Stolen Kisses (9 page)

“How was Billington’s?” she asked, smiling sweetly and linking her arm through her aunt’s.

“Everyone was there,” Eugenia returned, “but Stephen insisted it was too crowded and that we should leave.”

Her father glanced up the drive again, then shrugged, the affronted anger slowly leaving his face. “Far too
many people were allowed to attend this year. I didn’t get a chance to say more than two words to Billington.” He turned on William, his expression darkening. “Now that blackguard is coming here when you’re not even home. I told you I want you to have nothing further to do with him.”

“But he’s a good sort, Father, really,” William protested. “Slap up to the echo. I’m learning everything from him and his cronies.”

“That is precisely what I am afraid of.”

As Lilith looked after the vanished coach, she reflected that she was rather worried herself. She had just placed her honor in the hands of a gamester and rakehell. And Dansbury would collect on the debt she owed him. He had warned her. She took a deep breath, her heart fluttering nervously.

He would
try
to collect.

T
he Duke of Wenford had a damned lot of nerve. “It’s a bloody good thing you’re dead,” Jack growled at Geoffrey Remdale’s remains, “or I’d have sent you to Jericho myself.” He nudged his silent companion with the toe of his boot, turning the pallid face with its lifeless, staring eyes toward the opposite seat. Then he sighed and sat back to watch Mayfair roll by outside.

After going to the effort of discovering that Lilith Benton would be at home alone, and then convincing her stuffy butler that he actually had a legitimate reason for stopping by, Jack had not expected someone else to have beaten him to her. And he certainly hadn’t expected it to be Wenford.

The anger that had hit him at the sight of Old Hatchet Face sprawled on top of Lilith, like a wrinkled old rutting ox, still surprised him. Whatever her reputation for coolness, he hadn’t expected to find her lifting her heels for a duchy. He’d been severely disappointed in her. And then she’d asked for his assistance, and he’d suddenly become Galahad in shining armor.

Of course, his own plans for Lilith were a far cry from
Wenford’s. His plan of seducing her into bed left her an out, if she managed to resist him. If she didn’t—well, that would be her own poor choice, wouldn’t it? After all, it was his game, and his rules, so naturally they favored him.

Which did not explain why he was currently taking the risk of being caught carting the corpse of a member of the peerage about London. And—more to the point—a member of the peerage with whom he was well known to have a longstanding disagreement. With his tattered reputation, marquis or not, it would be nearly enough to get him jailed.

Difficult as it was for him to believe of himself, apparently whatever temporary sentiments of chivalry Miss Benton had awakened in him were real. Of course, it could merely have been his eye for opportunity, deciding that putting Lilith in his debt was to his advantage. But whatever had roused this fleeting propriety, he needed to get Wenford safely planted somewhere to be found.

He couldn’t say he was the least bit sorry to see the old boy gone. Politically, Wenford was hopelessly backward, and his absence from the House of Lords would be a relief. It was a pity, though, that his death would elevate Dolph Remdale to the dukedom. The conceited fool was already insufferable enough. Jack thoughtfully studied Wenford’s profile again. Dear Randolph needed something to take him down a notch.

Milgrew knocked the handle of his whip against the door. “We’re here, milord,” he called down from his perch.

Jack regarded the Remdale manor through the trees that obscured the drive, then leaned his head out the window. “Milgrew, take the street around to the west side of the house.” He gave a slow smile. “I have a better idea.”

“Aye?” the Scot queried, leaning down to look at him and raising an eyebrow.

“Aye.”

Waves of excited conversation buzzed through the Rochmont ballroom as Lilith and her family entered, and she steeled herself for what would follow. Word of the duke’s death must have circulated around the
ton
by now, and she dreaded having to face everyone’s speculation with pretended ignorance. She had practiced an expression of sorrow tinted with knowing regret all afternoon: after all, the Duke of Wenford had been quite elderly, and given to fits of near apoplexy…

“Lil, have you heard?”

Penelope Stratford tugged her arm, leading her across the floor to their waiting circle of friends. Lilith was glad to part from her father; he’d been glum and short-tempered all afternoon, and nothing she’d attempted had cheered him up in the least. “Heard what?” she asked, hoping the curiosity in her voice didn’t sound forced.

“Only the most shocking thing—there, you see? I told you that you looked splendid in gold. And you said it wouldn’t do.”

Pen looked admiringly at the golden silk gown with the puffy lace sleeves Madame Belieu’s shop had delivered earlier in the day. Lilith had thought it a trifle much, but at the last moment had become too fainthearted to don the emerald dress. Her father would never approve of it.

“What shocking thing?”

“Oh, yes.” Pen leaned closer, covering her giggles with one hand. “The widow Mrs. Devereaux eloped last night to Gretna Green with Raymond Beecher.”

“Oh, that’s dread—What?” Lilith stared at her friend.
“But Mrs. Devereaux is ten years older than Mr. Beecher.”

“And when the earl, his father, found out, he disowned Raymond on the spot,” Jeremy Giggins finished, grinning as the two young ladies reached their group. “Beecher never had a pound of sense.”

“And now he has no pounds at all,” Lionel Hendrick continued. He took Lilith’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Good evening, Miss Benton. You are stunning.”

Lilith curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.”

Her suitors seemed to have established a hierarchy of sorts, and no one contested the earl as he led her out onto the polished floor for the first waltz of the evening. Lilith wondered if he would be the one her father chose, now that Wenford was gone. He stood an inch or so taller than Dansbury, and unlike the dark-haired marquis’s, his light brown hair was cut in the very latest style. Nance was certainly pleasant enough to gaze upon, but as he stepped on her toe and murmured an apology, it occurred to her that she really knew very little about him—or about any of her other suitors. She knew more about the Marquis of Dansbury—little as she liked the information—than practically every other man she had encountered in London.

Lilith abruptly frowned and glanced about the room. Dansbury had yet to make an appearance this evening. Of course, this very proper soirée was not his usual milieu and normally his absence would have pleased her no end. But any information regarding the Duke of Wenford’s death seemed to be absent as well, and she couldn’t help linking the two.

“Frightfully cold weather we’re having this Season, isn’t it?” Nance offered, smiling at her.

Lilith hurriedly smiled back at him, chastising herself for her inattention. That blasted Dansbury was a nui
sance even when he wasn’t about. “Yes, it is quite chilly, my lord. I do hope it will warm up before it comes time for winter again.”

He chuckled. “Indeed. I have had to send for half my winter wardrobe from Nance Hall.”

“I think we all have.”

The earl cleared his throat, leaning closer. “You might be interested to know,” he confided in a conspiratorial tone, “that my aunt on my father’s side has just finished a complete tracing of our family tree. It seems I am directly related to Edward the Fourth.”

“No,” she exclaimed, sneaking a hurried look over his shoulder in the direction of the punchbowl. There were no games started upstairs yet, so if Dansbury was in attendance, he should be in the ballroom.

Nance pursed his lips, the resulting thoughtful expression much less sensual than when Dansbury did the same. “I am now thinking I should have my family crest changed to reflect this association,” he continued. “My sister, however, believes this might be entirely too scandalous, as the York line is not universally liked. What is your opinion?”

Lilith barely caught what he was saying.
Where was that scoundrel?
“I’m certain you’ll do what’s best,” she offered absently.

“For a member of the gentler sex, you are quite wise in matters politic. I have always said so, you know.”

Though she wasn’t entirely certain that was a compliment, she smiled and nodded anyway. For all the attention she was paying, it might very well have been an invitation to take her off to Belgium for the duration of the summer. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You are troubled this evening,” he stated, frowning.

“Oh, no,” she returned quickly, trying to rid the dastardly marquis from her thoughts. “I am only worried a
little, about…about my brother.” She disliked discussing William’s wild behavior, but it did seem wiser than admitting that Geoffrey Remdale was dead and that she couldn’t figure out why she was the only one who seemed to know about it.

The earl nodded. “I assume you refer to Dansbury and his crowd? His blood’s blue enough, I suppose, though no one with any proper sense of status will have anything to do with him. The libertine cheated me out of a hundred and fifty pounds last week, and I never did figure out how he accomplished it.” He sighed. “Pray do not let him trouble your perfect brow,
mademoiselle
.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Would you like me to speak to your brother?” He lowered his voice further. “You know, I hear he has spent the last several evenings at Antonia St. Gerard’s card parties, and that she seems to favor him. I don’t mean to alarm you, but that association could do him more harm than Dansbury. Perhaps as a contemporary, I may be able to set him back on the straight path, as it were.”

His offer was unexpected, and though William seemed to listen to no one but the marquis these days, Lilith supposed it could do no harm. She herself had heard her brother mention this Antonia woman, and what Nance said certainly alarmed her. “That would be very kind of you, my lord.”

Nance’s smile broadened as he narrowly missed kicking her shin. “It would be my pleasure. And I ask you again to call me Lionel. After all, I have asked your father for your hand in marriage.”

“I know,” she acknowledged, feeling a bit harried.

“I heard that His Grace the Duke of Wenford has received permission to court you, as well,” he continued
lightly. “I do hope that hasn’t hurt my own suit.”

Lilith gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “Oh, no, Lionel. I don’t think I could seriously consider His Grace,” she tittered. “He is quite elderly…and probably not in very good health, and you know—”

Nance laughed as the waltz came to a close. “Please, Miss Benton,
I
am already convinced.” He brushed her chin with his gloved fingers. “I am pleased that you are, as well.”

Dinner and another complete dance set passed, and still no one had mentioned anything about the deceased duke. When a smiling Randolph Remdale entered the ballroom halfway through the evening, Lilith knew something was dreadfully wrong. And with the marquis continuing in his absence, she needed some assistance—even if it was rather haphazard.

Lilith turned to look for William, only to spy him waltzing with the woman Dansbury had brought with him to the opera. Perhaps three or four years older than Lilith, the woman wore her brunette hair tangled and twisted away from the restraint of two delicate French bone clips. Slightly slanted hazel eyes gave her an exotic look, wise and innocent at the same time. Her green and peach silk gown was demure enough, but she had a sensual, gliding way of moving across the ballroom floor that caught the eyes of more than one gentleman. Antonia St. Gerard herself, no doubt.

Lilith waited impatiently for the set to end. Finally she intercepted her brother as he went to fetch a glass of punch. If the dazed, puppyish expression on William’s face was any indication, she had another problem she was going to have to deal with, and soon.

She sent a carefully gracious smile in the direction of her brother’s companion as she stepped up and touched his arm. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

“Lil, I’m occupied,” he protested.

“Please, William,” she insisted. “It’s important.”

He must have read her expression, for he delivered the punch, excused himself, and followed her to the nearest alcove. “You ain’t going to warn me off Antonia, are you?”

She scowled at him. “Not at the moment. William, something awful happened this morning, and I need to tell you about it.”

Finally he gave her his attention, his expression becoming serious. “What awful thing happened?”

“While everyone was at Billington’s, the Duke of Wenford came by to see me, to propose to me. And he…well, he assaulted me, and then—”

“Wenford
assaulted
you?” He blanched, his eyes widening. “Where is the bastard? I’ll call him out right now and—”

“You’re too late.”

He faltered, his gaze snapping back to her face. “What?”

“He was…mauling me, and then he fell over dead.” There was no point in telling him on whom Wenford had fallen, she decided, for that would only complicate matters.

“The Duke of Wenford is dead?”

“William, please be quiet,” she hissed desperately. The marquis had been much more calm about the disaster. “Lord Dansbury removed His Grace from the morning room. But now—”

“Jack helped you? Ha! Old Hatchet Face was in the coach with him, wasn’t he? By God, I told you he was a good sort.”

“But why doesn’t anyone else know about this?” she argued. “The marquis was supposed to leave the duke on the front steps of Remdale House.”

“Well,” her brother said slowly, furrowing his brow and obviously trying to grasp all the information she’d given him, “Wenford’s house is open. Surely one of the servants would have found—”

“But they obviously haven’t. And where is Dansbury?” she pursued.

“I don’t know.” William shrugged. “He doesn’t usually come to this sort of milkwater rout…I say, you don’t think Jack’s got something to do with no one knowing about Wenford?”

“Of course he does,” she retorted, completely exasperated. “He’ll ruin everything. It’s what he’s been planning all along.”

“You’re all about in the head, Lil,” her brother whispered.

Perhaps she was, but the explanation for the
ton
’s lack of knowledge lay somewhere between her front step and wherever Jack Faraday was. “He was the last one with the body.”

Obviously William wasn’t about to accept that his idol could be such a villain. “I’m certain it’s all right, Lil. Perhaps there’re things to be put in order before the announcement of Wenford’s death is made. He was a duke, after all.”

For a moment it made sense. “So it’s to be kept a secret.”

“Certainly,” William soothed.

She shook herself, narrowing her eyes. “Even from his own family?” she countered indignantly. “From his heir? Look over there!”

“What are you talking about?”

Dolph Remdale stood laughing over some tale being related by his close friend Donald Marley. At that moment he looked toward her. Lilith froze, her fingers still waving in his direction. With a word to his crony, he
strolled over. Lilith clutched William’s arm, knowing with absolute certainty that things had just taken a turn for the worse.