A Kiss In The Dark (38 page)

He tried the knob. When it twisted easily under his fingers, he pushed it open and stepped into a small, windowless room. It was furnished with only a desk and some rickety chairs, and the dim light from a few guttering candles did little to illuminate the two figures who were standing in the middle of the chamber.

“Lord Ellington, I presume.”

Big and bald, the man held Emily in front of him like a shield, the thin blade of a knife pressed to her throat. There could be no mistaking those glittering black eyes or the scar that twisted one corner of his mouth. It was true. Tristan was once again face-to-face with the villain who had murdered his mother.

A wave of coldness washed over him as he fought to keep from flashing back to that moment when he’d held Lady Ellington’s still form in his arms and had looked up into this monster’s vile features. His throat felt constricted, but he forced the words out in as casual a voice as he could muster. “You presume correctly.”

Barnaby shrugged. “I ’eard the commotion downstairs and figured you’d decided to join me party a bit early. Quite rude of you to invade a man’s sanctuary. By the way, ’ow did you find me ’ome away from ’ome?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Besides, does it really matter? I’m here.”

“True.”

Tristan’s gaze strayed to Emily. Dressed in breeches and an overlarge boy’s shirt, her blond hair was a mass of snarls and tangles as it tumbled about her shoulders. The sheen of tears had made tracks through the grime on her face, and her violet eyes silently pleaded with him to help her as she clutched at the arm holding her immobile.

Once again, he felt as if he’d been flung back in time, picturing his mother’s terrified expression as Flynt had accosted her all those years ago. He pushed away the images. He had to keep his wits about him, had to focus on his sister.

“Did you bring me blunt?” Barnaby hissed, pressing the knife deeper into Emily’s skin. She whimpered, and a small drop of blood appeared at the weapon’s point, making a red mist of anger swim hazily before Tristan’s eyes.

“I have it,” he spoke up, fighting to keep his rage contained behind a wall of calmness. “It’s in a safe place, and you’ll get it as soon as I have my sister away from here.”

“Ahhh. Then I’d say we’re at one of those … What do you call ’em? An impasse!” The dangerous lowering of the man’s brow belied his almost jovial tone. “Cause you ain’t gettin’ the girl until I get me blunt.”

Struggling to remain unaffected by Emily’s frightened face, Tristan took a step further into the room, moving away from the door and into the circle of candlelight. As he did so, Barnaby shifted restlessly.

“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you,” the gang leader warned. “I might get nervous and me ’and could slip. We wouldn’t want that.” He tilted his head to study Tristan with curiosity. “You know, you look bloody familiar to me. Why is that?”

“Maybe it’s because you killed his mother.”

The words came from the doorway, and they all turned in that direction. Tristan felt his breath catch in stunned disbelief when he realized it was Deirdre standing there, hands on hips and chin raised defiantly.

Oh, God, go away, Deirdre!
he thought in desperation. He couldn’t concentrate on freeing Emily if he had to worry about her, too.

But she didn’t heed his silent plea. Instead, she entered the room and came to a stop only a few feet away from the gang leader.

“Hello, Barnaby,” she said softly.

Flynt glowered at her. “Who the ’ell are you?”

Deirdre shook her head. “Don’t you recognize me? Why, Barnaby, I’m hurt. It’s me. DeeDee.”

The light dawned, and those cold eyes trailed over Deirdre in a way that had Tristan’s blood boiling. “DeeDee! Why, it is you! What a surprise after all these years.”

“It’s Lady Rotherby now.”

“Lady—Ahhh. You’re the viscountess Jack’s been telling me about? Well, well. Little DeeDee made good, eh?” Barnaby’s voice became low, chilling. “I looked for you a long time, girl.”

“I know. And here I am.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Just curious, mind you, but ’ow did you manage to get past me men?”

“I’m afraid they’re a bit preoccupied right now.” She crossed her arms and surveyed him coolly. “You see, the people of Tothill have had enough, Barnaby, and they’re downstairs right now, making sure your men get what they deserve.”

A sudden loud crash from below punctuated her statement, and Flynt’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “I don’t believe you. They wouldn’t dare raise a ’and against me. They know what would ’appen.”

Deirdre’s shoulders rose and fell in a careless gesture. “Believe what you like, but I can assure you none of your boys will be coming to your aid anytime soon.”

The gang leader’s eyes narrowed to slits, and the hand holding the knife shook slightly. “You always did ’ave a way of stirrin’ up trouble for me, didn’t you, girl? First peachin’ on me to the law and now this. This is the thanks I get for taking you in, for giving you a ’ome?”

Tristan’s head reeled. Dear God, Deirdre had turned Flynt in to the authorities? No wonder he’d been so desperate to find her.

“Thanks?” Deirdre’s voice rang with scorn. “For turning me into a criminal?”

Barnaby shrugged. “You were already well on the way to being that, lass. I just sped up the process, so to speak.” His eyes narrowed in a chilling manner. “I will say this, missy. You made me regret the day I ever found you.”

“Now, now. One would almost think you weren’t glad to see me.” Deirdre sidled another step closer to the man in a subtle move that had Tristan’s breath catching in his throat. “Why don’t you let the girl go, Barnaby? Here’s your chance after all these years to finally get your hands on the one who betrayed you. So, why don’t you deal with me?”

No! Tristan’s stomach lurched. He wasn’t about to stand here and watch her offer herself up like some sacrificial lamb.

But Barnaby shook his head. “Oh, I plan on dealing wiv you, me pet. In me own good time. But right now I’m more concerned wiv the blunt this gent owes me, and I ain’t letting anyone go until I get it.” He turned back to Tristan, eyeing him speculatively. “You say I killed ’is mother?”

“You don’t remember?” Deirdre prompted. “The angel in the alley?”

“Ah, yes.” The gang leader’s eyes seemed to suddenly glaze over. “The angel. I’d been following ’er for weeks, you know. Watching ’er dole out ’er charity like some ’igh and mighty saint, waiting to get me ’ands on ’er. And that day I finally ’ad me chance. All I ’ad to do was get rid of ’er ’ackney and—” He bent an almost accusing look on Tristan. “Now I remember you. You’re the one who came racing to the rescue that day and got in me way.” He licked his lips, his mouth curving in a lascivious smile. “If it weren’t for you, I would ’ave ’ad me a nice taste of ’er before I ’ad to off ’er.”

That did it. The fragile hold Tristan had on his temper snapped. Ignoring Deirdre’s soft gasp and his sister’s shocked and confused expression, he lunged forward, slamming into the gang leader and knocking him backwards into the table. The knife went flying, and the two men tumbled to the floor, locked together in a life-or-death struggle.

Her heart flying into her throat, Deirdre reached out to grasp Emily’s arm, quickly pulling her out of the path of danger. At that same moment, Peter appeared in the doorway, and she shoved the girl in his direction. “Go! Get her out of here, Peter!”

Tristan’s sister started to protest. “But—”

“Go!”

The Rag-Tags’ leader didn’t give Emily time to argue any further but yanked her out the door and out of sight.

As soon as she was certain they were on their way to safety, Deirdre’s frantic gaze began to search the room, looking for something that could be used as a weapon. The knife lay on the floor several feet away, but she would have to pass too close to Barnaby for comfort. Circling the grappling men, she barely restrained a wince when Flynt landed a particularly vicious punch to Tristan’s midsection in a place where he was obviously already wounded. His shirt in that area was coated with blood. Tristan grunted in pain but didn’t release his grip on the gang leader.

Deirdre’s concern and panic grew as the battle continued. Dear Lord, what could she do? In a fair fight, there would have been no question as to the outcome, for Tristan was younger, taller, and stronger than the stocky Barnaby. But the gang leader had years of street fighting experience behind him, and he wouldn’t hesitate to play dirty if it meant coming out ahead.

Even as she thought it, Flynt threw up a hand and jabbed his thumb in Tristan’s eye, using the momentary advantage the move brought him to shove the younger man as hard as he could in the chest. Tristan sprawled backward on the wooden planks, and Barnaby scrambled for his knife. In seconds, he was on his feet with the agility of a cat and lunging forward, weapon upraised, before Tristan even had a chance to regain his balance.

Deirdre could see what was coming and didn’t hesitate. She threw herself protectively in front of the man she loved just as Barnaby brought down the knife.

There was a sudden burning sensation high in her left shoulder, which quickly built to a searing agony that had her crying out and swaying on her feet. The room spun around her, and she didn’t even realize she was falling until Tristan threw himself forward to catch her. His face swam before her eyes, full of fear and something else. Something she’d thought never to see.

“Deirdre … God, no!” he rasped, his words sounding muffled in her ears. The pain in her shoulder had turned into a tingling numbness that was spreading down the left side of her body, and she knew she was fast losing consciousness. But there was something she had to say, something she had to make him understand before she let the blackness take her.

Lifting a hand that felt strangely leaden, she managed to touch the side of his face in the faintest of caresses, drawing his anguished gaze to meet hers. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” she whispered. “You didn’t fail, Tristan. It was … my choice, just like it was your mother’s choice, and you’re … worth it.”

And then her world went dark.

Tristan heard a roaring in his ears and stared down in dazed disbelief at Deirdre’s still form in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her soft lashes fanned against her pale cheeks, and the slight rise and fall of her chest was the only indication that she was still alive. Gradually becoming aware of a vague stickiness seeping through the material of her gown, he drew his hand away from her shoulder to find it covered with blood.

Her blood.

Dear God, why would she do such a thing? It was only now, as he held her close, that he realized what she meant to him, that the feelings that had seethed within him almost from the moment he’d met her finally became clear. None of the secrets, the deceptions that had existed between them mattered. She was everything to him.

He was in love with her. And he was going to lose her the same way he’d lost his mother.

Anguish clawed at him, tearing at his insides like a ravening beast, but he fought against it. This couldn’t happen. Not again. He would not lose someone else he cared about to this monster.

Carefully lowering Deirdre’s body to the floor, he looked up at Barnaby, who stood over them with his hand still upraised, blood dripping from the end of his knife. That scarred mouth curved into an evil smile.

“One down,” the gang leader purred in a silken tone.

Rage such as he had never known poured through Tristan, and he erupted like a fury, tackling Barnaby full force and knocking the weapon from his grasp. Closing a massive hand around the gang leader’s throat, he pinned him to the wall, enjoying the look of shock and fear that suddenly suffused the man’s features.

“You bastard!” he gritted out, tightening his fingers until Barnaby was visibly struggling to breathe, his face turning a bright shade of red. “For all the nightmares you’ve caused me and the people of Tothill Fields, I should kill you right here and now, snap your neck like a bloody twig and save the hangman the trouble.”

It was tempting. So very tempting. The only thing that stayed his hand was the thought of Deirdre lying behind him on the floor, her very life’s blood leaking out onto the cold planks. If it came down to a choice between making Barnaby pay or saving Deirdre’s life, there was really no choice at all.

You’re worth it
.

Her words echoed in his head. She believed the best of him, and if he killed Flynt, he would be no better than the criminal he was trying to bring to justice.

He slowly released his grip on the gang leader’s throat, and the man slid down the wall, choking and gasping for air.

“Instead, I think I’ll let the law decide what to do with you. You’re not worth my time. You can rot in Newgate, for all I care. Either way, your days of terrorizing Tothill Fields are over.”

With that, Tristan returned to Deirdre’s side to sweep her up in his arms. When her head lolled listlessly on his shoulder, he couldn’t ignore a sharp jolt of alarm.

At that moment, Dodger Dan appeared in the doorway, flanked by two of his men.

The boxer raised an eyebrow as he strode forward into the room. “Couldn’t wait for me, could you—” he began, but halted as he caught sight of Tristan’s burden.

“Is she all right?” he asked in concern, stepping aside and gesturing to his men to clear a path to the door.