A Kiss In The Dark (25 page)

“Big bloke. Black ’air. She called ’im Tristan.”

There was a soft gasp from Emily, and Peter whirled to find that she had paled once again. Taking a step forward, she reached out to touch Nat’s arm. “Did you say Tristan?”

“That’s what she called ’im.”

She swallowed visibly, and when she spoke, her words were barely above a whisper. “It’s my brother, Peter. My brother was here!”

Tristan had come after her.

Emily sat on her pallet in the far corner of the room, her back against the wall and her arms around her upraised knees as she contemplated all she had just learned.

Her brother had been here, in the Rag-Tag Bunch’s hideout. It was almost impossible to imagine. Never in her wildest dreams had she believed that Tristan would come after her. If anything, she’d supposed he would have called on Bow Street, leaving the search for his errant sister in their capable hands. To think that he was out combing the streets of Tothill for her himself filled her with a strange sense of warmth even as it troubled her.

The moment Nat had delivered his news, Emily had felt her heart sink into her toes. She didn’t know how her whereabouts had been discovered, but she was convinced that Tristan and this Lady R—whoever she was—would return at any moment to drag her away, kicking and screaming.

It had been Peter who’d convinced her otherwise.

“Nat says they don’t know you’re ’ere,” he’d reasoned gently. “At least not for sure. And even if they do come back, we’ll be ready. I’ll post one of the older boys as a sentry to let us know when someone’s coming. That way, you’ll ’ave time to duck out of sight until they’re gone. We can ’andle it. You’ll see.”

She’d given in without any further discussion and had retreated to her corner to think. Not for the first time, she found herself mentally thanking Peter for the threadbare blanket he’d draped over a low-hanging beam next to her pallet to afford her a bit of privacy from the others. Some peace and solitude was just what she needed to clear her mind and help her make some decisions. She still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing by staying here, but what else could she do? It wasn’t as if she had anyplace else to go.

Except back to her brother.

Lowering her head to her knees, she let out a sigh. She had to admit she was torn. A part of her longed to return home, to escape the ever-present threat of Barnaby Flynt that shadowed her every waking moment. With a yearning that was almost a physical ache, she’d found herself missing the people and things that usually surrounded her. The familiar walls of her room. Her talkative maid, Mary. Archer. To her surprise, she’d even missed Tristan, with his granite expressions and air of stoic reserve.

But what if she went home and Barnaby followed her? She’d never forgive herself if that horrible man hurt the people she cared about. And what about the Rag-Tag Bunch? She had found a haven here with them, a place where she was accepted and treated as if her opinions mattered. She didn’t want to give that up. Not yet.

“So, I guess you think you’re safe, don’t you?”

With a startled cry, she flung up her head to find Jack standing at the end of her pallet, arms crossed in a belligerent manner. He’d come upon her with the utter silence of a shadow.

Her whole body went numb with fear. She wasn’t certain why this boy frightened her so much. He was only a year or two older than herself, and it wasn’t as if she was alone with him. The rest of the boys were only a few feet away on the other side of the blanket.

But none of that made a bit of difference. She was still afraid.

It was a struggle to get her voice to emerge without shaking, but somehow she did it. “Go away, Jack.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. It was full of menace. “Go away, she says. Listen to ’er. Thinking she can boss me around already.”

Leaning forward, he pinned her in place with the malevolence of his stare. “Listen ’ere, m’lady. I may ’ave backed off from Peter, but that don’t mean you’re safe. Don’t turn your back on me, because I guarantee I’ll put me knife in it if I get a chance.”

“Leave ’er alone!”

From out of nowhere, Benji appeared, placing himself squarely in front of Emily and glaring up at Jack as he held his favorite book in front of him like a shield.

Jack scowled. “Stay out of this, brat.”

“No! Go away and leave ’er alone or I’ll tell Peter.”

“You little—”

As Jack started to reach for him, his expression dangerous, Emily let out a cry and started to rise. But before she could make even the smallest move to intervene, Benji threw back his head, opened his mouth, and let loose with an ear-shattering howl.

The volume of it was enough to have her wincing and covering her ears with her hands. But it did the trick.

Peter immediately appeared at the edge of the makeshift curtain, and when he saw Jack, his expression hardened. “What’s going on ’ere?”

Jack shrugged and started toward him, his stride lazily indolent. “I was just chatting with Lady Emily.”

Peter stopped him with a hand on his arm. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you to stay away from ‘er.”

“You’re the boss.” Jack’s words were rife with sarcasm, and he gave Peter a challenging look before frowning over his shoulder at Benji. When the little boy stuck his tongue out at him, his jaw tautened, and something dangerous flickered in the depths of his eyes before he pivoted and rounded the curtain out of sight.

The almost tangible aura of threat in the air seemed to follow him, and Emily let out a deep breath, cleansing herself of the suffocating feeling the boy’s presence had elicited.

“Is everything all right?” Peter asked, his gaze going from her, to Benji, and back again.

She smiled at him gratefully. “It is now. Thank you.”

He regarded her for a long moment, then gave an abrupt nod and left them with a last backward glance.

“Are you really all right?”

At Benji’s concerned query, she looked up to find him standing before her, his eyes wide with apprehension.

Reaching up, she tugged him down onto her lap and wrapped her arms around him in a hug that was as comforting to her as it was to him. “I’m fine, thanks to you. But you must be careful of Jack, Benji. Promise me you will.”

The little boy snorted. “I’m not scared of Jack.”

Remembering the expression on the older boy’s face when he’d looked at Benji, she suppressed a shiver. “I’m sure you’re not, darling. But it would make me feel better if you would promise me, just the same.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “All right. I promise.” Squirming in her lap, he shifted so he could look up at her hopefully. “Read to me now, please?”

With a laugh, she brushed aside her worry and conceded. But even as she lost herself in the story of the two good little children and their guardian angel, her misgivings stayed with her, lingering at the back of her mind like shadows, warning her that the danger was far from past.

S
omething had to be done about Deirdre. Stretching his booted feet out before him, Tristan crossed his arms and contemplated his companion as she sat with her head turned toward the carriage window, staring out at the passing landscape with a blank expression.

Ever since they had departed the scene of Mouse’s untimely demise, his concern for her had been growing, though he was hard-pressed to put a finger on just what it was that troubled him. Outwardly, she seemed to be a model of calm strength. She’d even comforted the still distraught Lilah when they’d left her at the Jolly Roger with a departing hug and firm reassurances that the person responsible for the rat-catcher’s death would be caught and punished.

But appearances could be deceiving, and Tristan had no doubt that behind that tranquil mask seethed a great deal of turmoil. It seemed she’d had to be strong for so long that concealing her innermost fears and emotions had become almost second nature to her.

He couldn’t allow her to do that any longer, he decided, letting his gaze skim over her pale countenance. She needed to cry, to grieve. If left up to her, though, that would never happen. Other than her initial reaction to what had occurred, she hadn’t had a chance to mourn, to let out her sorrow and anguish, and if she continued to suppress it, sooner or later it would explode. More than likely at the most inopportune time.

No, it was better if it happened now, while he was there to hold and comfort her, to pick up the pieces and put her back together when it was over. For all she was doing to help him find Emily, he owed her that much.

After delivering an exuberant Sally into the capable hands of a stunned Mrs. Godfrey, they’d set off for his town house at his suggestion that he check in with Archer to see if there was any further news. He had made up his mind that it would be as good a place as any to confront her regarding her refusal to acknowledge her feelings.

As the coach halted next to the carriage house in the rear, he turned to her and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Would you care to come inside for a moment?”

Glancing over at him, she bit her lip in indecision. “That might not be such a good idea. If your neighbors happened to notice me coming and going from your home …” She shook her head. “Perhaps I should wait here.”

Just a few days ago he would have agreed, but at this juncture his need to help her far outweighed his fear of discovery. Not that he’d completely disregarded discretion. It was why he’d instructed Cullen to approach the house from the back. There was far less chance they’d be spotted this way.

“I doubt anyone will notice if we enter through the garden. And you look tired. You need a chance to rest and refresh yourself.”

“But if your aunt should find out—”

He forestalled her protest with a wave of his hand. “I’ll deal with that, if and when it happens. I shall have to eventually, anyway. In the meantime, it seems rather ridiculous for you to wait out here when you could be comfortable inside.”

Deirdre still looked uncertain, but she gave a reluctant nod and allowed him to help her down.

As Tristan opened the garden gate and gestured her through ahead of him, he looked back over his shoulder at Cullen and was surprised to find the coachman staring after them with what he could have sworn was an approving smile. Granted, it was hard to tell. The man’s craggy face was always difficult to read. But there could be no denying the definite curvature of that hard mouth.

He shook his head. It seemed he’d finally managed to earn the trust of Deirdre’s taciturn servant. He wasn’t sure why or how, but he could only be thankful for small favors. When it came to Viscountess Rotherby, he could use all the help he could get.

With a hand at Deirdre’s elbow, he drew her with him along the garden path, past the small fountain in the central courtyard, and up the steps to a pair of French doors. They opened into a small, attractively furnished sitting room with thick, wine-colored carpeting and a fire blazing cheerily in the hearth of a marble fireplace. He didn’t pause, however, but continued on out into the corridor, calling for Archer as he went.

The butler met them in the foyer, his eyes wide at his employer’s unexpected arrival. “My lord, you’re home.”

“Yes, but only for a short while. I have a few matters I wish to attend to, and I wanted to see if you’d had any word of Emily.”

“I’m afraid not, my lord.”

Tristan felt his heart sink, but he quickly shored himself up against the disappointment. It wasn’t as if he’d expected anything different. “Any visitors?”

The butler’s nose crinkled with distaste. “Only one, my lord. Lady Maplethorpe.”

Drat! Of all the people to come calling! “And what did the old harridan want?”

“It seems she heard the news of Mrs. Petersham’s, er … premature departure. Her ladyship was concerned and wished to discuss the matter with you.”

Oh, he didn’t doubt that. The harpy was a menace second only to the Dragon Lady.

Something in his expression must have given away his dismay, for Deirdre’s fingers tightened on his arm, drawing his attention. “Tristan, what is it?”

“Lady Maplethorpe is a friend of my aunt’s. She is also the one who recommended Emily’s latest governess. If she’s heard about Mrs. Petersham leaving, then it’s only a matter of time before my aunt does, as well.”