strong drink, she nodded.
“Not injured?”
“No. Are you certain he’s…deceased?”
Dansbury nodded and stood. “Terribly sorry,” he uttered, shifting the curtains aside to glance outside, “but you really should have known better.”
“Better than what?” she returned, scowling at the sarcasm in his voice.
“Better than to throw up your heels for someone in such poor physical condition before you got him caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”
“Caught in the…” she repeated, her shock swiftly turning to anger.
He nodded. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to wed them before you bed them?”
Lilith stood bolt upright, her face flooding with furious crimson. “I did not—I was not—I had nothing to do with—”
“And here I was beginning to think you truly didn’t care for Wenford. Good show, Lil,” he interrupted, folding 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 themorning 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
“Not injured?”
“No. Are you certain he’s…deceased?”
Dansbury nodded and stood. “Terribly sorry,” he uttered, shifting the curtains aside to glance outside, “but you really should have known better.”
“Better than what?” she returned, scowling at the sarcasm in his voice.
“Better than to throw up your heels for someone in such poor physical condition before you got him caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”
“Caught in the…” she repeated, her shock swiftly turning to anger.
He nodded. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to wed them before you bed them?”
Lilith stood bolt upright, her face flooding with furious crimson. “I did not—I was not—I had nothing to do with—”
“And here I was beginning to think you truly didn’t care for Wenford. Good show, Lil,” he interrupted, folding 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 themorning 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
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