Authors: Suzanne Enoch
“Lady Mistner?” Penelope leaned into the doorway, her swift glance at Lilith. “My apologies, but did you wish the musicians to have a break now?”
The lady blanched. “No! Not before the second waltz!” She turned to Lilith, who put out a hand.
“Please, do go. I’ll be along in a moment.”
“Oh, thank you, dear.” With a bustle of skirts, Lady
Mistner hurried out the door. Pen winked at Lilith and pulled the door shut as she followed their hostess.
“My goodness,” Lilith breathed, fanning at her face and dropping onto the couch.
“‘The true essence’?” a deep voice said from the direction of the window, and Lilith bolted to her feet. Jack stepped in through the half-open window and pushed it shut as he hopped down to the floor. “The true essence of Mistner has a great deal more belly and jowl, I believe.”
“You were outside?” she asked, incredulous.
“On the second blasted floor, I might point out.” He grinned, strolling toward her. “Thank God it wasn’t raining.” The sensual hold of his dark eyes was as palpable as the memory of his arms around her in the night. “What the devil was she doing with you?”
“I asked her permission to see the portrait. I didn’t expect her to accompany me.” Indignation colored her cheeks, and at the sight, Jack’s grin broadened.
“I didn’t mean you should
ask
to come in here,” he murmured. “Proper chit. If you hadn’t bellowed outside the door, things might have become awkward.”
“I don’t bellow.” Good Lord, she was pleased to see him, and to talk to him again. It felt like forever, instead of a mere day, since they’d been together.
“You did a fine imitation, then.” He closed the distance between them, and she shivered as he ran his palm slowly along her cheek. She wanted him, she craved him, but when he leaned his face down toward hers, she turned away.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
For a moment he was still, his hand encircling her waist. Then he released her and stepped back. “You came in here,” he said, his tone almost accusing.
“I…feel responsible for the trouble you’re in,” she responded, not daring to look at him.
“I’m responsible for my own damned troubles,” he growled. “Always have been. And I…worry…that my stupidity is what’s gotten Wenford engaged to you.”
“It’s not your doing. My father would have sold me to have a dukedom,” she said bitterly. “Remember?” Slowly she turned to face him, to find that he was looking at her with mingled frustration and concern in his intelligent eyes.
“We are a shambles, you and I,” he whispered. She wondered if he could see in her eyes how much she loved him. “Lil, answer me a question.”
“I’ll try. But please hurry. If we’re seen—”
“I won’t let that happen.” He smiled softly. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you ever again.” She blushed again at the memory the words conjured, and he gently touched her cheek again. “If, hypothetically speaking, you could avoid marrying Dolph, would you?”
He would leave, she sensed, if she told him that she intended to marry Dolph. But this was the true Jack Faraday standing before her, the one who had held her last night, the one who allowed uncertainty and vulnerability to show on his lean, handsome countenance. “There is no way to avoid it,” she began.
“Lil—”
“But, if there was a way, then no, I would not marry him.”
He relaxed a little. “If he could be proven to be a murderer, and thus an unsuitable match for Miss Benton, would you wish for that to happen?”
“Jack, if you can clear your name, for heaven’s sake, do it. I won’t have you hung if you have proof that Dolph actually killed—”
The marquis shook his head. “Don’t interrupt me, Lil;
I’m attempting to be gallant and proper. I have several suspicions and hunches, but no proof. I can likely weather this, even if I have to spend a year or two in Scotland or Italy before it blows over. For once, worry over yourself. What do
you
want, Lil?”
“‘For once,’” she repeated, her laugh brittle. “I’m all I ever think about. Will
I
be happy with what my family needs? Do
I—
”
“Lilith,” he said, his tone and expression so suddenly angry that it startled her, “I daresay the only selfish thing you’ve done in the past six years was to share my bed last night. It’s not a crime to want to be happy, for God’s sake!” He glared at her. “Now answer my damned question. Do you want me to proceed against bloody Dolph Remdale?”
She shut her eyes, trying to shut him out. It would be easier to stop her heart from beating. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I want you to proceed.”
Slowly she opened her eyes again. His gaze held another emotion entirely now. “One more question,” he murmured, sliding his hand about her waist and pulling her close against him. “If I were, say, Galahad, would you consider me as a suitor?”
She couldn’t believe he would even ask the question. But looking into his eyes, neither could she convince herself that this seasoned, cynical rakehell was only teasing.
“If I were not engaged to the Duke of Wenford, and you were Galahad, yes, I would allow you to court me,” she answered, trying to be flippant and knowing her heartache must sound in her voice. If only it were so. For a few moments early this morning, she had been able to imagine a happiness that would last through the rest of her life. A happiness that had nothing to do with who or what she should be, and everything to do with
whom and what she wanted. “But you’re not.”
“Pretend.”
This time when he leaned down toward her, she rose up on her toes to meet his mouth with her own. For an insane moment she wished she had the courage to lock the drawing room door and let him continue. Though it was her mouth he touched, every part of her seemed alive and aware of him. She slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
“Jack,” she murmured, “I love you.”
He froze, a hundred emotions touching his eyes. “Beg pardon?” he whispered.
There was no taking it back now, and she didn’t think he was entirely displeased to hear it. “I—”
“Mrs. Farlane,” Penelope’s voice said, gratingly loud and right outside the door, “I’m certain I saw Lil out with Mary, on the balcony.”
The blood drained from Lilith’s face. If Aunt Eugenia caught them together, everything would be ruined. Especially her.
“Good God,” Jack muttered, and pulled away. He strode for the window and yanked it open. At the last moment he looked over his shoulder at her and grinned, his eyes dancing. “I’ll be hanging about, if you need me. And Lil, don’t get too attached to your betrothed. He’s about to be finished with you, one way or another.”
The door opened as he vanished, and Lilith whirled toward the painting. Just as quickly she made a show of starting and turning to see who had entered the room. “Aunt Eugenia.” She smiled, indicating the portrait. “Have you seen this? It’s magnificent, don’t you think?”
Her aunt scowled. “What I think is that the future Duchess of Wenford should not be skulking about in
drawing rooms, when Lady Fenbroke is organizing a card party for a few select guests.”
“Oh, splendid,” Lilith forced out, and gestured her aunt to precede her from the room. As she left, she glanced back at the half-open window and the darkness beyond. Confident as he’d seemed to be, Jack could likely use some assistance. And who better to render it than Wenford’s own betrothed? She gave a small, private smile.
Who, indeed?
W
illiam shifted on the deep, soft couch and nervously fiddled with his cravat, which Weems seemed to have tied rather too tightly this evening. Beginning an intentional row with Antonia was idiocy. Damn Jack Faraday anyway, for suggesting such nonsense. The blackguard knew full well that no one would be able to resist such a challenge. Lord knew he couldn’t stop thinking about it, even though he’d already resolved that Dansbury was completely at sea and that Antonia was hiding nothing. Glass clinked over his shoulder, loud in the unusual silence of Antonia’s drawing room. He jumped at the sound, and with a last tug, stopped pulling at his neckcloth.
Antonia St. Gerard glided into view, a brandy snifter in each hand. She curled up beside him and handed over one of the glasses, sipping at her own and watching him over the rim. William had been hoping she would have something for them to chat about, something to keep his mind off Dansbury’s damned wager, but she’d been quiet all evening.
He cast about for a topic they might discuss, but the only conversation that came to mind involved him tell
ing her how beautiful she was. That was how their chats usually began, and they always seemed to end in her bed chamber. Not that he had any objections to that. Damn Jack and his meddling, playing his deuced games. William sighed irritably. Perhaps simply to satisfy his own curiosity, he might have a go at starting a small argument, and then he could apologize and they could go upstairs. Jack would have to buy that necklace, and William would laugh at him.
“William,” Antonia purred, running her hand slowly up his thigh and reminding him forcibly that there were better things he could be doing than trying to think up a topic for argument. “I might have held a card party tonight,
mon amour
. I had not thought we would spend the evening in my drawing room. Do tell me why you wanted me to yourself.”
He took a breath and slowly let it out. “I don’t want you to hold any more card parties, Antonia,” he rushed. That should take care of it.
For a long moment she looked at him. “Do you have something else in mind?” she asked softly.
“I…I don’t like it, all those men looking at you, and—well, you know,” he stumbled.
She shifted to lean against his arm. “Thinking they own me?” she suggested, curling the tip of her finger around his ear.
“Yes. So no more card parties.” Jack had told him that Antonia had been holding them since she’d come to London, and that he’d never known anyone with a love of gambling and games of chance so deeply imbedded in their bones. Of course she would protest.
Antonia sighed. “As you wish, my love. But I must have some way of paying my bills.”
“Ah…don’t worry about that,” he returned, disappointed. He searched for something about which she
would be more likely to contend, though if he had any sense he would simply give up and lie to Jack tomorrow. “And I don’t think it’s seemly for you to own a high-perch phaeton,” he decided. “Deuced improper, you know, for a lone female to go gadding about London in a phaeton.”
She pursed her lips, her gray eyes watching him, and took another sip of brandy. “Oh, William, I have been meaning to give it up. All of this terrible cold weather—who wants to go about anywhere in an open carriage,
n’est-ce pas
?”
William cleared his throat. “Quite right.” This was becoming damned difficult. He gestured at her snifter. She loved a brandy in the evening. “And women drink Madeira or ratafia. Not brandy.”
She looked down at the glass, then set it aside. “I am a teetotaler,” she breathed, and removed her finger from his ear, only to replace it with her tongue.
He swallowed. “And I won’t have you speaking that damned French anymore, either,” he said desperately, shifting away from her.
Antonia leaned along his shoulder and lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I am an Englishwoman,” she murmured. “
Now
are you pleased?”
“I’d be more pleased if you’d quit playing lip service to everything I say to you,” he grumbled, exasperated. “I’m serious, you know.”
“I am whatever you wish me to be,” Antonia continued, slipping her hand down his chest, and then lower.
Frantically William struggled to his feet. “Dammit, Antonia,” he growled, backpedaling as she uncurled from the couch and followed him, a cat’s canary-eating smile on her face. “Stop treating me like a fool.”
“William,” she chastised, stopping, “please do not be cross. I have agreed to everything you said.”
“But why?” he demanded.
“Why did you ask them of me, my love?”
He scowled. “Oh, damned old Jack said I wouldn’t be able to pull you into an argument. Said you’d painted a pretty face for me, or some such nonsense, and I said he was mad. Only you’ve agreed to every deuced thing I’ve said all night.” He flung his arm out. “For God’s sake, Antonia, I asked you not to speak French, and you didn’t even blink.”
Her expression became dark, almost feral, for a brief moment, but the look was gone so quickly that it might have been a trick of the lamplight. She smiled like dawn’s first light. “Oh, William, I thought you were only worried that we wouldn’t suit, and I was trying to reassure you.” She glided closer, wrapping her hands into his lapels and pulling him toward the door. “I knew you would never seriously forbid me to speak French,
mon amour
.”
William smiled. “Thank goodness,” he breathed, relieved. Jack had it all wrong. For someone who claimed to know women, sometimes Dansbury hadn’t a clue.
“Now, come with me where we can apologize to one another,” she murmured, turning to lead him out the door and up the stairs.
Once her back was turned, Antonia’s expression slid into the venomous scowl she’d nearly let her naive lover see. Jack Faraday had turned on her, it seemed, and was undoubtedly trying to impress his little Ice Queen by warning her brother away from evil Antonia. Well, the Marquis of Dansbury didn’t need William Benton’s five thousand a year—she did. And he wouldn’t stop her. She knew things—things that could get a certain arrogant marquis into a great deal of difficulty. Antonia smiled. Five thousand a year.
Peese frowned and watched his employer pace impatiently across the breakfast room floor. “Perhaps if you could be more specific, my lord,” he suggested.
Jack paused to glare at him, then continued on his way. He’d lain awake nearly all night, trying to think of a way to save his neck and stretch Dolph’s, and wishing Lilith would come calling on him again. Even though she had said she loved him—those words still rolled about thunderously in his heart, smashing apart little dark parts of him with every beat—he had far from won her.
“I don’t know how damned more specific I can be, Peese. What do you know of Dolph Remdale’s household?”
The breakfast room door rattled and opened, and Jack turned angrily to order the intruding servant out. When Martin stuck his head in the door, the marquis snapped his mouth shut and gestured the valet inside.
“About bloody time you joined the party,” Jack growled.
Peese glanced at Martin and shrugged. “My lord,” the butler began patiently, obviously trying to appease his tempestuous employer, “households is like the masters of them. You don’t have anything to do with His new Grace, and we don’t have anything to do with his servants. So if you could tell me exactly what you’re wanting to know, per—”
“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.”