A Kiss Before Dawn (19 page)

Just that quickly, he was lost. Her taste, her scent, the feel of her in his embrace was enough to scatter his senses to the four winds.

She went still against him, and when a startled gasp escaped her, he immediately took advantage of it and plunged his tongue into her mouth, savoring her moist warmth and honeyed flavor with a fierce groan. After a second or two of hesitation, she slid her arms upward to wrap around his neck and returned his ardor, her tongue touching his at first timidly, then boldly.

Desire washed over him like a tidal wave, and unable to help himself, Peter lifted his hand to cup a plump breast, his thumb running over the beaded nipple through the fabric of her bodice. At the same time, his other hand moved to the hem of her gown, pushing the material upward, inch by inch, until his palm brushed against the silken flesh of her inner thigh.

The feel of that soft skin was enough to send him over the edge. “Emily,” he breathed, tearing his lips from hers to skim them down the slope of her throat. “I want you so much…”

Her only reply was a quavering moan.

Encouraged, his fingers shifted the slightest bit, just barely grazing against the damp nest of curls that guarded the feminine heart of her. And like a dash of cold water, his action seemed to freeze her in place. Abruptly, the hands that had been urging him on were attempting to shove him away.

“Stop, Peter! Please!”

Her sudden panic penetrated his amorous fog, and he
raised his head with great reluctance, his hold on her loosening.

Jerking free, Emily flung herself back into her seat, and scooted as far from him as she could get without jumping from the moving carriage. Eyes large and turbulent with emotion, she crossed her arms in a defensive posture and took a deep breath before speaking in a trembling voice.

“We have to stop doing this. You were the one who decided four years ago that we were better off apart. Have you changed your mind?”

Yes! With all of his heart, Peter wanted to shout that he
had
changed his mind, that he would die before he allowed her to wed Moreland. But he couldn't.

His past stood like an insurmountable wall between them.

When he failed to reply, something dark and shadowed passed over her features and she shook her head. “Right. Well, then, it might be best if you keep your hands to yourself from now on. Don't touch me. Don't kiss me. Just…don't.”

Peter felt his stomach lurch and he retreated to his own corner of the coach, taking a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. She was right. He knew that. But that didn't mean that he wasn't going to continue to look out for her best interests.

Full of resolve, he sent her a veiled glance as the carriage rolled to a halt in front of Knighthaven. If he had his way, a wedding between her and the viscount would never take place. By damn, he hadn't given her up so
she could tie herself to someone who would never love or respect her the way she deserved. And he refused to stand by and watch her ruin her life by marrying a jackass like Moreland!

P
eter trotted Champion up the long, winding drive toward Willow Park. The sun was just starting to set in the distance, outlining the trees that surrounded the estate with a rosy glow and painting the house with an ethereal light.

It had still been rather early when he had finished his rounds of the surrounding pawnshops, of which there were very few, and he had uncovered exactly what he had expected. Nothing. None of the owners of the establishments had noticed anything untoward or seen anyone who had tried to pass off the stolen jewelry to them. He hadn't believed the thief would be that foolish, but it had been worth a try.

Still, the fruitless task had been discouraging, and he'd been left feeling frustrated. Surely by now he
should be farther along in this case than he was? The more time that passed without the criminal being caught, the more chance there was he would strike again.

Needing something to keep his mind occupied after his earlier stand-off with Emily, he had decided stopping by the Park would be a good idea. He hadn't been out to visit in several days, and it would offer him the opportunity to question Benji a bit more. He needed to get to the bottom of what was troubling the lad once and for all. After hearing Lord Brimley's account of his confrontation with the thief, he believed that finding an answer was more important than ever, for Peter had to admit that the marquis's description of the culprit had been damning.

But Benji couldn't be responsible. He refused to believe it.

As he drew closer to the house, Peter let his gaze travel over his familiar surroundings. How he had missed all this, he mused with a fond smile. There, next to the pond beneath the willow trees, he and Emily had once walked hand in hand, basking in the glow of first love and sharing a joy and contentment he hadn't known since. And from here, he could just make out the second-floor window of what had once been his bedroom. A window that had served as a very handy escape route whenever he had felt the need to get away from the confines of the house and be alone for a while.

Even as he had the thought, he watched as that very same window slid slowly upward, and a leg swung over the sill.

What the bloody hell…?

Halting Champion, Peter swung down from the horse's back and stood in the center of the drive, continuing to observe as the foot attached to the leg struggled for a toehold in the brickwork beneath the ledge.

Ah! It looked as if he were just in time.

Leading his gelding forward, Peter approached the side of the house and the tall, thin figure that was attempting to scramble down the brick façade in a rather clumsy fashion. He kept his footsteps as quiet as possible in the soft grass, for he certainly had no desire to startle the boy and send him plunging down to break his neck—or to warn him he was about to be caught.

He stopped beneath the window and waited until the figure had made it to the ground before speaking. “Hello, Benji.”

The lad let out a yelp and jumped several inches in the air before whirling about, his face bright red.

“Isn't it a bit late to be heading out?” Peter went on, glancing up at the darkening sky. “By my estimation, the McLeans and the rest of the children should be just finishing up dinner.”

Benji scowled and crossed his arms, leaning back against the side of the house in an effort to appear nonchalant that failed miserably. “I told them I wasn't hungry.”

“That seems to be happening a lot lately.” Peter wrapped his mount's reins around a nearby tree branch and sauntered over to stand next to the boy. “Do you want to tell me where you were going?”

“Nowhere special. Just out.”

“That's not good enough.” Taking a deep breath, Peter struggled to keep his tone as calm as possible. “I don't want to come across as heavy-handed, Benji, but you're not acting like yourself, and everyone is worried about you. Including me. Anyone who knows you knows you don't do this sort of thing. Distancing yourself from the others, sneaking out. I wish you would tell me what's wrong.”

The lad's mouth clamped shut and he looked away, his jaw set at a stubborn angle.

Peter felt his temper flare. Damn it, one way or another, he was not leaving here without an explanation. “Look, you know I'm not one to badger you. I did more than my share of slipping out after dark at fourteen, and no mistake. But this situation is too precarious for you to keep things to yourself right now. I don't need to tell you about the thief who has been stealing from some of the families in the area, and I'm sure after being questioned you must know that Constable Jenkins has his suspicions about you and some of the other boys at Willow Park. The Marquis of Brimley was robbed last night, and the description he gave of the suspect sounds amazingly like you.”

Benji gasped, his eyes widening behind his spectacles, and his expression convinced Peter once and for all that he'd had nothing to do with the thefts. The boy looked stunned, as if he'd been knocked completely off balance.

“You don't think—” The youth stumbled to a halt, his countenance suddenly almost pleading as he stared up at Peter.

“Of course not. But what I think may not hold much sway if the constable takes it into his head that you're the culprit. He'll be back to question you again, and maybe even haul you off to jail. And if that happens, the citizens of Little Haverton will have the excuse they need to shut down the Park for good. Is that what you want?”

Benji shook his head, then looked down at the ground, kicking at a clump of dirt with his toe. “I never meant to cause trouble for Willow Park.”

Peter squeezed the boy's shoulder once, then let go. “Then you have to tell me the truth. Confide in me. Please, Benji. I want to help.”

After a long moment of silence, the lad slumped and he met Peter's eyes with a resigned air. “Jack is here.”

“Jack?”

“Jack Barlow.”

The name was enough to send icy hot anger racing through Peter's veins. His gut clenched and his hands tightened into fists at his sides. Of all the things he had expected Benji to tell him, he certainly hadn't expected that.

“He's here? In Little Haverton?”

Benji nodded.

The bloody bastard! How dare he show his face here after all these years?

Jack Barlow had once been a member of the Rag-Tag Bunch and Peter's worst nemesis, and it was practically guaranteed that the man's presence in town spelled trouble. After all, “Trouble” had always been Jack's middle name.

Struggling to keep his anger in check, Peter looked down at the boy next to him, his mouth set in a grim line. “How long have you known about this?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe a month.”

“And you've waited this long to let anyone know?”

“I didn't know what to do.” Benji's expression became defensive, but guilt showed briefly in his eyes before he shuttered them and turned to walk a little distance away, standing with his back to Peter. “He said he would hurt one of the Willow Park children if I told. He snuck up on me one day when I was sitting out by the pond by myself, reading.”

“And what did he say?”

“Not much. He made a bunch of threats. Said it would be easy to get to the people I cared about if I didn't do exactly as he said.” The lad paused for a second, and when he continued his voice wasn't quite steady. “He said…he knew about my past, and if I ran a few errands for him he would make sure everyone at the Park stayed safe and he'd…he'd tell me where I came from.”

“Where you came from? Benji—”

“You don't understand!” Benji whirled to face Peter, cutting him off. The look on the boy's face was agonized. “I've always wondered…well, bloody hell, Peter, you found me wandering in an alley when I was three years old! I don't know where I come from, who my parents were, why they left me alone on the streets of London. At least you and the other Rag-Tags had a sense of your past, even if you didn't come from the
best of backgrounds.” He shook his head glumly. “I don't even know who I am.”

It was true. Peter had found Benji as little more than a babe, cowering behind a stack of crates and filthy debris in one of the dark back alleys of the rookery, and had taken him under his wing, offering him a home with the Rag-Tag Bunch. But never before had Peter realized that having no knowledge of his origins had bothered the lad so much. He had never shown the slightest sign of it.

Leave it to Jack to strike at the boy's weakest point.

“You're Benji,” Peter told him, taking a step forward. “And that's all that's important.”

“Easy for you to say,” Benji grumbled in return, looking away again.

Peter raked his hands down his face, his frustration welling up to choke him. Please, God, help him to handle this the right way, to say the right things.

“So,” he drew out slowly. “You went along with Jack to find out if he really knew anything about your past.”

“I wouldn't say I went along with him. I told him I needed some time to think about it. He said he'd be back, but a couple of weeks passed and he didn't come. I was just beginning to think he'd given up and left Little Haverton when he showed up again.”

“Here at Willow Park?”

“Yes. He said my time was up and I needed to make my decision.”

“And?”

“I decided I couldn't take the chance that he might do
as he said and hurt someone. And I had to know whether he truly did know anything about my past. So I agreed to do as he asked.”

“What does he want you to do?”

“I don't know. He hasn't told me. He said he'd be in touch, and yesterday he sent a boy with a message that I was to meet him tonight.”

It couldn't be a coincidence that Jack, a former street thief with a grudge against those associated with Willow Park, had shown up in Little Haverton a little over a month ago—at precisely the same time the first of the Oxfordshire thefts had occurred.

Peter felt his heart pick up speed.

Was it possible that Jack Barlow was the man he was looking for? True, he didn't match the description Lord Brimley had given, but he could have been in disguise or in cahoots with someone else who had committed the actual crime. Or the marquis could have been mistaken. He wasn't exactly a reliable witness right now.

In any case, Jack's appearance fit too neatly into the entire puzzle.

“You realize that it's more than likely that Jack knows nothing at all about your past,” he told Benji, moving to stand next to the boy again. “He'll say and do anything, use whatever he can, to get you under his thumb. But I doubt there's any truth to what he tells you.”

Benji shrugged. “I know. But there's no telling what will happen if I don't do as he says. What other option do I have?”

“You can let me handle this.”

When the youth started to protest, Peter halted him with a hand on his arm. “You trust me, don't you?”

There was nothing to answer him but silence.

He heaved a sigh. He supposed he couldn't blame the boy for doubting him. “Benji, I know I haven't been around much in the last few years. There have been some…circumstances of a rather personal nature that have kept me from visiting as much as I'd like. I'm aware that might have made you feel as if I didn't care about you or Willow Park, but I assure you that's not the case. I care very much, and I will do whatever I have to do to make sure you and everyone here remains safe.”

Benji glanced up at him a bit uncertainly. “You'll—you'll find out if Jack really does know anything about me? Where I come from?”

“Once I have him in custody, I'll question him thoroughly. But the odds are he knows nothing. I want you to be prepared for that.”

The lad inclined his head in an abrupt, affirmative nod, but the brown eyes behind the spectacles remained troubled.

At the pained look on Benji's face, Peter reined in a growl of frustrated anger. Barlow was going to pay for all he'd done. “All right. Where and when are you supposed to meet Jack?”

“At the old abandoned gamekeeper's cottage on Lord and Lady Ellington's property at sundown.”

Which should be just about now. Well, Jack Barlow was in for a surprise.

“All right. I want you to go back inside—and this
time use the door. I'm going to look into this, and as soon as I have things under control I'll be in touch.”

“Are you going to say anything to the McLeans or Lord and Lady Ellington?”

“Not right now. That's not to say I won't in the future. I may have to sooner or later in order to explain all of this. But they've been very worried about you, Benji. They all deserve to know what's been going on.”

The boy swallowed visibly, but straightened his shoulders and started around the side of the house. He stopped and glanced back, however, when Peter called after him. “And, Benji? Try to remember that the past is behind you. It is who you are now and what you make of yourself in the future that's important.”

Benji looked far from convinced, but he lifted a hand in acknowledgment and managed a smile that wobbled a bit at the corners before continuing on.

As soon as the boy disappeared out of sight, Peter strode for his horse, full of fury and a fierce resolve. It looked as if he might be on the verge of solving this case after all. If he was right, Barlow was behind everything, and it would be a privilege to make sure the man paid for his crimes—-both past and present—once and for all.