A Kiss Before Dawn

by Kimberly Logan

  “At this point, I believe I’d dare anything where you’re concerned, so I wouldn’t push me.” Taking a deep breath, he struggled to rein in his temper, and when he spoke again, he was gratified to note that he had managed to subdue that betraying trace of Cockney. “Where exactly did you walk to?”

  “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

  “Until this case is solved, everything that goes on at Knighthaven is my business. Now, are you going to tell me where you went, or do I need to march you inside to Lord and Lady Ellington and have you tell them?”

  Emily’s defiant gaze abruptly skated away from his and she bowed her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a rather agitated manner. “Nowhere in particular.”

  Peter frowned in sudden suspicion. Nowhere in particular? At that moment, a picture of Lord Moreland flashed across his mind’s eye and his anger flared back to the surface. Was it possible…? Could Emily have arranged some sort of illicit rendezvous with the man? All too easily he could envision the arrogant lord enfolding her in his arms in the moonlit garden, kissing her, touching her…

  Taking a step toward her, he reached out to catch hold of her elbow in an unbreakable grip. “You weren’t perhaps having a little tryst with Viscount Moreland, were you?”

  “What?” Her eyes flew back to his and her mouth fell open in what appeared to be honest surprise. “Of course not! What would ever lead you to believe such a thing?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

  Emily seemed momentarily at a loss for words, then she let out an outraged gasp and wrenched her arm from his grasp. “If you are speaking of Lord Percy, you know very well I never meant for things to go as far as they did that night. It was only a little harmless flirtation. I never thought…” She bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders in helpless entreaty. “I was young and it was long ago.”

  Not so long ago. At least, not for Peter.

  It had been the evening of Emily’s eighteenth birthday, and her family had arranged a ball in her honor. Though the Willow Park children had celebrated with her earlier in the day, he’d planned to slip over to Knighthaven that night long enough to wish her a happy birthday and to give her his gift in private.

  He had saved up the money he had earned working in the stables at Willow Park for months, and had managed to come up with enough to buy her a pretty silk shawl he’d noticed her admiring in one of the shop windows in the village. It wasn’t much, but he’d wanted to give her something. He’d hated the distance that had existed between them, and as he knew it was his fault, he’d wanted to make it up to her in some small way.

  But by the time he’d arrived at Knighthaven and peered through the French doors into the ballroom, hoping to catch her attention, he’d seen her dancing with Lord Percy. Whirling about the floor, fluttering her eyelashes in a most coquettish fashion, she’d held the young man spellbound. Peter had felt as if a knife had been plunged into his heart.

  But before he could slink off to nurse his wounds, the dance had ended and the couple had come out to the garden.

  From the shadows, he’d watched as they’d strolled the walkways, arm in arm. Every time Emily had laughed at something the young lord said, it had been like a mortal blow.

  Then her companion had decided to become overly amorous in his attentions.

  The two of them had come to a stop near the copse of elms close to the central fountain, and Lord Percy had pulled her into his arms and kissed her with fervent ardor. When Emily had pushed frantically at the man’s shoulders and given a cry of distress, Peter hadn’t hesitated. He’d leaped forward and gripped Percy by his collar, yanking him away from her with brutal force.

  It hadn’t taken more than a good shove and some threatening words to send the young lord on his way. And then Peter had turned on Emily and given her the tongue-lashing of her life for being foolish enough to allow Lord Percy to escort her out to the garden alone. But she had given back as good as she’d gotten, and her defiance had succeeded in rousing his passion as well as his temper.

  Driven by anger and desperate need, they’d come together in a kiss of savage intensity, and from there things had spiraled quickly out of control. Before he’d known it, he’d had her pressed back against a tree with her skirts hiked up about her waist and his manhood poised to plunge into her.

  It was only as he’d hovered there at the slick entrance to her womb that he had realized what he was about to do. He could only thank God that he’d managed to come to his senses in time, that he’d somehow found the strength to pull back from her.

  And the next morning he’d gone to Lord and Lady Ellington and told them he was leaving Willow Park for good.

  “I knew you were there.”

  Emily’s words, softly spoken, drew him back to the present, and he stared down at her in surprise. “What?”

  “The night of my birthday ball. I knew you were there the whole time,” she repeated, peering up at him. In the dimness he couldn’t be certain, but it looked as if she might be blushing. “I saw you the moment you peeked in through the terrace doors. Up until then, I’d been having a terrible time. But when I saw you…I don’t know. You’d been so withdrawn, I suppose I just wanted to get a reaction from you. Any sort of reaction. That’s why I flirted with Percy the way I did.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. That was news to him. “And is that what tonight was all about?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Sneaking out of the house? Were you trying to get a reaction out of me?”

  At the question, her chin went up and she glared at him. “Of course not. I have far better things to do with my time. To be truthful, I care little what you think of me now. It’s not as if you have any say over my life.”

  For some reason, her words seemed to snap the final threads on his already frayed temper, and he acted before he thought, doing exactly what he had sworn he would never do again.

  Reaching out, he caught her by her shoulders and pulled her to him, the feel of her soft curves coming into contact with his solid frame causing his breath to hiss out from between his teeth. Her startled expression was the last thing he saw before he leaned forward and took her mouth with his own.

  And the feel of her silky lips beneath his after all of these years was enough to drive every rational thought right out of his head.

  Emily was stunned, confused, unable to process what was happening or how it had happened. One moment she and Peter had been disagreeing in their usual vehement manner while she’d scrambled to come up with an explanation for her presence outside at this time of night, and the next he was kissing her with a fierceness that left her reeling.

  She felt his hands leave her shoulders and smooth down over the slope of her back, his palms warm even through the material of her cloak as they settled at the base of her spine. Her pulse pounded in her ears as his warm, firm lips tasted hers deeply over and over, conquering their smooth surfaces as if staking a claim. And when his tongue flicked out to plunge into the warm cavern of her mouth, the heady flavor of brandy clouded her senses until she couldn’t remember her own name, much less what they’d been arguing about.

  Why was it only this man who did this to her? she wondered hazily as his lips finally left hers and skimmed down the underside of her jaw, his teeth nipping and his tongue soothing the sensitive skin in his path, wringing a moan from deep in her throat. It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed before, after all. Though most of Little Haverton considered her well on her way to spinsterhood, she’d had her share of suitors over the years. But none of them had ever held her attention for long, and none of them had ever made her feel like this.

  None of them had been Peter.

  She shivered as he nibbled at her collarbone, and her hands, which had been clutching her cloak, closed suddenly, released their convulsive grip, and settled on his broad chest, savoring the feel of sculpted muscle through his lawn shirt.

  His hands moved once again, this
time traveling downward to cup the rounded globes of her derriere and fit her more intimately against him. She stifled another moan as her most private place came into scorching contact with a thick, hard bulge that could not be mistaken. As heat flared through her, she gave a restless shift and rocked her pelvis forward, rubbing her suddenly moist cleft against the ridge of his arousal in an attempt to soothe the ache that pulsed there.

  Peter groaned and raised his head to bury his lips in the hair close to her temple, sounding like a man in torment. “Emily…Angel…”

  His voice was a husky rasp, sending a shiver through her that left her weak and quivering. Letting her head fall back, she stared up at him, one hand sliding up over his shoulder to tangle in the long length of his tousled, tawny hair. “Oh, Peter. Please…”

  Her words seemed to act like a dash of icy water. Peter abruptly froze and let his hold on her loosen bit by bit until his hands fell away and he stepped back, his expression cool and distant.

  With him no longer supporting her, Emily’s trembling legs caused her to stumble back a few paces, the night air rushing over her in a way that left her feeling bereft. “Peter—”

  He shook his head, then reached out to catch her wrist in an unbreakable grip. “Come with me.”

  Before Emily could say a word, he started across the garden, tugging her along behind him like a recalcitrant child. Still off balance over their intense encounter, she didn’t bother to protest. She was much too disconcerted to do more than follow him meekly.

  Somehow, without her being quite aware of how they got there, they were standing beneath her bedroom window.

  Peter let go of her arm and gestured to the rose trellis. “I’m assuming this is how you made your great escape?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Up with you, then.”

  When she didn’t move or reply, merely gazed at him blankly, he gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the trellis. “Go on. Climb up. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay in your room after dark from now on, or the next time you’ll be explaining yourself to your brother.”

  Emily felt her face heat in response to his patronizing tone. Of all the nerve! How dare he kiss her like that, then turn around and treat her as if she were little more than a nuisance to be dealt with! But instead of arguing with him, she gave a sniff, placed her foot on the first rung of the trellis, and began to climb.

  By the time she reached the window ledge of her room and turned to look back over her shoulder, he was already gone.

  Damn him!

  She was very tempted to slam the window closed behind her in order to relieve some of her boiling frustration, but with the other occupants of the house still asleep, she realized that wasn’t an option. Instead, she shut it as silently as possible and then slid down to sit on the carpeted floor, burying her flushed face in her upraised knees.

  What on earth had come over her? How could she have allowed Peter to kiss her, to touch her like that? Had all reason deserted her? She should have slapped his face for his effrontery, or at the very least blistered his ears with a firm dressing-down. But she had behaved like an utter wanton. Had lost herself in the sensuality of the moment, in the feeling of his lips on hers after all these years…

  Thank God Peter had called a halt before things went too far. But it rankled her pride that he had been the one to do so. That he still had such power over her defied all explanation. He had even managed to pull a confession from her regarding the incident with Lord Percy that night four years ago.

  She sighed and lifted her head. Well, at least the kiss had served one useful purpose. It had made Peter abandon his quest to find out where she’d gone this evening. She could only be grateful she’d kept enough of her wits about her to make sure her clothing remained concealed by her cloak, or he would have been demanding an explanation for that, as well.

  From now on, she would have to take extra precautions when coming and going from the house on her clandestine midnight missions. And she would have to make sure that she kept her distance from Peter. She couldn’t allow him to touch her in such a way again, either physically…or emotionally.

  For she knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t be able to withstand the pain if she allowed him to get close and he left her again. She’d had her heart broken by Peter Quick once, and this time she was afraid the damage just might be irreparable.

  Chapter 11

  Peter awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through his bedchamber window. Wincing against the brightness, he let out a groan and flung his arm across his eyes to shield himself against the glare. Bloody hell, what time was it?

  After his encounter with Emily last night, he’d returned to his room to find he was no less restless than he’d been when he’d left it. Even after stripping off his clothes and climbing under the covers, he’d tossed and turned for hours, until he’d finally drifted off sometime just before dawn.

  At the memory of their passionate kiss, another groan escaped him and he rolled over to bury his head under his pillow. He could still hear Emily’s low moans as he’d run his hands over her soft curves, picture the way she had looked when she gazed up at him, her violet eyes gone dark and dreamy with desire. And the way she had rubbed herself so sinuously against the hard ridge of his erection…

  Feeling the lower part of his male anatomy stir in response to the vision, Peter pushed the image away.

  What had he been thinking?

  I still want her.

  He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, but there was no hiding from the truth. The moment his lips had touched hers he had known it could no longer be denied. Kissing her, holding her, had felt too much like coming home. But a former street thief had no business even imagining that he was worthy of the sister of an earl.

  “You’re a worthless little bastard.”

  It was his mother’s voice, harsh and biting, throwing the same words at him that he’d heard so often as a boy. They were an ever-present mantra at the edges of his consciousness, an insidious whisper that taunted him whenever he started to think that he just might be able to finally leave his past behind him.

  For the few short years he had lived at Willow Park, Peter had lulled himself into a false sense of security, allowing himself to be fooled into thinking that his background no longer mattered. He had opened his hardened heart to Emily and had even begun to believe that they could have a future together.

  But he’d been wrong.

  And after last night he owed her an apology.

  The thought of facing her after what had passed between them was discomfiting, to say the least. But he couldn’t deny he needed her help. There was no doubt in his mind that her presence yesterday had made his interview with Lord and Lady Tuttleston go much more smoothly than it might have otherwise, and if he planned on making the trip to Lord and Lady Fulberry’s today, he needed Emily by his side.

  Tossing aside his covers, he swung his legs out of bed and sat up, pushing a hank of hair off his forehead. From the angle of the sun outside his window, he would guess it must be close to noon. Already he’d wasted half the morning.

  There was no use putting off the inevitable.

  He rose and started to dress.

  A short while later, having questioned Langley as to Lady Emily’s whereabouts, Peter found himself traversing the long, tree-lined driveway that led to Willow Park. Apparently, this was Emily’s regular day to visit with the children, and deciding that it was about time he paid his respects as well, he had set off on Champion.

  The park wasn’t more than a few miles away along the winding main thoroughfare that eventually ran through the village, and it had taken him less than half an hour to cover the distance between the two properties. Set back from the road behind a dense grove of oaks and maples, not even its tall chimneys could be seen above the tops of the uppermost branches.

  Though not as large or majestic as Knighthaven, Willow Park was impressive enough in its own right, wi
th a red-brick exterior and wide, stained-glass windows. Once, the house had belonged to the late Countess of Ellington, but it had passed to Tristan as part of his inheritance after her death and had sat neglected for several years. It hadn’t been until Tristan and Deirdre had come to live permanently at Knighthaven that they had returned the Park to its former glory and started their home for wayward children there.

  As Peter approached the circular drive in front of the house and pulled his horse to a halt, he became aware of the sound of a child’s giggle, briefly echoing over the vast expanse of lawn. Swinging down from his saddle, he handed the gelding’s reins to the groom who hurried forward and glanced about, trying to locate the source of the noise.

  It didn’t take long. From here, he could see a small group clustered about a willow tree next to the fish pond. And as he started across the grass toward them, he realized the identity of the person who was holding their rapt attention.

  Emily.

  She looked utterly enchanting, with her blond curls spilling from underneath the edge of her yellow, lace-edged bonnet and the sun gilding her animated features. She was reading from a storybook, and she held the children enthralled with the sheer magnetism of her voice.

  Peter came to an abrupt halt a few feet away, frozen in place as he recalled a similar scene, this one in a darkened corner of the Rag-Tag Bunch’s hideout as she’d read to the boys gathered at her feet by the glow of one meager candle.

  Dear God, she’d been their light in the darkness back then, her sweet and cheerful disposition making their lives a bit more bearable. And her friendship over the years had given Peter a sense of worth. The way she’d looked at him as if he were ten feet tall had made him believe he could do anything, regardless of his background.

  At that moment, she caught sight of him and her smile faded. Though her voice stumbled a bit over the passage she was reading, she managed to regroup and bring the story to an end with little sign of her unease at his appearance. No one studying her would have ever guessed that she was even conscious of his presence. But he knew. He could feel the awareness vibrating between them like a wire strung too tautly.