“Peter!” she cried out, flinging her head back, pressing her breasts farther into his hands, her nipples stabbing his palms.
At her cry, he grunted and pumped into her one last time before his own orgasm overcame him, his big body shuddering once, twice, then going still.
She slumped against him, panting for breath, her blond curls falling into his face. She was so weak, so tired, and all she wanted to do was fall into a peaceful slumber here in his arms. But there was something she had to say first. Something she had to make sure he understood.
“I love you, Peter,” she murmured as her eyes drifted closed, her lips buried in his neck. She didn’t know if he’d heard her or not, and she lacked the energy to even lift her head to find out. “I’ll always love you.”
Rolling off him, she curled into his side and instantly fell asleep.
Peter stirred from his light doze and cracked his eyes, squinting around at the dimly lit environs. He was overcome by a momentary puzzlement as to how he’d happened to fall asleep on the parlor floor, until the soft, warm weight burrowed against his side shifted and emitted a small sigh that brought it all rushing back.
He’d made love to Emily.
Twice.
Reaching up with his free hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath. Dear God, it had been all he’d ever imagined it could be. And Emily had been a revelation.
He felt a slight smile curve the corner of his mouth in spite of himself as he recalled the way she’d ridden him to completion that second time, her supple body poised and taut, her head thrown back, her passionate moans echoing in his ears. His innocent angel had become a wanton, wringing the most powerful climax from him he could ever remember having.
But she had deserved better than a cold floor and a quick, clandestine coupling for her first time. She should have had a soft mattress and satin sheets. Her initiation into the world of erotic pleasure should have been slow and leisurely, lasting all night long.
And it should have been with her husband, something he could never aspire to be.
But she had said she loved him.
Easing his arm out from underneath her head, he rose up on his elbow to gaze down at her, looking so peaceful in slumber. He was well aware that, in the end, their feelings for each other didn’t matter. They were too far apart in station, and society would never let them forget that. Regardless of what she thought, there could never be anything further between them. For her own good, he had to let her go.
Yes, their lovemaking had been a mistake. But somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. Emily had given him a night he would never forget.
Unable to help himself, he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She tasted like warm, sweet honey, and for a second he was tempted to take the kiss deeper. But he resisted. This had to end. Now.
With a feeling of regret, he pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to retrieve his shirt and breeches. He still had work to do this night, and there was no more time to waste.
He had a thief to catch.
As he stepped into his pants, he cast a glance at the clock in the corner and was gratified to note that it wasn’t as late as he’d surmised. It had barely gone ten. There was still every chance that he could make it back to the gamekeeper’s cottage and commence with his investigation even before Jack returned from his evening at the Hawk’s Eye.
Peter slipped into his shirt and quickly buttoned it, then sent Emily an indulgent look. He supposed he’d better wake her before he left. He doubted she would want one of the staff to return—or God forbid, Tristan and Deirdre—to find her sleeping naked on the parlor floor.
He started toward her, scooping up her shirt and pants as he went, shaking his head. He had to wonder how she’d even gotten hold of such clothing. If her brother ever found out she had a pair of men’s breeches, much less wore them in public…
At that moment, something about the material he held struck him as familiar and he halted in the middle of the parlor, staring down at the pair of pants in his hands. He held them up so he could examine them more closely, and as he did, a light clicked on in his brain, filling him with stunned recognition.
No! It couldn’t be!
Fumbling for his pocket, he shoved his hand in and withdrew the small scrap of fabric that he had discovered at the Tuttleston estate. It was the same color, the same material, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Surely there were many pairs of men’s trousers that were made from the same sort of cloth?
But as he turned the breeches over, holding them up to the light of a nearby lamp, its glow illuminated a gaping hole high up on the right leg.
And when he compared the scrap to it, it matched exactly.
At first, his mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing. When it finally registered, a burning, agonizing pain stole over him, gripping his chest and tightening with every ragged breath.
There had to be another explanation, another reason a torn scrap from Emily’s pants had wound up in the tree outside of Lady Tuttleston’s bedroom window. But if there was, he didn’t know what it could be.
His sassy, stubborn angel was the Oxfordshire Thief.
Emily’s eyes fluttered open to find Peter sitting on the floor next to her, his back against the love seat and his arms resting on his upraised knees. Fully dressed, he watched her with an unfathomable expression.
She yawned and stretched, unable to suppress a slight wince as the muscles in her body protested the movement. The floor was most certainly not conducive to sleeping comfortably. Pushing herself to a sitting position, unconcerned with her nudity, she sent Peter a small, seductive smile as memories of their lovemaking washed over her.
He didn’t smile back.
Puzzled, she reached up to push a stray curl back behind her ear and scrutinized him with curiosity. What on earth could be the matter? Had she done something wrong? Had she failed to please him somehow?
The thought had heat rushing into her cheeks. Surely that couldn’t be the case? Of course, she was far from experienced, but he had seemed more than satisfied to her. The joyous, blissful look on his face when he had climaxed beneath her that last time had said more than words could.
Perhaps he was feeling guilty. If so, she had to find a way to make him see that there was no reason for him to do so. She wasn’t sorry for any of it. Not for a moment. If two people loved each other, there was nothing wrong with expressing that love. They—
She froze, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment. He had never said that he loved her. She had told him more than once, but he had never given the words back to her. The reminder was enough to make her heart ache. He might want her, but Peter would never allow himself to love her again. As far as he was concerned, tonight had been about satisfying their cravings for each other, and love didn’t come into it. She had to remember that.
Feeling abruptly self-conscious, she drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, veiling her nakedness as best she could before venturing to speak in an almost timid voice. “Peter, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, he tossed her shirt to her, his face devoid of any emotion. “Here. Put this on.”
He rose and paced a short distance away, standing with his back to her as she shrugged into the shirt and buttoned it. It was long enough that it covered her to mid-thigh, and feeling not so diffident now that her nakedness was adequately concealed, she stood and crossed the room to lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Peter?”
At her touch, he whirled to face her, and his features were no longer unreadable. They were contorted with an anger he was trying hard to contain. His big body trembled with the force of it, and his eyes swirled with a plethora of feelings so potent that Emily gasped and took a stumbling step backward. Rage, confusion, disbelief, despair. But strongest of all was hurt. She could practically feel his pain, a tangible thing, vibrating in the air between them.
Despera
te and quite suddenly afraid, she reached out and caught his arm. “Peter, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“Explain this.”
His voice was low, barely more than a harsh whisper, his gaze piercing her with a savage intensity. His stare was so compelling, so full of wrath, that it took a second for her to realize that he had thrust something at her for her inspection.
She glanced down, and what she saw was enough to send the blood rushing from her head and a frigid coldness sluicing through her veins.
In one hand, he held her breeches with the gaping tear lying faceup. In the other was the scrap of fabric he had discovered last week in the tree at the Tuttleston home.
Even an untrained eye could have seen that they were a perfect match.
Oh, God, he knew!
Placing one hand over her stomach to calm the slow roll of nausea that churned deep within, she took another step backward, uncertain what to say, what to do. Just a few more hours and this would have all been over. Why did he have to discover her deception now?
“Please tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means, Emily. Please tell me that there is some other explanation, that you haven’t been lying to me and deceiving me from the very beginning.” He paused for a moment, his jaw visibly tightening. “Tell me you aren’t the Oxfordshire Thief.”
How she wanted to deny it. But she couldn’t. After all they had shared tonight, she couldn’t be less than truthful now. “I can’t tell you that. Because I am the Oxfordshire Thief.”
Fighting tears, she watched as his eyes fell shut for a brief moment and he swallowed almost convulsively. When he spoke again, his words sounded constricted. “God, Em, why? None of this makes sense.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” He looked incredulous. “Do you think being sorry makes up for what you’ve done? You’ve robbed from people who trusted you, cared about you! Do you think they’ll accept a mere apology?”
His words were like blows, hitting Emily where she was most vulnerable. “I don’t know. I hope they will, once I tell them why.”
“You haven’t even told me why yet!”
“I will. I just…It’s difficult.”
“Difficult?”
“Yes.” In spite of herself, her tears finally slipped free and slid down her cheeks and she glanced away, biting her lip. “You’re so angry.”
“What did you expect, Em? Bloody congratulations? You’ve been nothing but dishonest since the day I arrived here. You pretended to help me, to aid my investigation, when all the while you were the one responsible.”
“I never meant to hurt anyone, and I had reasons—”
“Then tell me what they are! Make me understand!”
He was shouting now, and Emily flinched at the sheer volume. Dear God, she had known his anger would hurt, but never had she suspected just how much. How could she explain? “It’s a long story.” She indicated the love seat with one hand, casting him a beseeching look.
“I’ll tell you everything, but perhaps we should both sit down?”
Peter paused for an instant, then gave a single, abrupt nod.
He followed as she led the way across the room. But instead of seating himself next to her on the love seat, he leaned against the empty fireplace and crossed his arms. When she raised an inquiring brow at him, he shook his head.
“I’m fine here. Just go ahead. I’m listening, although I fail to see what you could possibly have to say that would excuse what you’ve done.”
Taking in his closed-off expression with a sense of despair, Emily had to restrain a wince at his tone. She would never be able to make him understand, but she had to try. “I’m not excusing myself. I was wrong and I have no qualms about admitting it. But I do want to explain why and how I stumbled into such a mess. I had planned on telling you all of it in the morning, but…” She trailed off.
Peter said nothing. He didn’t look as if he believed her, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. More than likely, he would never believe anything she said ever again.
Sucking in a gust of air, she twined her hands in her lap and prayed to the Lord above to give her the words to make things right. “It all began with Jack Barlow…”
She told him about Jack’s arrival in Little Haverton and what had transpired between them on the day the thief had first approached her. She left nothing out, telling him about Jack’s threats against her family, what he had discovered about the late Countess of Ellington, and his attempt to use the tale to blackmail her and get her to fall in with his plans.
“I know now I should have gone to the authorities right away,” she confessed. “Especially after he told me what he wanted me to do, but I was so scared, so confused. I panicked, and I wasn’t thinking very clearly. All I knew was that I couldn’t let Jack tell anyone what he knew.”
She paused and looked up at Peter, her chin quivering despite her determination to stay strong. “Because I had been alone for so long as a child, the thought of having my family torn apart was enough to terrify me. The scandal Jack’s story could have caused would have been enough to do just that. And he threatened Deirdre and the babe.” Her hands tightened their grip on each other. “It wasn’t until after I committed the first robbery at the Tuttlestons’ that I realized I’d made a mistake, but by then it was too late. I was already implicated in the crime. And it was like quicksand. I just seemed to fall in deeper and deeper. I tried to figure out a way to stop it all, to foil Jack’s scheme without jeopardizing my mother’s secret, but it was no use.”
“And you say Barlow had proof of your mother’s supposed affair?” Peter’s voice was curt, his face a granite mask, giving away nothing.
“Yes. Letters, written by my mother to her friend Lady Brimley, admitting to the affair and her possible pregnancy. I have no idea how he got them, but they’re in her handwriting.”
When Peter didn’t speak again, Emily continued, desperate to get through to him. “That’s why I was at the cottage tonight. To see if I could find the letters and retrieve the jewels. Without the letters, he has no proof of his claims, and I could turn him over to the law and return the stolen items to their owners without fear of what he might say to ruin my family.”
“You must realize even if you had managed to do all of that, the law wouldn’t have cared what reasons you had for being involved,” Peter prompted with a hint of impatience. “They more than likely would have taken you into custody, as well.”
“Yes, I was aware from the beginning what could happen. But I didn’t care about me. I cared about my brother and sister-in-law, my future niece or nephew. You, more than anyone, should know how much they mean to me. I couldn’t stand back and watch them be destroyed. Tristan would be devastated if he found out about Mother. He loved her so much. And I didn’t know how much of what Jack said was true. As far as I knew, it was quite possible that he could lose his title, his lands, everything. Maybe even Willow Park. All because of those terrible letters. I couldn’t take the chance.”
Peter pushed away from the fireplace and began to pace the area in front of the love seat. “I can’t help but wonder how you accomplished all of this. The breaking and entering? Lock-picking? I know I taught you a bit, but I called a halt to the lessons soon after we came to Little Haverton.”
“After you refused to teach me anything else, I begged the rest of the Rag-Tags to continue with the lessons. Miles worked with me on lock-picking.” Emily felt her face heat and she was certain it must be as red as a beet. “I got quite good at it.”
“Obviously. Remind me to wring Miles’s neck when we finish this conversation.” Peter came to a halt and scrubbed a hand over his face before turning back to her with a frown. “And I suppose you knew the combinations to the safes at both the Fulberry and Caulfield residences?”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving him. He held himself so stiffly, as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dear God, she had done this to him. “Penelope likes to talk, a
nd she let it slip to me long ago that her husband had chosen the date of her birth as the combination to his safe. And Lord Caulfield keeps his written on a slip of paper in his desk drawer in his study, because he’s always forgetting it. All I had to do was locate the piece of paper.”
Silence stretched, and Emily began to fidget as Peter resumed his agitated strides, across the room and back. What would he say? What would he do?
“Damnation, Emily!”
His sudden outburst had her jumping in her seat, and she looked up to find him towering over her, his eyes blazing down at her.
“Why didn’t you come to me? I might have been able to figure out a way to resolve all of this long ago, without revealing your mother’s secret.”
Unsure how to answer him, she lifted one shoulder helplessly. “I…I didn’t know what you would do.”
For just an instant, Emily could clearly read the anguish in his gaze, then a curtain dropped down over his features, guarding his innermost thoughts from her. “I see. I should have known. You didn’t trust me.”
“It not that!” she protested. “It’s just…Ever since you came to live at Willow Park you’ve tried so hard to always do what was right, no matter the consequences. I suppose it was your way of making up for your past. And you’re a Runner, for heaven’s sake! I was afraid if I told you, you would feel as if you had to turn me in, regardless of what might be revealed in the process.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
Peter’s tone as he repeated the statement was cold, emotionless. He turned away from her, and Emily shot to her feet, hating that she was causing him such pain, but not knowing quite how to make it up to him. She should have trusted him, should have realized he would never do anything to hurt her family. She knew that now. Now that it was too late.
A Kiss Before Dawn Page 24