him into the room. “My word,” the butler said faintly.

The marquis motioned him toward Wenford’s feet. “If you please, Bevins.”

The butler eyed him dubiously. “I don’t believe this is at all the thing,” he protested indignantly, turning to Lilith.

“We must get him out of here,” she explained, as calmly as she could. “There really is no choice.”

“Don’t want Miss Benton ruined,” Dansbury seconded helpfully.

Bevins looked down at the duke again. “Oh, very well,” he grumbled.

Dansbury squatted to reach under Wenford’s arms. “Sorry, old boy,” he grunted, lifting.

They maneuvered the body through the door and down the hallway, while Lilith rushed ahead of them to pull open the front door. The coach stood waiting at the front of the house, Milgrew in the driver’s seat. The groom jumped to the ground and hurried to assist the two men as they struggled down the shallow steps. “Holy Saint Mary,” he exclaimed in his thick Scots brogue, grabbing onto the duke’s coat and helping them heave Wenford up onto the floor of the coach.

Most of the drive was obscured by rhododendron bushes and maple trees, so it was doubtful that anyone had seen them. Lilith kept her attention on Dansbury as the marquis gracefully clambered up into the coach to haul the duke the rest of the way inside while Milgrew maneuvered him from the ground.

Bevins wiped distastefully at his hands and turned back to the house. Abruptly he froze, his complexion going pale. “Miss Benton?”

“What is it?” she asked in alarm.

“Your father.” He hurriedly straightened his coat and neckcloth.

As Lilith turned, the other Hamble coach appeared at the foot of the drive, and she had to squelch the sudden desire to flee. Fainting was a greatly underappreciated art, she decided, wishing she had mastered it.

“Well, we can’t have this,” the marquis commented, his tone as calm as if he had been discussing the weather. He sat down in the coach and yanked the door shut.

Her father stepped down from his carriage and strode forward, barely contained anger in every line of his body. “What the devil is going on?” he scowled, glaring at the occupant of the coach. Lilith didn’t care to contemplate what his expression would be once he discovered there were two occupants.

“Jack, thought you were riding to Bristol this morning.” William grinned, helping Aunt Eugenia down from the coach and coming forward.

The marquis reached out to shake his hand, but made no move to release the door handle he held shut with the other. He smiled lazily. “I stayed out a bit later than I realized, and now I seem to have misplaced my mount,” he drawled. “Poor Benedick, I hope he finds his way home.”

“Blind drunk at ten in the morning, is what you are,” her father said scathingly.

For just a moment Dansbury’s expression changed, and then he favored them with a lopsided grin. “I would hope all that effort didn’t go to waste,” he agreed. “Anyway, I ended up here, and Miss Benton offered me a ride home.” He glanced at her. “To get rid of me, I do think.”

The viscount gestured impatiently at Milgrew. “Get him out of here.”

“Aye, milord,” the groom responded, and climbed back up onto the driver’s perch.

Lilith could only stare, amazed, as the marquis sat back and in a slurring voice called for Milgrew to be off. He gave a sterling performance as a drunk, and she didn’t know what to make of the story he’d concocted. He’d told Bevins he’d come to Benton House looking for a glove. Just before he passed out of sight, Dansbury nodded at her, and she came back to herself with a start.