After all, keeping her double identity a secret could depend upon it.
“Thoroughly. The dust had been disturbed in a few places, as if in a hasty search. And the window was left open. There is no trellis or tree to climb, but some bushes close to the side of the house look as if something large was dragged through them recently. It appears our thief jumped to make his escape.”
And had the bruises to prove it. Emily had to restrain the urge to rub her aching posterior.
“Well, I suppose that means our work is done here,” she said brightly, starting toward Peter and the door. “We should most likely be off now. I know you had several things you needed to do with regard to the investigation, Mr. Quick, and I—”
“Emily, wait.”
Drat and blast! She should have known Adam wouldn’t let her escape that easily.
She stopped and turned with great reluctance, watching as the viscount approached her. As if sensing her trepidation, Peter moved up behind her, and she found herself grateful for his solid, warm presence looming at her back.
It was only Adam. She shouldn’t feel this threatened.
But she did.
Nearing her side, the viscount caught her elbow in a firm grip and stared into her eyes, as if willing her to concede. “I hope you will promise me you will at least consider what I have proposed. I think we would make an excellent match, and if you will give it some thought, I’m sure you will agree.”
Had Peter just growled in her ear? It wouldn’t surprise her. She would have to be blind not to know that he didn’t care for Lord Moreland, and the antipathy appeared to be mutual. Eager to flee Adam’s unsettling presence and wanting to get Peter away before the two men came to blows, she gave a hasty nod. “Very well. I promise I will think about it.”
With that, she pulled her arm free, whirled, and left the room with Peter at her heels.
But she couldn’t help wondering as she made her escape what Adam would think if he knew he had just proposed marriage to the very woman who had stolen his mother’s brooch and caused his father’s attack.
Once in the carriage and on their way back to Knighthaven, Peter found himself unable to keep from studying Emily, trying to discern what she was feeling from the look on her face. But her expression was closed, leaving her eyes strangely blank as she stared off into space.
Lord Moreland had proposed to her.
Peter clenched his jaw against the anger that flared through him whenever he imagined her as the wife of the condescending viscount. Though he knew he would never be able to have Emily for his own, he still had a vested interest in her future happiness, and he found it hard to believe she could ever be happy with Moreland.
Not to mention the fact that the mere thought of the man touching, kissing, caressing her the way he himself had done was enough to madden him beyond reason.
“Well, Mr. Quick. Do you have any theories?”
So caught up was he in the troubling vision of Emily being made love to by Lord Moreland that it took Peter a moment to realize she was addressing him. Jerking himself from his disturbing thoughts, he faced her, hoping his countenance betrayed none of his roiling emotions. “I beg your pardon?”
“Theories, Mr. Quick. I was interested in whether you had any new ones regarding the Oxfordshire Thief now that you’ve spoken with Lord Brimley and had a chance to look over the scene of the crime.”
As a matter of fact, he did. “Only one, I’m afraid. Is the marquis a frequent contributor to Willow Park?”
“I believe so. At least, he has been in the past. Why?”
“It occurred to me as I was examining Lady Brimley’s old bedchamber that each of the victims of the thief has made some sort of monetary donation to the upkeep of the Park at one time or another. It’s the only thing that ties the cases together that I’ve been able to pinpoint.”
Emily’s face whitened. “Oh, my God, that’s true! I never even made the connection, but you’re right.” She appeared stunned by the revelation.
“It wouldn’t be too out of line to assume that the culprit is someone who is associated with either Willow Park or your family and holds a grudge. Can you think of anyone who fits that description?”
A frown marred her brow and she avoided his gaze. “It isn’t a secret that most of Little Haverton would like to see Willow Park closed. But I can’t think of anyone who could hate us so much that they would do such a thing, go to such lengths.” She sighed and bowed her head. “Do you still plan on visiting the local pawnbrokers?”
Peter nodded. Something in her demeanor troubled him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. “While I’m doing that, you might try questioning your brother to see if he can think of anyone who has a personal vendetta against him or the Park.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
She didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic, and he found himself perusing her visage, searching for some sign of what she might be hiding.
Was she bothered by what he had told her about the thief and the connection to Willow Park? Or was she thinking about Lord Moreland?
The possibility pricked at him, and he couldn’t have called the words back that spilled from his lips if he had tried.
“You deserve better than Moreland, you know.”
Obviously surprised by the change in subject, Emily’s head flew up, her lashes fluttering as she focused on him with an intensity that pierced him. “Excuse me?”
He’d come this far. There was no use backing down now. He took a deep breath and plunged onward. “Lord Moreland. He proposed to you, I assume?”
“If it’s any business of yours, yes, he did.”
“He isn’t good enough for you, Em. You deserve someone who will love you and set you free to be yourself. Moreland would smother you inside of a week.”
“And you’re so concerned for my welfare and what sort of man I deserve? I’m certain I can’t see why you should care.” Her tone was haughty, leaving him in no doubt that she didn’t appreciate his observation.
“I will always be concerned for your welfare, Emily. I will always care.”
At that, some of the starch seemed to seep out of her. “I thank you for your concern. But I haven’t exactly told him yes. I only said I would think about it.”
Which meant she was considering it. Bloody hell.
Reaching out, Peter caught Emily by her elbow and pulled her toward him until only an inch of space separated them. “Do you love him?”
Her eyes widened and locked with his for a small eternity. Her hands fluttered up to rest against his chest, the warmth of her palms scorching him, even through the material of his shirt. “What?” she choked out.
“It’s a simple question. Do. You. Love. Him.”
Her chin went up at a mutinous angle and she tightened her mouth into a thin line, refusing to answer.
It was all the provocation Peter’s temper needed. With a stifled curse, he hauled her onto his lap and kissed her with savage need.
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!
Chapter 21
Peter 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 s
ides. 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.”
A Kiss Before Dawn Page 20