A Kiss Before Dawn (8 page)

Would anyone?

She turned and left the room.

 

“I still don't understand how actually seeing the tree is going to help you,” Emily said for the second time in as many minutes as she led the way around the corner of the house. “The theft occurred weeks ago, so surely any evidence that might have been left behind would be long gone by now?”

Peter glanced at her rigid spine as she marched along in front of him. “Possibly. We shall see.”

“And you must know the constable and his men have been over every inch of these grounds. If there was something to find, I'm certain they would have discovered it.”

In Peter's opinion, Constable Jenkins couldn't have found his own nose in a dark room, even with a lantern and a mirror to aid him. He doubted any search the man had performed would have been very thorough, but he decided to keep that thought to himself. “Perhaps.”

“Could you be any more vague?” Emily tossed over her shoulder in an irritated tone.

“That depends.”

She stopped so abruptly he almost ran into her back, then she whirled to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. The action pulled the material of her lavender day dress taut across the mounds of her breasts, pressing the pale, rounded globes upward until they threatened to spill over the top of her normally modest, lace-edged neckline.

Peter's mouth went dry.

“You know, Mr. Quick,” she told him, studying him
from under lowered lashes. “I have the distinct impression that you're making fun of me, and I don't like it.”

“I would never make fun of you, Lady Emily,” he said, his tone solemn. “I would never take my life in my hands in such a fashion.”

She examined him for a long moment, then gave a sniff and started to turn back around. As she did so, however, her foot appeared to catch on something and she stumbled forward, a startled cry escaping her lips.

Reacting without thought, Peter reached out and caught her about the waist, hauling her to him in an attempt to steady her.

And knew immediately he'd made a mistake.

At the sensation of all those lush curves pressed up against him, he felt the breath seize in his chest and a surge of lust lick along his nerve endings. His hold on her tightened without his volition, and for just a second he was tempted to lay her down in a nearby patch of sunlight, peel off that gown, and cover her sweet body with his own.

Their gazes locked, and Peter could have sworn he saw an answering flare of desire in the depths of Emily's eyes before she quickly dropped a veil over them and lifted her chin with haughty aplomb.

“You can let me go now, Mr. Quick. I'm quite all right.”

“Yes. Of course.” He knew he should. He wanted to. But for some reason his hands were slow in receiving the message.

When he finally succeeded in convincing his fingers
to loosen their grip, Emily wasted no time in putting some much-needed distance between them. Casting him one last wary look, she dusted off her skirts, spun, and continued on her way.

Peter fell in behind her, letting the breath he'd been holding finally gust out from between his teeth in an inaudible whistle. This woman's effect on him was lethal!

Damnation, but what was it about Lady Emily Knight that made what had once passed between them so hard to forget?

It certainly wasn't as if he hadn't tried. Since his return to London, he'd lived a far from celibate lifestyle, and he'd been involved with several women over the years. But while they had relieved the physical ache of his body, they'd never come close to touching his heart.

The only woman who had ever been capable of doing that was right here with him.

But he could never let her know it.

“You'll never amount to anything, do you 'ear me? Never! I rue the day I ever gave birth to you.”

The familiar voice from his past reverberated in his head, the cruel viciousness of the words enough to make him flinch, even now. It served to remind him that all of the reasons he'd had for pushing Emily away four years ago were still there, and they weren't going to go away. Nothing had changed.

Nothing.

“Here we are.”

He was pulled out of his musings to find that Emily had come to a halt in front of a large oak tree that stood a few feet away from the side of the manor. Several
thick branches protruded from its trunk, perfect for climbing on, and an especially sturdy-looking one stopped just short of the windows on the upper story of the house.

Focus on the investigation, Quick,
he told himself sternly. He had made a promise to Tristan and Deirdre, and now to Lord and Lady Tuttleston, that he would catch this thief, and he intended to keep it. And he couldn't let his inconvenient feelings for Emily distract him.

With that thought uppermost in his mind, he stepped forward to examine the ground at the base of the tree.

Unfortunately, there was very little to be found. The carpet of grass that surrounded the oak would have concealed any footprints, and any inclement weather in the weeks since the theft would have washed away any other clues the intruder might have left behind.

Running a gloved hand over the rough bark of the trunk, he glanced upward toward the topmost branches, measuring the distance from the tree to the Tuttlestons' bedchamber window. Yes, it could have been done. In this instance, it looked as if Constable Jenkins had been correct. The thief had used this tree to enter and exit the house. Unless he had scaled the side of the manor itself, which seemed improbable, there was no other way the window could have been reached.

“Well?”

Emily's voice came from directly behind him, and he looked back at her over his shoulder to find her watching him with a strange expression, her violet eyes guarded.

“I shall most likely have to take a look at the bedchamber,” he informed her, turning back to his assessment of the tree, “and examine the window itself. If—”

At that moment, something high up in the tree caught his eye.

What the bloody hell…?

Without a second thought, Peter caught hold of one of the lower branches and swung himself up in one smooth motion. A gasp came from behind him at his unexpected action, but he ignored it as he planted his booted feet on the branch and pushed himself to a standing position.

The object fluttered just a few inches above his head, concealed by the leaves that stirred in the slight spring breeze. Dark in color, it would have been well hidden from anyone who hadn't been studying the tree as closely as he had.

Reaching up, he wrapped his fingers about it and gave a tug. It was quite thoroughly caught, and it took several good yanks before it came free in his hand.

“What is it?” Emily called anxiously from the ground, shading her eyes with one hand to look up at him.

He dropped back down beside her and held his discovery out for her inspection.

It was a scrap of torn cloth.

E
mily sat ensconced on the window seat in her bedroom, staring out at the stars winking in the velvety night sky overhead and wondering if she would ever be able to fight her way out of the tangle her life had become.

“I intend to bring this thief to justice…”

Peter's words to Lady Tuttleston earlier that day echoed in her head like an indictment. He'd only been home for two days and already he'd made more progress in the case than the bumbling authorities in Little Haverton had in a month.

Dear Lord, he'd even found the torn scrap from the pants she'd been wearing that night!

Reaching down, she fingered the jagged hole in the leg of her dark brown breeches. She'd been so preoccu
pied lately, she'd almost forgotten how she'd become stuck in the oak tree on the Tuttleston estate the evening she'd embarked on her life of crime. It had been only later that she'd discovered the hole where the fabric had torn away, and by then it had been too late to do anything about it.

Of course, without anything to compare the scrap to, there was little chance Peter could ever connect it to her, but it was troubling nonetheless. She'd spent the rest of their time at Lord and Lady Tuttleston's home, as he'd questioned the couple's servants and examined their suite of rooms, trying to convince him that the piece of fabric could have come from anywhere, that it didn't necessarily have to belong to the thief.

She could tell she hadn't been very successful, however. Though he'd nodded and made noises of agreement to all of her comments, there'd been a gleam of purpose in his eyes that told her he'd already made up his mind that he had located his first clue in his search for the criminal.

Then, as if she didn't have enough to worry about, once they'd returned to Knighthaven, Miles had pulled her aside to remind her that she had an appointment to keep that evening. An appointment with the very man who had set this whole chain of events in motion.

How could she have allowed it to slip her mind, even for a second?

Now would come the first test. She would have to sneak out of the house, and she would have to manage to do so with Peter asleep in the guest bedchamber just a few doors down the hall. Something told her he would
not be as sound a sleeper as Tristan and Deirdre were. And if he caught her…

Her hands tightened into fists on her lap. She would not panic, she decided with conviction. She had every reason to believe this would all soon be over. Tonight, she intended to demand some answers to questions she should have asked a long time ago. Once she knew the truth, she could finally call a halt to this charade and bring an end to her tormentor's machinations for good.

A low whistle from the darkness outside drew her out of her musings, and she looked out through the open casement to see Jenna standing below, wildly gesturing to her. Miles would be waiting with the horses, as usual.

It was much colder out than it had been the last few nights. Emily could feel the slight chill of the breeze as it swept through the window and brushed against her skin. Retrieving her cloak from where it lay across the back of a nearby chair, she swept it about her shoulders, covering her lad's clothing from head to toe. Then, with one last look around at her room, she swung her leg over the window ledge as quietly as possible and started the long climb down the rose trellis.

 

The gamekeeper's cottage nestled in a clearing deep in the woods on the Ellington estate. Abandoned and falling into a state of disrepair, its shutters hung limply from their hinges, and the path that led up to the sagging front door was cracked and overgrown with weeds.

The moon cast an almost eerie glow over the surrounding landscape as Emily, Jenna, and Miles pulled their horses to a halt at the edge of the tree line and
swung down from their saddles. To Emily's relief, she had managed the escape from Knighthaven without rousing Peter or anyone else, at least as far as she knew, but she'd been well away from the house before she'd finally been able to convince herself of her success.

Other than the faint hum of night insects and the whisper of the wind through the leaves of the trees, there was no sound, no sign of any other presence save their own. But Emily wasn't fooled. She knew he was here, watching and waiting. He simply enjoyed toying with her.

With a slight nod of her head to her companions, she started toward the cottage with purposeful strides, and Miles fell into step behind her. Jenna remained with the horses.

She hadn't gone very far when a shadow suddenly materialized from around the side of the building and slunk forward to meet her at the head of the path. As she drew near, the moonlight illuminated a stocky figure with long, oily black hair framing a pale, bony face, thin lips twisted in a sneer.

Emily restrained a shiver of revulsion as she came to a stop in front of him. His was a face that, up until a month ago, she had believed she would never see again other than in her worst nightmares. “Jack.”

Jack Barlow folded his arms across his chest and studied her with frosty gray eyes. “It's about time you got 'ere.”

Eight years ago, when Emily had first met Peter and the Rag-Tag Bunch, Jack had been a member of the gang. A sullen, hostile boy who had been jealous of
Peter's authority over the others, resentful of Emily's intrusion into their lives, he'd done everything within his power to make them all miserable. He'd spent his days challenging Peter at every turn, questioning his decisions and instigating fights with alarming regularity.

There had been a bone-deep violence in Jack that had always frightened Emily, and she'd learned soon enough that she had every right to her fear. One evening, while the other boys had been asleep, he had cornered her in the dark alley behind the Rag-Tags' hideout and attacked her. There was no telling what he might have done if Peter hadn't come to the rescue. She felt a chill flood over her even now, just thinking about it. After that, Peter had kicked him out of the gang for good.

And in retaliation, Jack had betrayed them to their worst enemy, gang leader Barnaby Flynt.

It had been because of Jack that she had spent several terrifying hours in the hands of that monster Flynt. And it was only by the grace of God—and Peter—that Tristan had found her and gotten her away safely. But when the law had rounded up Barnaby's men, Jack hadn't been among them. He had escaped.

At the time, they'd all counted it a blessing that he was gone. Never could any of them have dreamed that he would be back years later, or that he would track them down in Little Haverton to exact his own brand of vengeance.

Struggling to keep her voice steady, she spoke from between clenched teeth. “I'm here, Jack. What do you want?”

“Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You're no friend of mine. Now quit playing with me and tell me why I'm here.”

“I've chosen your next mark.”

Emily's heart skipped a beat. She had come to dread this moment with every ounce of her being. “And? Who is it?”

Something cold and evil flashed in those eyes. “Why, your good neighbor, the Marquis of Brimley 'imself.”

Emily felt every muscle in her body freeze into absolute paralysis. This monster couldn't actually expect her to steal from Adam's father!

“There's a certain brooch I 'ear the marquis is quite fond of,” Jack was saying silkily. “I want it. Should bring in twice its weight in blunt.”

The late Lady Brimley's brooch? She'd heard Adam talk about it several times, and she knew how much the marquis treasured it. She could never rob the poor, dear man of his one last remembrance of his wife.

“I can't do it. I won't.”

The words were out before she could call them back, and Jack's eyes narrowed dangerously before he took a threatening step toward her. “You will, or you know what will 'appen.”

At her side, Miles growled low in his throat and made an abrupt movement, as if to lunge at Jack, but Emily caught his elbow and held him back. “It's all right, Miles. Please.”

The stable hand subsided, but continued to glare at the man in front of them with the light of battle in his eyes.

Emily turned back to Jack. “You know, you're going to use that threat once too often, and it's going to wind up losing its power over me.”

“I doubt that.” Jack leaned toward her, his lips peeling back from his yellowed teeth in a snarl. “Some'ow I don't think you want all of Little 'Averton knowing what a whore your mum was.”

She winced at the harshness of the words and her hands tightened into fists at her sides. There it was. The accusation that had haunted her for the past month. The revelation that had made her start to doubt everything she remembered or had ever been told about her beloved mother.

Jack gave a casual shrug and shoved his hands in the pockets of his breeches. “Of course, if you don't care if everyone knows that the late Countess of Ellington diddled a mere servant before she married your father, I suppose that's your decision.” He lowered his voice to a grating whisper. “But I 'ave to wonder 'ow your brother will take the news that 'e just might be the bastard son of a stable 'and.”

Anger raced through Emily's veins, sharp and sweet. “And I have to wonder who would believe you. A wanted thief.”

“Maybe no one.” He shrugged again. “Or maybe everyone. Are you willing to find out? Why, at the very least it should cause quite the scandal. Society will be talking about it for months, if not years. 'Ow the countess slept wiv a stable 'and and passed 'er bastard child off as 'er new 'usband's son.”

Is it possible?
Emily wondered, not for the first time. Could there be any truth at all to what he said?

It was a puzzle she'd been tormenting herself with ever since Jack had first reappeared in her life.

She'd been shopping with Lilah in the village the day this whole nightmare had begun. While the older woman had been occupied chatting with the proprietor of the local millinery shop, Emily had been outside on the sidewalk, admiring a display of bonnets in the window, when a hand had grabbed her arm, pulling her into the alleyway behind the building.

And she had come face-to-face with Jack.

Stunned and outraged that he would dare to accost her after all these years, she had threatened to go straight to the authorities and report his presence in the village. It was then that he'd revealed the information he'd managed to stumble upon regarding her mother, and his intention of letting all of Little Haverton know what he'd discovered if she didn't do exactly what he said.

Initially, she had refused to believe him. But the more she'd thought about it, the more it had made a strange sort of sense. It would explain so much, including the late Lord Ellington's attitude toward Tristan. The earl and his son had never gotten along, and their relationship had been antagonistic, at best. Had their father somehow found out about their mother's affair and realized that his firstborn might not be his after all?

Jack was right. In a town the size of Little Haverton it would be the scandal of the decade. Dear God, how would Tristan react to the prospect that the mother he
had so adored hadn't been the paragon he'd believed her to be? And not only that, but that he might not be the man he'd always believed
himself
to be?

The only son of the Earl of Ellington.

No, she couldn't allow Tristan to be hurt in such a way.

Jack jolted her back to the present by giving her a sly look and sidling away a step or two, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Per'aps I'll approach your dear sister-in-law wiv the news first. Won't she be surprised to see me? I 'ope it's not too much of a shock. After all, she is carrying the possible 'eir to the earldom, and we wouldn't want anything to 'appen to the babe, would we?”

Icy cold fear lodged at the back of Emily's throat, but she fought through it and plunged forward to grasp Jack's sleeve. “You stay away from her!”

He shook her loose and turned back to face her. “If you don't follow through on our agreement, she's fair game. And what about that 'ome for wayward waifs?” His voice dripped with scorn. “'Ow long do you think it will last once word gets out?”

As much as she hated to admit it, Jack had a point. Most of Little Haverton would jump at whatever chance presented itself to get rid of Willow Park for good. With a scandal like this associated with it, her family could very well lose what little support they had. And if that happened…

“All it would take is for me to 'ead down to the local tavern and whisper the tale in the right ear,” Jack told her, venomous glee clear in his expression. “And wiv
my proof to back me up…” He let his words trail off meaningfully.

Emily swallowed and stepped back away from him. “You keep talking about this proof, but I have yet to see it.”

“All in good time, my dear.”

“No.” Enough was enough. She'd made up her mind she would get some answers tonight, and she intended to do exactly that. “Now, Jack. I'm not doing any more of your dirty work until I see this so-called proof of yours for myself.”

“My, my. Aren't we brave all of a sudden?”

“Not brave. Just tired of being endlessly led around by the nose on the strength of your threats alone. How do I know you haven't been bluffing this whole time?”

“I guess you'll just 'ave to take my word for it, won't you?”

“Your word? Hardly.”

Jack's thick black brows lowered in a menacing manner. “I wouldn't be giving me any ultimatums, little girl. You'd best stick to the plan or I'll make sure you're good and sorry. You
and
your family.”

“You bloody bastard!”

The words came from Miles, and this time Emily barely managed to restrain her friend before he got his hands around Jack's throat.