A Kiss Before Dawn (21 page)

Emily took a deep breath. “I plan on speaking with him, but I want to make sure things are settled first. He deserves to know the truth about all of this.” Regardless of how he might have reacted, she should have confided in Peter from the beginning. It had been wrong to keep him in the dark. Her initial anger toward him, her bitterness and hurt, had blinded her, but no longer.

Gathering up the jewels, she stuffed them back into the drawstring bag and handed it to Miles, then got to her feet. “Why don't you two go ahead? I'll hurry and put things to rights in here and join you in a moment.”

The stable hand nodded, caught Jenna's hand, and tugged her out the door.

As soon as they were out of sight, Emily hastily set herself to the task of erasing all signs of their presence, reaching down to tug the blanket back over the hole in the floor and returning the candle to the mantel where it had been. But as she worked, her mind buzzed with the implications of all she had learned tonight. She still had to wonder how Jack had gotten hold of the letters in the first place. Had he broken into Brimley Hall himself and stolen them? Were these the letters the marquis had mentioned earlier today?

She firmly pushed away her worried musings. She didn't have time to think about that right now. Jack could be back any minute. She could only hope that he wouldn't notice that the letters and his cache of stolen
goods were gone until she'd had a chance to explain everything to the local authorities.

And to make things right with Peter.
If
she ever could.

With one last glance back over her shoulder, she exited the cottage and started across the clearing.

Only to slam into a wall of solid muscle.

Her thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind as her heart flew into her throat, and her shocked gaze traveled up a pair of sculpted thighs encased in close-fitting breeches, past muscled arms crossed over a broad chest, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes that stared down at her with obvious displeasure.

Peter!

His sudden appearance was enough to send her stumbling back a few steps, and he reached out and caught her by the elbows, preventing her from falling. Her mouth fell open, but nothing emerged except a startled gasp.

“What,” Peter gritted out from between clenched teeth, his face red with fury, “are you doing here?”

What was
she
doing here? How had he even managed to find this place? Did he know about Jack?

Did he know about her?

No, he couldn't know. His countenance reflected anger, but not rage, as it would have done if he had discovered her connection to the thefts.

“Emily?”

The warning note in his voice told her she'd better come up with an answer to his question, and quickly. What on earth could she say to pacify him? Yes, she
had planned on telling Peter the truth, but she had wanted to put things to rights before doing so, and she hadn't had a chance to do that yet. She looked past him to see a dark-haired head pop up from behind the bushes where she and her friends had concealed themselves earlier and prayed that Jenna and Miles knew to stay hidden.

“I, er…followed you,” she finally managed to stutter, barely restraining a wince when Peter's brow lowered in an ominous manner. He didn't appear to be very happy with that explanation, but it had been the best she could think of on the spur of the moment, and it was better than the alternative.

The truth.

“You followed me?” He seemed almost incredulous as he pulled her closer, his grip tightening on her arms.

“I—I was worried about you when you didn't return from your visit to the pawnbrokers.” Lies. More lies. But she comforted herself with the knowledge that come tomorrow morning, he would know everything. “Jenna said she saw you at Willow Park, so I thought I'd meet you there and see what you had found out.” She made an attempt to shrug in a nonchalant fashion that didn't quite come off. “When I got there, I spotted you leaving and could tell you weren't headed home, so I followed you.”

He closed his eyes and gazed heavenward for a brief moment, as if begging for divine intervention. When he met her gaze again, there could be no mistaking that he was waging a mighty battle to hold on to his temper, and his disbelieving visage told her more clearly than words that he didn't quite buy into her tale.

“Dressed like that?” he growled, indicating her lad's shirt and breeches with an inclination of his head. “Do you have any idea of the trouble you'd be inviting if some passing vagrant or vagabond had happened upon you looking like that? And I thought I said you were not to be out wandering about after dark anymore!”

His reminder of his ultimatum sparked Emily's own irritation and her chin went up. “What's wrong with the way I look? And I thought I told you that I don't take orders from you.”

That did it. Peter's mouth tightened into a grim line and his eyes glittered with hostile annoyance as he sent a glance past her in the direction of the cottage. His gaze went back and forth between her and the small dwelling for a moment, as if he were trying to come to some sort of decision. Then, muttering an imprecation, he turned and marched off toward the far side of the clearing, dragging her behind him.

Emily breathed an inner sigh of relief as she stumbled along at his heels, trying to keep up with his longer strides. She might be in for the lecture of a lifetime, but at least she had managed to keep him from looking inside the cottage. She didn't doubt that Miles and Jenna would know what to do. They would keep the bag of stolen goods safe until she could meet with them again.

And in the meantime, she would have to figure out how to deal with Peter and the interrogation she knew was forthcoming once they returned to Knighthaven.

He led her to the rear of the cottage, where his mount was tethered just beyond the edge of the tree line, wait
ing placidly. As they approached, Peter pulled Emily forward and jerked his head at the horse. “Up.”

“You expect me to ride with you?”

“It matters little to me. I suppose I could ride and you could run along beside me, but we
will
return to Knighthaven and we will do it
together
. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight until I have received a
satisfactory
explanation for your presence here tonight.”

It seemed she had no choice.

With a shrug of resignation, Emily allowed Peter to help her into the saddle, then watched him climb up behind her. As he prodded the horse into motion, she resisted the urge to look back at the cottage one last time, to see if she could spot Jenna and Miles. If they had any sense at all, they would have already slipped away and be searching for a place to temporarily hide the stolen goods.

All she could do now was pray to find a way to put off telling Peter the truth just a little while longer.

But that, she thought with a shiver, craning her neck to study his set, tense expression, just might be easier said than done.

A
s Knighthaven came into view in the distance, Peter felt an overwhelming tide of relief wash over him. The ride from the gamekeeper's cottage had seemed to take twice as long as it should have. And all because of the infuriating bundle of femininity who rode before him.

Emily.

With her flowery fragrance filling his nostrils and her sweetly curved backside nestled against his manhood, it had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from giving in to his body's lustful urges. Not to mention the effort it was taking to keep from wrapping his hands around that creamy throat and throttling her.

What the bloody hell had she been doing in the clearing?

Never before could he recall feeling such a welter of confusing emotions. Anger, worry, fear. Good God, anything could have happened to her wandering around in the forest after dark! And he didn't for a moment believe she'd followed him, especially on foot. He was far too experienced not to have detected her presence if she'd been anywhere near. He supposed she could have been meeting Lord Moreland, despite her previous protests that she wouldn't do such a thing. After all, the abandoned cottage was an ideal trysting place, but somehow that scenario didn't quite ring true, either.

So what possible explanation could she have?

Well, regardless of her reasons, her intrusion had forced him to put off his confrontation with Jack Barlow. The thought of the former street thief anywhere near Emily made his blood boil.

At that moment, they trotted into Knighthaven's stable yard, and Peter pulled Champion to a halt. Without waiting for his assistance, Emily slid down from the saddle and started across the yard toward the house practically at a run, and he frowned at her retreating back.

Oh, no, my dear. You won't be avoiding me that easily.

Climbing down from his mount's back, Peter handed over the reins to the young groom who hurried forward, and went after Emily, catching up to her just as she rounded the corner of the house. She gave a visible start as he caught her arm, but said nothing, merely offered him a haughty glare.

He sent her one in return. He would not allow her to make him feel guilty. She was the one in the wrong, and he was certain her brother would be the first to agree.

Tightening his hold on her elbow, he led her up the front steps of Knighthaven and in through the front door. When the Ellington butler didn't immediately appear in the foyer at their entrance, he raised a brow at Emily in inquiry.

“Where is Langley?”

She pulled her arm from his grasp and moved a few steps away from him, meeting his gaze with violet eyes that snapped and crackled with irritation. “Deirdre gave him and the other house servants the evening off. They more than likely won't be back until late.”

“Ah.” Good. He had no desire for anyone to hear him giving Emily the scolding she deserved for her folly. He waved a hand at the parlor door. “Shall we?”

She sniffed, pivoted, and swept ahead of him into the room, and Peter followed, shaking his head.

She wasn't about to make this easy for him.

Once inside the chamber, Emily threw herself down on the love seat and crossed her arms in a defensive manner, her lowered lashes shielding her emotions from him. Peter remained in the doorway, surveying her mutinous expression.

How much should he tell her? he wondered, struggling to keep his own countenance cool and unruffled. She couldn't possibly have any idea of how close she'd been to coming face-to-face with Jack Barlow.

Peter had been on his way to the cottage after leaving Willow Park when he'd become aware of the sound of horse's hooves pounding toward him along the woodland trail. Something had prompted him to pull Cham
pion off the path and into the bushes, and just in time, for Jack himself had come into view, galloping by on his way toward the edge of the woods and the main road.

Without a second thought, Peter had fallen in behind him, following discreetly as Jack had headed into town. Once in the village, the man had tethered his mount to a post outside a tavern called the Hawk's Eye and made his way inside. Leaving his own horse in the alley behind the tavern, Peter had slipped in through a rear door and watched from the shadows as Jack had ordered a pint of ale and settled into a chair at a table in the far corner of the room.

When the thief had reached out to pull a passing bar-maid onto his lap with a leer, Peter had shaken his head. It hadn't looked as if Jack planned on going anywhere for a while. He supposed he could have confronted the man right at that moment, but it more than likely wouldn't have been a good idea in a tavern full of drunken fools just looking for an excuse to take part in a brawl. And he had no intention of going to Constable Jenkins. Not yet, anyway. He doubted the addled nitwit would have listened to a word he said.

Which had left going back to the cottage and waiting for Jack to return. It had seemed the best option at the time. That way, he would have the element of surprise on his side, not to mention he would have a chance to search the area to see if he could discover what the man had been up to. If his suspicions were correct and Barlow was the Oxfordshire Thief, perhaps he would come across the evidence needed to implicate the bastard.

So he had returned to the clearing, full of determined resolve and ready to tear the place apart to find the answers he sought. But his shock had known no bounds when he had rounded the corner of the cottage, only to run smack into Emily.

Anger had swiftly overcome him. Anger—and fear.

“If you're going to yell at me, I do wish you'd quit hovering in the doorway and get it over with.”

Emily's words drew his gaze to hers, and he took a step into the room, pushing the door partially closed behind him before crossing the chamber to stand beside her. “You don't think you deserve to be yelled at?”

“I think you're not my keeper, and you have no right to lecture me as though you were.”

Peter's temper sparked. “Damn it, Emily,
someone
has to rein you in if you're going to continue to behave in such a foolish manner. Do you give no thought to your own safety?”

“I can assure you that my safety was never in question. I know how to look after myself, and no one in Little Haverton would dare to accost me. Aside from you, that is.”

“I'll dare much more than that if you don't tell me what the bloody hell you were doing at the gamekeeper's cottage at this time of night!”

Emily opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Peter held up a hand. “And do not try to convince me that you were following me. I didn't believe that tale the first time around, and I'm not likely to change my mind now. However, you might try giving me the truth.”

She was quiet for a long moment, then shook her head and turned away. “I can't tell you that.”

“Can't, or won't?”

Emily shrugged and rose to her feet to pace across the room, coming to a halt in front of the French doors and standing with her back to him, her spine rigid. “What does it matter? The result is the same, in either case. I can't tell you.”

The light from a lamp on a nearby side table shone on her, throwing her shadow onto the wall and outlining her rounded form. The men's breeches she wore hugged the heart-shaped curve of her derriere and the mouthwatering length of her legs, and the thin white lawn of her shirt did little to hide the fact that there was a female figure under the material.

Peter's breath seized in his throat.

Unaware of his distraction, Emily whirled and placed one hand on her hip, lowering her brow as she frowned at him. “And just what were
you
doing there?”

It was a struggle to even focus on what she was saying, much less form a reply, and his inability to switch off the emotions she aroused in him only served to increase his anger. “Don't try to turn this around. I'm a Bow Street Runner conducting an investigation, and what I was doing there is none of your concern. I'm the one asking the questions here and I expect some answers.”

She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, refusing to reply.

That did it! Enough was enough!

Closing the distance between them with long, furi
ous strides, he came to a halt next to her and seized her by the elbows, giving her a firm shake. “Bloody hell, why do you have to be so damned obstinate? What is so important to you that you insist on running about the countryside after dark, dressed in clothes that would be a temptation to any red-blooded man who happened to stumble across you?”

A stunned look passed over her face, and she glanced down at her outfit. “A temptation? Don't be ridiculous.”

“You wouldn't think it so ridiculous if you had run across some stranger out there in the woods who refused to take no for an answer.”

Emily's scornful snort pushed Peter right over the edge.

With a harshly grated expletive, he wrapped his arms about her waist, fitted her against him, and seized her lips with his own.

 

The moment Peter's mouth touched hers, Emily knew she was in trouble.

Every bit of her righteous indignation sailed right out the window, and suddenly all she was aware of was the feel of his arms about her, his warm, spicy scent surrounding her. Desire rose up, and instead of pushing him away, she lifted her hands to tangle her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. So close that not an inch of space was left between them.

In response, that hard, hot male part of him sprang to instant life, nudging her belly, and she moved against
him in a sinuous, provocative manner, spreading her legs just enough so that his erection nestled in the damp apex of her thighs. Even through the material of her breeches, she could feel the scorching heat of him. It was like two pieces of a puzzle coming together, and nothing had ever felt so right.

He groaned, stabbing his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

Dear God, she was so tired of fighting this, Emily thought dimly. Tired of keeping her distance. Of trying to pretend that she didn't have feelings for him. She couldn't go on this way.

She loved him, and she didn't want to deny it any longer. Forget all the obstacles that lay between them, the fact that he would hate her once he discovered her deceptions. Perhaps it was selfish, but if she could only have this one night with him, she intended to take what pleasure she could from it.

She wanted Peter to make love to her.

Her decision made, she slid her hands up his chest and went to work on the buttons of his shirt, slipping the topmost one from its hole with swift efficiency.

But as she moved on to the next one, Peter seemed to abruptly go still. The next thing she knew, he had pulled his lips from hers and reached up to grasp her wrists, halting her progress.

“Emily, stop.”

His voice was hoarse, and she peered up at him from under lowered lashes, taking in the slight flush that stained his cheekbones, the passion simmering in the depths of his eyes. “Why? Don't you want me?”

“Of course I do. More than my next breath. But I shouldn't have started this. We can't let this happen.”

“Why can't we? I know you believe that we could never have a life together, and perhaps you're right. Perhaps society would turn their backs on us and ostracize us and we would be miserable. But I'm not asking you to wed me.” She rose on her toes, briefly nuzzling the wedge of bronzed skin she had exposed just below his collarbone, and felt his big body shudder in reaction. “I'm asking you to make love to me. To give me this one night. I'll never ask anything more of you.”

“I can't dishonor you in such a way, Em. Your future husband—”

“There will be no future husband. I like my life the way it is. Why would I sacrifice my independence by tying myself to a man I feel nothing for?”

His face unreadable, Peter stared down at her, a muscle flexing in his jaw, and his grip on her wrists tightened. “What about Moreland?”

“What about him?” She met his gaze, hoping he could read the sincerity in her expression. She refused to allow him to deprive them of this one chance to experience the joy she knew they could bring each other. “I've said this before and apparently you didn't believe me. So listen and believe me now. I don't love Adam. He is a good friend, and I admit I considered his proposal for all of two seconds, but I could never marry a man I don't love.”

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm her wildly racing heart, before freeing the words she'd been longing to say since this morning. “I love
you
.”

Peter tensed, and for a long, drawn-out moment he was silent. Then, just as Emily was beginning to think she'd made an error in revealing her true feelings, a low, almost animalistic sound escaped him, and he dropped her wrists to cup her face in his hands.

And once again, his mouth came down on hers.

Peter was lost. Lost in the scent, the taste, the very essence of Emily. He couldn't believe she wanted him to make love to her. His head knew it would be a mistake, but he couldn't seem to convince his heart of that fact. She felt so good in his arms, as if she belonged there.

And perhaps she did.

But he didn't have time for this. He had to return to the cottage to confront Jack, to find out for certain if the man was the thief he'd been looking for. And he had to consider Tristan and Deirdre. If they were to come home and discover him with Emily…

Giving it one last valiant effort, he tore his mouth from hers and stared down into her eyes. “Are you sure, Em?”

“I've never been so sure of anything,” she murmured, wrapping her arms about his neck. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her violet eyes unfocused and full of longing. “I want you, Peter. Please.”

He couldn't. He had a duty to perform. He had to—

Her mouth brushed the underside of his jaw, her tongue feathering against the pulse that beat there, and he finally lost all control. Bloody hell, but he couldn't fight both her and his own feelings, as well! He wanted her, needed her too badly. He had for much too long.