Stolen Kisses (13 page)

The last of the Huttons’ guests had departed only a few moments earlier, and Jack was exceedingly pleased to note that, despite her aunt’s belated urging, Lilith
Benton had been among the last to leave. “But don’t you realize how very confusing things could become?” he pursued. “How will your puppy know if you’re speaking to her or to me?”

“I know who I’m talking to,” his niece explained, looking at him as though he were a complete idiot.

“What about Lord Hutton?” he suggested, in a last effort to preserve for himself at least a scrap of dignity.

“Oh, thank you very much,” Richard muttered from the doorway. It was the most he’d said to his brother-in-law in over an hour.

“She’s
Uncle Jack
,” Beatrice argued, beginning to pout.

Jack squatted down to ruffle the dog’s ears. “All right, Honey Bea. Uncle Jack it is.” Richard wouldn’t like the reminder of his presence in the Hutton household, but he’d be damned if he’d make Bea cry over the choice of a dog’s name.

Fanny, Beatrice’s governess, appeared from the direction of the stairs, and Jack stood as that formidable woman prepared to take charge.

“Time for bed, miss,” Fanny informed the girl.

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Beatrice protested, but she reluctantly followed her governess out.

“Jack, come sit with me,” Alison said from across the room.

He strolled over to sink onto the couch beside his sister. “Thank you for inviting me. I wasn’t certain you would.”

“And I wasn’t certain you’d come if I did.”

“Well,” Jack said slowly, examining his fingernails and very aware of Richard lurking across the room, “though I admit to having been rather remiss in my familial obligations in the past, I have never yet missed Bea’s birthday.”

“Only very nearly,” Richard commented, and left the room.

“You know,” Jack commented, looking after his brother-in-law, “I do believe Richard’s beginning to warm to me again. A year ago he couldn’t even bear to be in the same room with me for longer than five minutes.”

“Yes, you were quite civilized tonight. I rather like you that way.”

He couldn’t very well tell her that he was only behaving as a ruse to lure a skittish young lady, so he settled for sitting back and crossing his ankles. “Hm.”

Alison smiled and rubbed at her rounded belly. “So tell me, big brother, how long have you known Lilith Benton?”

“Miss Benton?” Jack repeated innocently, giving a slight, calculated scowl as though trying to remember when the acquaintance had begun. “I am friends with her brother, I suppose.”

For a long moment Alison looked at him, and he gazed coolly back at her. She was better at reading him than anyone else, but he was determined that she would see nothing.

“You fancy her, Jonathan Auguste Faraday!” she exclaimed.

Jack lifted both brows. “I don’t really—”

His sister began applauding. “I never thought it would happen—that you’d be soured by all those high flyers you pretend amuse you. I’d given up hope.”

“Alison, I think you’re—”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” she crowed.

This was becoming rather annoying. “Leave off, Alison. She wants nothing to do with me.”

His sister’s smile faded. “Why not?”

“She’s after a respectable title. And she thinks I’ve
made a waste of my life, and that I’m spooning off her brother and mean to ruin him and take his fortune.”

“Oh, Jack,” Alison sighed, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Why do people think such awful things about you?”

He shrugged, taking a swallow of port. “Because they’re mostly true.”

“Jack…”

He set the glass aside and stood. “So don’t get your hopes up, my girl. Miss Benton’s obsession with respectability makes her amusing. Barely. Goodnight, Alison.” He headed out into the hallway to collect his hat and greatcoat. “Goodnight, Richard!” he called in a louder voice, though he didn’t expect an answer.

He didn’t receive one.

Though Jack had planned to continue the evening at Boodle’s club, Lilith Benton’s smile seemed to be occupying too much of his thoughts—particularly if he intended on gambling. She had given him another task for the evening, anyway, though it certainly wasn’t one he looked forward to with much relish.

When he returned to Faraday House in order to change into something more appropriate for skulking about Wenford’s wine cellar, he found William Benton sitting on the front step, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands.

“Did you lose something?” he asked, stepping around the boy as Peese pulled open the door.

William rose and followed him into the house. “No. Not exactly. I came to ask you a question, but your…your butler there wouldn’t let me in.”

Jack glanced at Peese, who stifled a grin as he shut the door behind them. “No, he generally doesn’t.” He headed up the stairs, and noted that William hesitated in the hallway. “I don’t have time to sit about and chat.”

“Might I accompany you wherever it is you’re going, then?”

“I hardly think…” Jack paused, turning to look down at the boy. After all, this venture was his sister’s fault, anyway. He shrugged. “Why not? I’ll be down in a moment.”

In his bed chamber, Jack pulled off his coat and tossed it on the bed. Martin appeared within moments and clucked his tongue in annoyance as Jack dug through the less-used portion of his mahogany closet.

“My lord, do you require assistance?”

Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Where are my old things?”

“Old things, my lord?”

“The French ones. Old and dark.”

He felt Martin hesitate behind him. “Is there some difficulty, my lord?”

Jack sighed. “Not yet. I just need something I can crawl about in and still pass for half a gentleman.”

The valet headed into the dressing closet and came out a few moments later with a dark brown coat. “Will this suffice?”

The marquis wrinkled his nose. “Did I ever wear that?”

“Once, I believe. In Paris.” Martin paused again, and looked at the garment. Jack watched him, curious, as the valet’s brow furrowed and he lifted the coat toward his nose. Immediately he paled and lowered it again. “No, not the thing at all. I’ll get you another.”

“What is it?” Jack asked, stepping forward to intercept the valet.

“Nothing, my lord. I merely—”

Jack took the coat from Martin’s hands and lifted it to his face. He breathed in, expecting mildew, or ale. At the light scent of a French perfume, he blanched. In the
same heartbeat he thought he detected the sweet odor of stale blood, though it was entirely possible that he was imagining it.

“Quite right,” he muttered, returning the coat to Martin and rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Won’t do at all.”

“My lord—”

“Get me another damned coat, Martin. I’m in a hurry. And burn that one.”

The valet swallowed whatever he had been about to say. He returned to the closet and emerged almost immediately with another coat of French design. This one was black, and Jack yanked it from Martin’s grip and pulled it on. It was obviously five years out of style, with the tighter waist favored in Paris at the time. At least it merely smelled musty.

“So, where are we off to?” William queried, as Jack returned downstairs. The boy eyed his less-than-fashionable attire curiously.

“A little necroscopy,” he answered, pulling on his gloves.

“Nec—you mean Wenford?” William asked, an unholy gleam of anticipation entering his green eyes.

“Hush,” Jack admonished, as they reached the front entry and Peese pulled open the door for them. “If you can’t keep your blasted mouth closed, you’re not invited.”

William took the warning to heart, and he was silent as they rode the mile or so to Remdale House. Jack could tell the lad didn’t like the constraint, and that he was bursting to discuss something, but the marquis was too distracted even for William’s amusing chatter. Coming back here was idiocy. By lucky chance he’d escaped notice in executing the original prank, and he had no more wish to be connected with it now than he had
before. But Lilith Benton had smiled and asked him, and he’d acquiesced like a drooling idiot. She’d pay for it later. That was the only consolation, the only reason he could give, for taking the risk.

Approaching the house in the overcast dark was certainly easier than it had been in daylight, but once they reached the outer door leading down into the wine cellar, things became decidedly more difficult. With a quick glance around to be certain none of the stable hands was out for a moonlit stroll, Jack pulled a knife from his boot and squatted down at the foot of the cellar door.

“Are you certain you know what you’re doing?”

Jack looked over his shoulder at William, cowering in the shadows beneath the elms, and scowled. “I told you to be quiet and keep your eyes open.”

“Yes, I know,” William whispered. “But I thought you’d done this already.”

“That was during the day, and without a damned annoying pup whining every blasted second.”

Jack was actually able to count to seven before William spoke again.

“Do you ever think of getting married?”

For a moment the marquis stilled his fingers on the rusted lock. Evidently Antonia’s charms were beginning to have an effect, after all. “I said to be quiet,” he repeated with less heat.

“I heard you,” William whispered. “But Nance cornered me this evening at the theater, and warned me all about libertines like you. And then Antonia—”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Jack interrupted. Lionel Hendrick was a stuffy, self-centered boor, and he wished he’d overheard the conversation.

The boy nodded, his teeth showing in the dark as he grinned. “So do you? Ever think of getting married, I mean.”

“Here’s a piece of advice for you, William.” Jack leaned to one side so his body wouldn’t block the scanty moonlight while he went back to work on the heavy padlock. “Never give your heart to a female. When they’re finished with it and hand it back, you may not recognize the wretched thing any longer.”

The boy’s silence and disapproval were almost palpable, but under the circumstances Jack didn’t much care that he might have offended William’s tender sensibilities. At least later no one would be able to say he hadn’t been warned.

“But you proposed to Lil,” William finally pointed out.

Jack scraped his knuckles. “Damn. As a joke, boy.” At least that had been the idea. There seemed to be some confusion in his mind about his motivations lately. “Her feelings toward me have been well documented, I believe.” He twisted the tip of his knife blade again, and the lock gave. “There. I told you I could do it.”

“Took you bloody long enough. I’m freezing.”

“Be grateful for the cold,” Jack grunted, as he pulled the door up and open. “Otherwise you’d be smelling Wenford before we ever set eyes on him.”

“That’s rather gruesome.”

Jack paused as he started down the steep stairs into the cellar. The lad had certainly never gone through anything like this before. “Perhaps you’d best wait out here.”

“Nonsense. After what he did to Lilith, seeing Old Hatchet Face dead is certainly not going to offend my sensibilities.”

“I hope not.” Jack lifted one of the lanterns off the wall and lit it. Racks and shelves of wine bottles, illuminated by the yellow flicker, spread out in all directions in the substantial cellar. Moving silently, he carefully
guided William along the wall and down an aisle. “Rather clever of your sister to send me off on her little errand while she gets a good night’s sleep, don’t you think?” he muttered.

“It would hardly be seemly for her to be creeping about the Duke of Wenford’s house in the middle of the night.”

“Just as well,” the marquis murmured, turning his head at a slight rustling off to his left. “I’m nearly out of ammunition today, and I don’t think she means to take prisoners.” A faint meow sounded behind the shelving. Thank goodness Wenford kept cats down here to stop rats from chewing his corks, or the sight they came upon might have been a good deal less palatable than William was prepared for.

“Lil’s not so bad, you know. And it’s not her fault, really.”

They rounded the end of the shelves. Behind him, William made a small sound in his throat and stopped. Wenford lay where Jack and Milgrew had left him, sprawled on his back in the altogether, a bottle of bad wine clutched in one hand. His clothes lay in a neat pile between his feet. With a sigh, Jack handed the lantern to William and squatted down beside the naked corpse.

“Good God,” William whispered, the lantern wavering in his hand.

“Hold the damned light still,” Jack hissed. The earring was in neither of the duke’s hands, nor was it among his clothes. Jack spent several minutes looking about the dirt- and straw-covered floor. He found two pence which had likely fallen out of Wenford’s pockets, but no pearls. “So tell me,” he said over his shoulder, as he began working his way along the base of the nearest racks, “why isn’t Miss Benton’s concern with respectability her own fault?”

“You’ve likely heard the story about our mother and the Earl of Greyton, yes?”

“I seem to recall something about it.”

“Well, I suppose it was all true. Mother was quite a bit wilder than Father was comfortable with. It was an arranged marriage, you know. To be honest, I don’t think he had a clue how to deal with her. When she abandoned us for Greyton—well, Father swore he would never forgive her. And he didn’t.”

“And he pulled you out of London over it.”

William nodded. “Lil was twelve. And from that moment, he made certain she knew that Mother’s blood was tainted and that it was
her
duty to redeem the Benton name. Lil took it all very seriously. She used to make herself sick with seeing that everything was just so. And Father and that old stick Eugenia would damned well point it out if she missed anything.”

Jack turned one of the coins in his fingers, then pocketed it. “Seems a great deal of responsibility for a little girl.”

“Too much,” William agreed promptly. “But she’s never stopped trying. And with me for a brother, I sometimes think regaining the Colonies would be an easier task.”

The floorboards above them creaked, and Jack lifted his head as a light shower of dust drifted down around them. Compared to him, William was a saint. He sighed in the near dark. “Which would place me somewhere between Falstaff and the Devil himself.”