Stolen Kisses (5 page)

The marquis looked down at the bauble, as though puzzled at all the commotion it was causing. “This diamond was purchased just this evening with an exceedingly fortuitous throw of the dice,” he drawled. “It now belongs to the Faraday family.”

“Damn them all to hell!” Spittle flecked the duke’s lips.

“Do you think there’ll be a duel?” Pen whispered excitedly.

Lilith shook her head regretfully. “From what I’ve heard of him, no one would dare challenge Dansbury—though I wouldn’t complain if they killed one another.”

Pen covered her mouth with both hands to smother her giggles.

“That pin has been in my family for generations,” Wenford growled, coming another step closer to the marquis.

“Apparently your nephew places less value on its possession than you do. Otherwise he would have seen fit to carry more blunt with him to Boodle’s, or he would have dropped out of the game when it became too rich for his blood. Never gamble where you can’t win. ’Twas you who taught my family that lesson.”

The duke’s hands clenched, his color becoming an alarming crimson. “You—”

“Besides,” Dansbury continued, glancing at Lilith, “you have another possession you’re about to acquire anyway, do you not?”

“Oh, no,” Lilith whispered, wishing to sink into the floor as half the rapt audience looked in her direction, the whispers gaining more volume. “That villain!”

“That is none of your bloody concern. Give me my pin.”

Dansbury smiled at Lilith, and then with apparent reluctance returned his attention to Wenford. “I apologize, Your Grace, but I am quite late for an engagement.” The marquis strolled for the door. Just before he vanished through the wide entryway, he paused. “Seeing Your Grace’s attachment to the trinket, however, if you or your nephew would care to call on me tomorrow, I would be pleased to return it to your family for its table value.”

“Which was?” Wenford sputtered.

“Twelve hundred seventy-seven quid,” Dansbury returned, and exited.

For a moment the duke glared after him. Then, with an angry roar of commentary, his gray-haired cronies joined him in sending a chorus of black oaths in the marquis’s direction.

William started as though coming out of a trance. “Od’s blood,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Isn’t he top of the trees?” He handed his glass of punch to Lilith and strode for the door after the marquis.

“Oh, my,” Penelope said wonderingly. “He’s not afraid of anything, is he?” She fanned her face again. “And you were right, Lil. He
is
after you.” She blushed again. “He wants to be your sixth suitor.”

Lilith’s pulse fluttered. “Nonsense. He’s merely angry at me for cutting him, and this is his diabolical way of gaining revenge.”

Penelope thought about that for a moment. “You may be right,” she conceded, “though I think you’re simply overcome. I know
I
am, and I wasn’t even at the center of it.”

“I wish I hadn’t been. I have no desire to anger His Grace.”

“Lilith.” Her father stalked up to the two of them. “Your brother is a complete idiot.”

“Yes, Papa, I know.”

The viscount nodded stiffly at Penelope. “Apologies, Miss Sanford, but I must collect Lilith.” He took his daughter’s arm. “Best if we not stay about, with Wenford in such a foul mood.”

Finally they were in agreement over the duke. “Papa, has His Grace spoken to you about—”

“We’ll discuss it later, daughter.”

“Lil,” Pen said, taking her hand, “Mama and I’ve asked Lady Georgina Longstreet to the Vauxhall Gar
dens soirée tomorrow evening. Do come with us.”

Lilith had little liking for the rowdy crowds of the Gardens, and she started to decline. “I—”

“Will Lady Georgina’s mother be in attendance?” Lord Hamble cut in.

“I don’t know if the marchioness will accompany us or not,” Pen replied. “She was invited, of course.”

“Lilith would be delighted to attend,” the viscount answered for her.

No doubt he wanted the
ton
to see her in the company of the marchioness and her daughter, especially after tonight’s unpleasantness. And in truth, it would be more fun than sitting at home and having Aunt Eugenia deliver another of her endless lectures on propriety and etiquette, as though Lilith hadn’t memorized absolutely everything by now. She smiled. “I’d love to go.”

Aunt Eugenia waited for them at the entryway, outraged indignation on her thin alabaster face. “The nerve of that man,” she snapped, “to practically assault His Grace that way. He’s very bad
ton
, and I can’t believe he’s still allowed to roam free, after everything he’s done.” She glared at her brother. “And your own son is hanging after him like a dog looking for a bone. For shame, Stephen. Mrs. Pindlewide has already remarked on it, and her husband is very influential with Lord Liverpool.”

“William’s association with that blackguard will end as soon as the fool returns home,” Viscount Hamble returned stiffly.

Lilith could only hope he was right. The more distance placed between Jack Faraday and herself, the safer she would feel.

N
ine o’clock in the morning was far too early for visitors, but the Marquis of Dansbury had a very good idea of who must be pounding at his front door. With a groan he sat up and rubbed his temples. William Benton had grumbled and whined to be taken to the Society club, and rather than listen to the continuous drivel, Jack had given in, little liking as he had for the snobberies there. His aching head was proof enough that his encounter with the Duke of Wenford had irritated him more than he had realized. The Remdale clan always seemed to bring out the worst in him.

His valet scratched tentatively at the door. “My lord?”

“Come in, Martin. I’m awake, and fairly civilized this morning.”

Martin stepped into the room and handed over a cup of hot, strong American coffee, generally used to placate him when his mood was less civilized. Jack took a grateful sip as his valet headed for the mahogany wardrobe. His servants were a generally impudent bunch, which was how he liked it, and Martin would get around to telling him who was at the door in his own good time.

“Which demeanor do you wish to present this morning, my lord?”

Or perhaps he wouldn’t tell
. “Who’s at the blasted door, Martin?” he growled.

“Peese says it’s Randolph Remdale. He’s waiting, quite impatiently, I believe, in the morning room. I had thought him a gentleman of good breeding, but to come calling at this hour, I must say—”

“The nephew, hm?” Jack interrupted, uninterested in Martin’s tirade. It was only for effect, and they both knew it. “I thought so. Something conservative, I think. It will annoy him excessively.”

The valet frowned. “Why would that—”

“I wish to make certain he remembers that I outrank him.” He shrugged out of his nightshirt and tossed it onto the bed. He hated wearing the damned things, and if the blasted weather would warm up, he wouldn’t bother with them. “At least, I do for the moment, anyway.”

After he dressed in a stolid brown coat that looked better suited to a banker than a nobleman, he dropped the diamond pin into his waistcoat pocket and asked Martin to remain in his chambers. “I will be going out directly, and in something less…stiff.”

“You look better in your worst than most do in their best, if I say so myself.”

Jack grinned. “Compliments like that will get you an extra five quid in your pay envelope, Martin.”

The valet bowed his long frame. “They always do, my lord.”

As he made his way downstairs, Jack reflected that his little game seemed to be skittering a bit off the path. Last evening Lilith had been amusing, by God—five times brighter than any other debutante he’d had the misfortune to come across. He loved a challenge, and
whether she intended it or not, Lilith had just raised the stakes. Knowing she had the wits for a battle would make her imminent downfall even more entertaining.

William, though, was another sort entirely. He’d never seen a lad so determined to earn a tarnished reputation since—well, since himself. It was actually quite enlightening to view the proceedings from the far end of the hell he had put himself through when he’d come into the title at seventeen. Of course, he’d been on his own then. William was far luckier. There was no more willing, or proficient, tutor than himself when it came to self-destruction.

Peese stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “My lord,” the butler said, handing over Dolph Remdale’s card, “I informed Mr. Remdale that you hadn’t yet risen, but his reply was unrepeatable.”

“So repeat it.”

Peese grinned. “He said I was to get you and whatever plum-assed baggage you were rutting with out of bed and downstairs immediately.”

“Hm. Did he want to see me or the baggage?”

“He didn’t say, milord, but I assumed it was you.”

With a fleeting smile, Jack examined the calling card. Finely inked and bordered with delicate swirls, its refined effect was spoiled by the sweat-stained, bent edges. Dolph Remdale was obviously not in a good mood. “Thank you, Peese. I will require breakfast in five minutes.”

“In the morning room, my lord?” the butler asked in confusion.

Jack glanced at him. “If you insist.”

Peese squinted, then gave up trying to interpret the remark. “Yes, my lord.” The butler stepped down the hallway and opened the door to the morning room.

The heir presumptive to the Duke of Wenford stood
scowling out the front window. There was one thing for which Jack could be grateful to Lilith Benton: making trouble for the Remdales was something he would gladly do. Lilith was a damned fool to take up with Wenford, title or not. Then again, she’d been a damned fool for insulting the Marquis of Dansbury. For a bright chit, she seemed to make poor choices rather regularly.

Jack paused in the doorway to watch his guest. Antonia St. Gerard had on several occasions referred to Randolph Remdale as London’s blond Adonis. It was widely speculated that the only reason he hadn’t married was that he hadn’t yet come across a woman grand enough to be the Duchess of Wenford once he inherited the title. Jack suspected his continued bachelorhood had more to do with Remdale’s short temper and his unwillingness to share the mirrors in his home on St. George’s Street.

“Good morning, Remdale,” he drawled, strolling into the room. “Should I go through the pretense of asking why you’re here, or shall we just—”

“This is beyond belief,” Dolph snarled, turning to glare at Jack with his much-admired blue eyes. “I told you I would make good on that pin. There was no need for you to go about flaunting it in public.”

Jack nodded, unmoved. The reason he had gone to the trouble of winning everything out of Dolph’s pockets last night, and then suggesting the pin as collateral, was so he
could
go about flaunting it, after all. “I believe what you said was, ‘Take the damned thing and be done with it.’” He reached over to adjust Sir Joshua Reynolds’ portrait of his father. The old marquis hadn’t quite managed a smile even for immortality. Thank God his wife had been imbued with sense of humor enough for both of them. “Or do I err?”

“Bastard,” Remdale grunted, then pulled a bulging
leather purse from his pocket. “Here.” He tossed the thing onto the table.

For a moment the marquis was surprised. “Where did you come up with the blunt?” Twenty-four hours ago, Dolph had been completely to let.

“None of your damned affair, Dansbury. Where’s the pin?”

Jack casually pulled the diamond from his pocket and examined it. “Hm,” he mused, “Uncle Geoffrey paying your gambling debts, now?”

Dolph’s jaw clenched. “Give me the pin.”

Jack tossed it to him. “In the future I suggest you not gamble with family heirlooms. Uncle Geoffrey seemed none too pleased to have it escape his clutches.”

Dolph flushed, his face becoming the blotchy red which characterized Remdale rages. “You dog,” he hissed. “I should call you out over this.”

That sounded promising. If there was one thing experience had taught him about the Remdales, though, it was that they didn’t begin fights they couldn’t win. Not without a considerable push. But Jack would be pleased to push Dolph, or better yet, his uncle, all the way to hell.

Behind him, Peese scratched at the door and entered with his breakfast tray.

Jack’s eyes lit on the bowl of marmalade, and on an impulse he snatched up the bowl and dashed the contents into Dolph Remdale’s face. “Will this convince you to call me out?”

Dolph sputtered and stumbled backward, swiping at the sticky orange jam running down the front of his fine coat. “You damned blackguard!”

“So?” Jack returned, examining his nails. “I asked if you were going to call me out.”

Dolph glared at him, uneasiness abruptly vying with
the fury on his face. Marmalade dripped down his perfect Roman nose, and he angrily wiped at it. “I’ll do worse.” He shoved past Jack and the silent Peese. “I’ll ruin you. You will regret this.” Remdale stomped down the hallway and out the front door.

“Blasted coward,” Jack said calmly, looking after Dolph and licking marmalade from his finger.

“My lord?”

Jack turned to his butler. “Yes, Peese?”

“Was that why you wanted breakfast?”

The marquis snorted and replaced the bowl on the tray. “Would that I possessed such powers of premonition.” He headed out the door, already anticipating his next encounter with Lilith Benton. Her brother would know her schedule for the evening. “Have the tray sent up to my chambers, if you please. And have Benedick saddled.” He’d promised to assist William Benton with purchasing a new mount, and there would be several very expensive ones at the auctions today. Antonia was partial to black Arabians, something he would mention to the young cub. “As long as I’ve been dragged out of bed at this ungodly hour, I may as well try to get something accomplished.”

The butler looked down at the orange globules spattered over the expensive and elegant Persian carpet, and sighed. “‘Something accomplished’?” he muttered. “What does he call this?”

Vauxhall Gardens was a carnival of competing noise. In daylight, the pleasure gardens were uncrowded and quiet, one of Lilith’s favorite places. In the evenings during the Season, though, the wild soirées and fireworks displays were legendary. If it hadn’t been for Lady Georgina’s presence, her father would never have
allowed her to attend. She was halfway to wishing he hadn’t permitted it, anyway.

“Lilith, do quit scowling. It’ll ruin your complexion.”

Lilith looked away from the sight of Lord Greeley and Mr. Aames wading through the Gardens’ central fountain, singing a ballad about some Scottish maiden with whom they were apparently quite intimately acquainted. “I’m not scowling, Georgina. I simply don’t understand how some people can behave so foolishly.”

Her companion leaned over the side of their rented box to get a better look at the gentleman. “My papa says everyone is foolish.” She giggled as the two men waved at her. “Some are just less skilled at hiding it.”

Behind Georgina’s back. Pen wrinkled her nose. Lilith stifled a smile. Georgina was a bit feather-brained, in addition to being nearsighted, but as her dowry was purported to be ten thousand pounds, her intelligence and her eyesight probably didn’t matter. Lilith sighed and looked toward the gazebo, where the orchestra played a beautifully rendered piece by Haydn. She was aware that she was considered to be a beauty, which meant she was viewed as superficially as Georgina. No one cared if she could wield a wicked metaphor.

A confectioner’s cart rounded the hedge, and she straightened. “I’m going to get a strawberry ice,” she declared, needing a rest from giggling nonsense for a moment “Does anyone else wish one?”

“No, thank you.” Pen shivered. “It’s too cold already.”

When Georgina, the marchioness, and Lady Sanford declined as well, Lilith stepped down from their box and strolled over to purchase her ice. As she paid her shilling, the Duke of Wenford’s gravel-bucket voice sounded from somewhere behind her. Lilith flinched.

With a stifled curse, not stopping to question her wis
dom, she hurried toward the protection of the gazebo. She couldn’t face Wenford without Pen or William there to help extricate her from any difficulties. The duke’s voice came again, closer still, and she looked over her shoulder as she ducked behind the structure—and immediately crashed into someone.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to steady herself and finding her elbow gripped. “How clumsy of—”

“Not at all. Miss Benton,” the Marquis of Dansbury returned, looking down at her with dancing eyes. “How rude of me to be standing to one side of the path like that.”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

At her jerk, he relinquished his grip on her arm. “Actually, I was listening to the orchestra.”

“There are benches around front for that purpose.” Belatedly, she stepped backward to put distance between them.

A male voice said something from around the turn of the hedge, and the Duke of Wenford answered. Lilith jumped again. She had thought to escape His Grace, and now she would be plunged into the middle of another confrontation between him and Dansbury!

“I didn’t wish to risk my reputation by being seen sitting on a bench without a companion.” Dansbury tilted his head, dark hunter’s eyes studying her. “Perhaps you’d care to join me.”

“You must be joking.” She glanced over her shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow, following Lilith’s gaze before he returned his attention to her. “Are you in some difficulty?”

“No.”

“Not avoiding anyone, are you?”

Blast him, he was every bit as quick as William
bragged. “If I were, it would be you,” she countered.

The marquis nodded agreeably as his eyes focused on something past her shoulder. “Just as a point of information, though, you might wish to know that your fifth suitor is coming around—”

Lilith whipped around, frantically trying to think of some way to escape Wenford’s presence. Before she could react, Dansbury yanked her backward through a cluster of bushes.

“Don’t you dare—”

“Shh,” he chastised, putting his finger over her lips.

Lilith looked at him, startled at the touch, then slapped his hand away. She turned to stalk back out of the bushes, then heard Wenford on the other side of the gazebo—where he would have a clear view of her if she departed. When she turned around again, Dansbury was still watching her, his expression speculative.

“You truly don’t want Old Hatchet Face’s attentions,” he said.

“That is none of your concern,” she snapped as loudly as she dared.

He shrugged. “Then I shall depart,” he told her, turning to walk away.

“Don’t you dare leave me to follow you out of here, as though we’ve been up to something,” she hissed.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “You request my company, then?”

“I didn’t ask you to drag me into the shrubbery, and I won’t have myself ruined over it.” She narrowed her eyes. “But that’s your intention, no doubt.”

The marquis returned to stand in front of her, pursing his lips. “If I were trying to rain you, we would both be wearing fewer clothes.”