A Kiss Before Dawn (6 page)

“Looking for you.” She moved toward him, her skirts making a hushed swishing sound on the stones beneath her feet. Coming to a halt not far away, she
stared up at him with eyes that were opaque in the dimness, giving him no clue as to her thoughts. “I need to speak with you.”

“And here you gave me the impression earlier that you'd be quite happy if you never had to speak to me again.”

“Yes, well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. My behavior this evening has been inexcusable, and I owe you an apology.”

To say he was shocked would have been an understatement, and he knew his astonishment must show on his face despite his best efforts to hide it.
She
was apologizing to
him
? “Will wonders never cease?”

Emily's mouth tightened visibly at his reaction. “You needn't look so incredulous. I do know how to admit when I'm in the wrong. Regardless of our…differences, I know you would never deliberately set out to hurt Benji, and I had no right to accuse you of it. It's just—” She paused for a moment, glancing down at her hands clasped in front of her. “You were right this morning. Your presence here has made things a bit…awkward.”

“It was never my intention—”

She halted him with a shake of her head. “I'm aware of that. The fact remains, however, that we've been placed in a rather uncomfortable situation, and we need to learn to deal with it—and each other—in a civilized manner. To that end, I have decided to lend you my assistance in your investigation.”

What the bloody hell?
“Your assistance?”

“Yes. I plan on visiting the Tuttlestons tomorrow, and I
know you'll need to interview them regarding the break-in. Deirdre thought they might be more comfortable if I was there when you questioned them, since I know them so well. And I might be able to ease your way with some of the other people you'll need to speak with.”

It took a second for Peter to register what she was saying, for her words to finally come together to make some sort of sense in his mind. Emily help
him
? When they couldn't even be in the same room for more than five minutes without striking sparks off each other?

“I don't think that would be a good idea—” he began, but she cut him off before he could finish his protest, her tone firm.

“I do. This thief needs to be caught, and if I can help you in some way, then I would like to do so.”

She took another step in his direction, and her scent wafted to him on the night air, a hint of roses that sent his blood racing through his veins in response. “Unless…” She drew the word out slowly, her prim expression changing to one of speculation as she looked up at him from under lowered lashes. “You can think of a reason why I shouldn't?”

He had to give her credit, Peter thought, studying her through narrowed eyes. She certainly didn't lack for audacity. But then, she never had. “It could be dangerous.”

“Nonsense. I'm not suggesting that I be there when you track the man down. Only that I be present to help smooth things over when you're speaking to the witnesses and victims. You know how the citizens of Little Haverton can be, especially the local aristocracy.” She tilted her head, the moonlight spilling across the fragile
purity of her angelic features, giving her skin an alabaster glow. “And surely you can protect me in the unlikely circumstance that something should happen?”

Peter's hands tightened into fists in his pockets. As much as the thought of working with her troubled him, he knew she had a point about the people of Little Haverton. They more than likely would feel more comfortable answering his questions if she was at his side.

But just how was he supposed to be able to maintain his distance if she was constantly in his company,
helping
him with his investigation?

As if sensing his reluctance to agree, she reached out to lay a small hand on his arm. Though the touch was light and fleeting, it branded him as thoroughly as if she'd pressed a hot iron against his flesh. “Come now, Mr. Quick. We're both adults. Surely for Deirdre's sake we can manage to maintain a modicum of civility toward each other, at least long enough to see this through.” A slight smile curved her rosy lips, teasing and almost seductive. “Of course, if you don't think you can handle working with me…”

That did it. Emily's coy manner and challenging words finally succeeded in bringing Peter's temper to the fore.

In an unexpected movement that had her eyes going wide in surprise, Peter closed the distance that remained between them and leaned over until his face was mere inches from hers. “I'm certain that I'm perfectly capable of handling any…difficulties which may arise,” he assured her in a silken purr. “The question is, my lady, are you?”

He felt her stiffen, the material of her skirts brushing up against his breeches in a tantalizing fashion. He was so close he could see the rapid flutter of her pulse in the side of her throat, could feel the soft caress of her breath against his lips. If he lowered his head just the slightest fraction, he could discover for himself if she still tasted just as sweet as he recalled…

Emily blinked and jerked backward as if stung, breaking the spell, and Peter let her go. For a moment he'd gotten far too caught up for comfort in the sensual tension that arced between them.

Neither of them said a word for what seemed like a small eternity. Then Emily lifted her chin and spoke with a firm resolve. “I can handle anything you can, Mr. Quick.”

He managed a careless shrug in response. “If you say so.”

“Good. Then it's settled. We'll both head out tomorrow morning to see the Tuttlestons as soon as you finish with the constable.” With a toss of her golden curls, she spun on her heel and marched away, sending him one last veiled glance over her shoulder before disappearing back through the French doors.

So much for staying out of each other's way.

E
mily descended the stairs early the next morning, filled with a renewed sense of purpose.

She had spent most of the night contemplating her new plan of attack, and the more she thought about it, the more she had come to believe it was the best option. If she was going to be forced into spending time with Peter, then she might as well use the opportunity to turn things to her own advantage.

Peter could not be allowed to discover her role as the Oxfordshire Thief. Not yet. Not until she, Jenna, and Miles had had a chance to ascertain once and for all if the piece of information her tormentor was holding over her head was the truth, or another lie. Once they had accomplished that, Emily had every intention of making certain that the Tuttlestons, the Fulberrys, and
anyone else who had suffered at the thief's hands received their stolen property back, and that the villain who had caused all this pain was punished.

And then she would gladly accept the consequences of her own actions, whatever they may be.

In the meantime, she would have to get past the anger she still felt toward Peter and play the gracious companion. There could be no more tantrums, no more outbursts or accusations. She would be civil if it killed her!

A recollection of the way he had so gently explored her ankle yesterday morning rushed through her, making her shiver, and she pushed it away. It wasn't so easy, however, to rid herself of the memory of those blue eyes looking down on her on the terrace last night, full of a heated awareness and something else, something that had her heart skipping a beat in response.

Emily closed her eyes, giving her head a hard shake to dislodge her disconcerting thoughts. She couldn't afford to let herself think about Peter this way. Not now.

Not ever again.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the faint murmur of male voices drifted to her from the parlor, and she glanced in that direction. One of the voices seemed unfamiliar, and she couldn't help feeling a faint twinge of curiosity.

She hailed the butler as he entered the foyer. “Langley? Has the constable arrived?”

“Yes, my lady. He is with Lord Ellington and Master Peter in the parlor. I believe they are discussing the particulars of the thefts.”

Emily bit her lip. Should she join them? She was dy
ing to hear what the constable had uncovered in his investigation, but somehow she doubted the gentlemen would appreciate her presence.

Before she could come to a decision, there was a sharp rap at the front door, and Langley opened the heavy oak portal to admit Adam, Lord Moreland.

Adam Carver, Viscount Moreland, was the son of their neighbor, the Marquis of Brimley. Tall and handsome with thick, wavy blond hair and deep-set hazel eyes, the young lord had been a frequent visitor to Knighthaven since he'd returned from Oxford almost two years ago. Emily considered him a good friend, for he had always treated her with respect and had never seemed to judge her for her fierce need to be independent, as the rest of Little Haverton did.

However, in the past few months she'd noticed a slight change in Adam's attitude toward her. He'd become even more attentive than usual, and she'd caught him watching her more than once with an assessing expression. It was a well-known fact that Lord Brimley, an elderly gentleman of failing health, had been pressuring his son for some time now to choose a wife, and Emily was very much afraid that the viscount had settled on her as a likely candidate.

For some reason, the idea filled her with a sense of panic she couldn't explain. As fond as she was of Adam, she found she had no desire to wed him.

But then, she had no desire to wed anyone. Her heart had been far too trampled for her to ever trust a man that much again.

A smile tilted up the corners of Adam's chiseled
mouth as he caught sight of Emily hovering at the bottom of the stairs.

“There you are.” Handing off his gloves and hat to Langley, he strode forward, catching her hands in his. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“Oh?” Emily returned his smile, for as much as his measured looks and hints at a marriage between them had plucked at her anxiety lately, she truly was glad to see him. Adam had always been good at taking her mind off her troubles, and right now that was just what she needed.

“I thought I'd come by and see if you would be interested in going for a ride in the phaeton with me. It's a perfect day to head down to the lake and perhaps have a picnic, and I know how much you enjoy that. We could stop by Brimley Hall on the way and have the cook pack us something if you'd like.”

“I'm sorry, Adam, but I'm afraid I already have plans. I promised Lord and Lady Tuttleston I would pay them a call this morning, and I wouldn't want to disappoint them.”

Something shifted in the viscount's expression and the smile faded from his face. “Instead you would rather disappoint me?”

“Of course not. You know—”

But Adam interrupted her, crossing his arms across his broad chest with a frown. “You know, Emily, I'm beginning to become quite put out with you. Every time I've asked you to accompany me somewhere in the last few weeks, you've had some excuse why you cannot do
so. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been avoiding me.”

Emily felt a sharp jab at his words. It was true. She
had
been avoiding him. But before she could think of a way to convince him otherwise and soothe his wounded ego, the door to the parlor suddenly flew open and Peter strode out into the foyer. He was followed by Lord Ellington and a thin stick of a man with straggly brown hair liberally streaked with gray and a bony face behind a pair of wire-framed spectacles.

Constable Jenkins.

“I appreciate your time, Constable, and the information,” Peter was saying as he led the way to the door. “And I can assure you if I turn up anything at all in the investigation, I'll be certain to let you know.”

The older man sent him a hooded glance, his eyebrows lowered in a fierce scowl. “I still say with a little more time we could have the scoundrel behind bars without any help from Bow Street.”

“We do not doubt that, Constable Jenkins,” Tristan interceded smoothly. “But at this point, I believe that the more men we have on the case, the better. After all, it is for the good of Little Haverton.”

The constable sniffed. “If you ask me, you don't need to look any farther than the Park. Those children are former vagabonds and street thieves, all of them, and if one of those boys isn't responsible, I'll eat my hat.”

Emily went cold all over with guilt. There it was again. The accusations against the children of Willow Park. She hated that her actions had turned the suspi
cious eyes of the law in their direction. They had enough problems getting past the time they had spent on the streets without having to deal with that, as well.

She watched as Peter's eyes narrowed and he took a step in the constable's direction, his manner menacing. “Do you have any proof of that, Jenkins?”

The man blinked and shifted his weight nervously. “No, I can't say that I do.”

“Then it might be best if you don't go accusing anyone until you have all the facts. After all, I was once one of those
vagabonds
you mention, and I might take offense.”

“Yes, well, er…As you say.”

Tristan stepped past the two men to open the door, his countenance as dour as Peter's. “I'm certain you must have things you should be about, Constable. Don't let us keep you any longer. And as Mr. Quick said, we will keep you updated about the case if you will do the same.”

“Of course, my lord. Good day to you. And to you, Mr. Quick.” Constable Jenkins bowed his head to each of them in turn, his face mottled with suppressed anger, then took his leave.

As Tristan closed the door behind him, Peter turned away with a disgusted shake of his head. Good riddance! The man had been nothing but sullen and hostile since he'd arrived, and he had provided them with the requested information regarding the Oxfordshire thefts only grudgingly. Just as he had suspected in the beginning, the local authorities were not going to prove to be
a source of much support in his investigation, especially if they had made up their minds that one of the boys at Willow Park was responsible for the crimes.

At that moment, as he raised his head to speak to Tristan, he noticed Emily and a blond gentleman standing at the foot of the staircase, observing the proceedings in silence. Emily's eyes were full of dismay, while her companion's were rife with speculation.

Peter disliked the man on sight. Tall and elegant, he was the utter personification of an arrogant young lord, and there was something about the way he hovered over Emily in such a proprietary and possessive fashion that put Peter's back up.

Tristan saw them at the same time and crossed the foyer with a smile of welcome, grasping the young man's hand in a firm handshake. “Hello, Moreland. I'm sorry. I didn't notice you standing there.”

“That's quite all right, Lord Ellington. You were otherwise occupied.” The gentleman cast a glance back over his shoulder at Emily before turning to Peter. “Em, aren't you going to introduce me to your…guest?”

“Of course.” Though she appeared somewhat reluctant, Emily came forward to perform the introductions. “Mr. Quick, this is our good friend, the Viscount Moreland. His father is our neighbor, the Marquis of Brimley. And Adam, allow me to make known to you Mr. Peter Quick, a former resident of Willow Park.”

“Ahhhh.”

Peter clenched his teeth at the knowing tone. He wasn't certain what it was about the man's reaction that
grated on his nerves. It wasn't as if he'd never run into that sort of attitude before. As a matter of fact, it was the usual response whenever someone realized he'd once lived in a home for former street children. But for some reason, Moreland's superior demeanor made him long to rearrange those bloody perfect features with a display of pugilistic expertise.

“Mr. Quick is a Bow Street Runner.” Tristan stepped into the breach, the pride in his voice evident.

“A Runner, you say?” Moreland's interest seemed to perk up. “So you're the one the boy Benji is always talking about.”

The viscount's statement piqued Peter's curiosity and he studied the other man closely. “You know Benji?”

“Of course. He's a frequent visitor to Knighthaven. As am I.”

There was no mistaking the implication, or the subtle way the fellow shifted just a bit closer to Emily, almost as if staking a claim.

Peter's hands tightened into fists at his sides. He should be gladdened by this development, he thought. After all, Moreland was just the sort of man he'd always wanted for her. A true gentleman. A viscount and the future Marquis of Brimley.

But then why did the mere idea of the two of them together make his temper soar?

“Lord Moreland! What a pleasant surprise.”

At the sound of the warm greeting, Peter looked up to see Lady Ellington making her way down the stairs, the mound of her belly preceding her like the prow of a
ship. As she neared the bottom, she reached out to accept her husband's outstretched hand and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss on his cheek before facing the viscount once again. “How nice to see you. It's been too long since your last visit.”

“Yes. Yes, it has.” Lord Moreland looked at Emily, and Peter couldn't help but note the way she colored and glanced down at the floor. A tension seemed to vibrate in the air between the two of them, a tension that had Peter wondering just what he, Tristan, and the constable could have possibly interrupted with their entrance earlier.

His jaw tautened as a sudden vision of Emily and Moreland passionately entwined crossed his mind's eye, but he pushed it away with vehement force.

It's no longer any of your concern,
a warning voice sounded in his head. But he knew convincing himself of that was another matter entirely.

“And how is your father?” the countess asked, drawing the man's attention away from Emily and back to her.

“Not well, I'm afraid. His health has deteriorated a great deal in recent weeks, and I must admit I've been concerned. His physician has given strict instructions that he is not to leave his bed.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that. Please pass on my good wishes to him.”

“I shall. Thank you, my lady.”

Deirdre looked up at her husband. “Has the constable been here already?”

Tristan grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“Oh, dear. Was he uncooperative?”

“You might say that. He's still convinced one of the children at Willow Park is responsible, and he made it very clear that any help we receive from him will be reluctant, at best.”

The countess turned troubled eyes on Peter. “I'm sorry, dear.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug, though he couldn't deny he felt touched by her concern. “It's nothing less than I expected, my lady.”

“Still, that's no excuse at all for the man's rudeness.” Deirdre glanced at Lord Moreland. “We have asked Mr. Quick to look into the case of the Oxfordshire Thief.”

The viscount's hazel eyes narrowed a fraction and he met Peter's gaze with an unreadable expression. “Really? How interesting.”

Peter didn't bother to reply, merely returned the viscount's stare with a steady one of his own.

No, he did not like this man at all.

“Well, let us turn to more pleasant matters, shall we?” Deirdre said brightly. “Lord Moreland, perhaps you would like to join us for breakfast?”

Peter felt a surge of relief when the man shook his head. “I thank you for the offer, my lady, but I had a bite to eat before I left Brimley Hall this morning.” He cast another hooded glance at Emily. “I truly only stopped by to see if Lady Emily would accompany me for a short ride, but as she appears to have other plans today, I suppose I should be on my way.”