A Kiss in the Dark

by Kimberly Logan

  He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was strained. "My servants and I have combed every inch of Westminster for hours and we have yet to find her."

  For the first time, Deirdre noticed the lines of ten­sion bracketing his mouth, the exhausted set of his fea­tures. This was no Banbury tale being spun to lead her into a trap. He was in earnest, his very real fear there to see in the depths of his eyes.

  She should be relieved. Her true identity was safe. But though she did feel greatly reassured that she wasn't about to be carted off to a cold, dank cell, her re­lief was tempered by her honest empathy for the earl's plight.

  "I'm sorry to hear that, my lord," she said gently. "But I'm afraid I fail to see how I can be of service to you. Surely this is a matter for Bow Street?"

  Ellington's face darkened. "The law has been of lit­tle help to me." Getting to his feet once more, he began to pace in front of his chair, and Deirdre found herself distracted by the play of muscles in those powerful shoulders, the ripple and bunch of strong thighs be­neath his buff-colored breeches. "The officer I spoke to rather condescendingly insinuated that I was overre­acting, that Emily is most likely hiding at a friend's home and will be back in the morning, none the worse for her ordeal."

  "Are you so certain he's wrong?"

  "They don't know Emily. She has few friends her own age, and I've already questioned the ones she does have. They've denied any knowledge of her whereabouts, and I tend to believe them. Emily would never be so predictable."

  "Perhaps a relative . . .7"

  The earl snorted. "The only close relative we have left is our aunt, the Marchioness of Overton. Emily knows I don't get along with her, and though my sister might be tempted to take refuge with the woman out of pure spite, the marchioness is not in residence right now. She and her husband departed just this morning for a weeklong stay in the country."

  Deirdre was at a loss. She was fast running out of suggestions and still had no idea why the man had sought her out in the first place. "I'm afraid I still don't understand—"

  "We think she's in Tothill Fields."

  "Ex-excuse me?"

  The earl stopped pacing and turned to face her, his expression bleak. "When I arrived home from Bow Street, my butler was waiting with the news that one of the footmen found Emily's portmanteau. It was lying empty and discarded in an alleyway at the edge of the rookery."

  Deirdre's heart flew into her mouth. Dear God! If that was true, if the earl's sister was wandering lost and alone in the Fields, it was only a matter of time be­fore something dreadful happened.

  "Of course, I tore down there straight away," Elling­ton continued grimly, "but I've discovered the resi­dents can be rather close-mouthed and uncooperative when it comes to being questioned by someone of my . . . background."

  Deirdre could well imagine how the inhabitants of Tothill would have reacted to being confronted by an angry aristocrat demanding answers as to the where­abouts of his sister. They would have closed ranks and put up a wall of silence, their distrust of the up­per classes banding them together against a common enemy.

  "And you need my help," she drew out slowly.

  The earl nodded and sank back into his seat. "I've been informed that you know the area, that these peo­ple trust you and might be more inclined to respond to you."

  He had a point, Deirdre conceded. Over the past year, she'd managed to win the confidence of the denizens of the Fields. They had accepted her as one of their own, and most would never hesitate to help her in any way possible. But could she afford to lend the earl her aid?

  She studied him from under lowered lashes. De­spite the rigidity of his features, his eyes were silently imploring, and part of her longed to reach up and smooth away the lines of strain that marred his fore­head. She had no doubt that whatever their differences, the man cared about his sister, and the mere thought of that poor girl surrounded by some of the most notori­ous criminals in the city filled her with alarm.

  But she couldn't risk it, she concluded sadly. The more time she spent in the earl's company, the more likely he would eventually recognize her, and the chil­dren of the London streets needed her too much for her to be taken from them now.

  "I'm sorry, Lord Ellington, but there's nothing I can do for you."

  "If it's incentive you need, I'm prepared to pay you quite handsomely."

  "I can assure you, I don't want your money. I have enough of my own."

  The earl's mouth drew into a grim line, and his eyes began to glitter with a dangerous light. "Yes. And it never fails to astonish me what lengths some people will go to in order to acquire a fortune."

  There could be no doubt as to his insinuation. The verbal blow hit Deirdre like a slap to the face, and she braced herself against the sudden pain. She was aware of what society thought of her, of course, but to know this man believed it truly stung.

  "Please go, my lord," she said with quiet dignity, raising her chin.

  For a long moment, he didn't move, merely sat star­ing at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Then, standing, he moved to the door in a few long, furious strides be­fore looking back at her over his shoulder one last time.

  "And to think I was beginning to consider that they might be wrong about you," he said in an angry growl.

  He slammed out of the room, leaving Deirdre star­ing after him with wide, anguished eyes.

  Chapter 3

  The moon was high overhead, its pale light spilling across the cobblestones and casting a murky glow over the ramshackle buildings that lined both sides of the street. From the open doorway of a nearby tavern, boisterous laughter tumbled out into the night. It mixed with the rattle of a passing coal cart and the rather off-key singing of a trio of intoxicated young bucks as they made their unsteady way along the sidewalk.

  As they passed close by the entrance to the narrow alley, leaning on each other for support, Lady Emily Knight pulled her cloak more tightly about her and ducked further back into the shadows, her heart beat­ing a wild tattoo in her chest until they rounded the corner and were out of sight.

  How did she always manage to get herself into these situations? she wondered in desperation.

  When she'd first slipped out of the town house ear­lier in the evening, she'd been carried along on a wave of anger, furious with her brother for his interference in her life and his refusal to see that she was capable of taking care of herself. She'd been doing it for eight years, after all. She didn't need someone telling her what to do or how to do it, especially a governess. But explaining that to Tristan had been of no use. Some­where along the way, the brother she'd once adored had turned into a cold, hard-eyed stranger.

  It was only after she'd gone several blocks and some of her temper had started to cool that Emily had realized she hadn't the slightest idea as to her destina­tion. None of her simpering, so-called "friends" could be counted on to keep her whereabouts a secret, and the only close relative she had in town was Aunt Rue. The dour marchioness was the last person she'd turn to for help.

  So, where could she possibly go?

  It had seemed her choices were few, and after men­tally debating with herself, she'd decided to head south toward the Thames. She'd been certain that once she reached the docks, she could manage to sneak aboard one of the barges bound upriver for Oxford­shire. From there, it would be easy to make her way on foot to Knighthaven. Perhaps by the lime Tristan fi­nally figured out where she was, he'd have a bit more appreciation for her resourcefulness.

  After a while, however, she'd noticed that her sur­roundings had become more and more seedy-looking, and it had occurred to her that she'd been walking for quite some time without arriving at the wharf. As darkness had fallen, doubts had begun to assail her, and her fear and nervousness grew. No one she'd passed had appeared to be the sort to offer directions to a gently bred young lady. In fact, several of the men had seemed to leer at her in a way that made an un­pleasant chill crawl up her spine.

&nbs
p; But the last straw had come when she'd stopped to get her bearings. Setting her portmanteau on the side­walk next to her, she'd glanced away for only a mo­ment. By the time she'd turned back around, it was gone. She couldn't believe it! All of her worldly posses­sions had been in that bag, including the one thing she truly treasured: a gold locket that had once belonged to her mother.

  It had been then that the seriousness of her circum­stances had finally hit her. She was lost and it was all Tristan's fault!

  If only he would have stayed away, Emily thought now, reaching up to dash at the tears that blurred her vision. She'd been doing just fine until he'd come back. At least her father had mostly left her to her own de­vices. Of course, half the time he'd been too drunk to even remember she was there, but that had suited her perfectly. As long as she'd had her freedom, she'd been content. At least, that's what she'd tried to tell herself.

  At that moment, a noise from the other end of the dimly lit passage caused her to start and press her back up against the building behind her, her heart skipping a beat as she whipped her head in that direction. In the hour she'd spent hiding here in the dark, she'd been surprised by a mangy cat and a rat the size of a small dog, but this was too loud to be just another animal nosing through the refuse littering the alley. It was a distinct scuffling sound, followed by a succession of thuds.

  Her curiosity winning out over her fear, she started to make her way toward the sounds, her feet treading carefully over the filth and debris scattered in her path. As she drew closer, the shadowy forms she could make out in the distance began to take shape, until they abruptly coalesced into an alarming scene that had her coming to a halt, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

  A group of rough-looking youths had cornered a middle-aged gentleman dressed in the clothes of a merchant against the back door of one of the shops that opened up onto the alley. They were obviously in­tent on doing him great bodily harm. Two of them held the man's arms at his sides while a third pummeled him with vicious fists. Another looked on, his face alight with an almost unholy glee.

  Oh, dear Lord, they were going to beat him to death! Emily thought, looking around wildly. But there was no one to turn to for assistance. Even if she yelled for help, she doubted anyone would come running in this part of town.

  "That's enough, Toby."

  The voice reverberated in the confines of the alley, infused with a silky menace that prickled the hairs on the back of Emily's neck. The lad who had been deliver­ing the thrashing obediently stopped and moved back as a figure emerged from the shadows and stepped into their midst with an arrogance born of authority.

  The new arrival was a stocky, barrel-chested man with narrow, cunning eyes and a gleaming bald head that shone in the faint light of the moon. What held

  Emily spellbound, however, was the livid scar that ran the length of his left cheek, twisting one corner of his cruel mouth into a parody of a smile. Even at this dis­tance, she could feel the evil emanating from him in powerful waves.

  "Now, now, Mr. Baldwin," he was saying, his tone dangerously soft as he circled the fallen gentleman, who had collapsed back against the building, his face a mass of cuts. "You wouldn't be planning on leaving wiv'out saying good-bye to your good friend Barnaby Flynt, would you?"

  Gasping for breath, the merchant struggled to speak. "O-of course not, Mr. Flynt. I wouldn't do that."

  "I should 'ope not, because there's the little matter of the blunt you owe me." "Blunt, Mr. Flynt?"

  The man named Flynt gestured to the lad next to him, who smirked and delivered another punch to Mr. Baldwin's midsection, causing him to double over with a groan of pain.

  "Did you really think I wouldn't know you'd cheated me, Baldwin?" the scarred man said, shaking his head in an almost sorrowful manner. "That I wouldn't know the merchandise I've been sending you was worth more than a few miserable quid? I've 'ad Toby 'ere following you for days, and 'e's been telling me some very interesting things about you."

  "Whatever he said, it's a lie! I swear it!"

  "Toby knows better than to lie to me. Which is more than I can say for you." Flynt once more turned to the young man, an eyebrow cocking inquiringly.

  In answer, the lad reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, drawstring bag. "We searched 'im. 'E was carrying this."

  The bag arched through the air and landed in Flynt's outstretched palm with an ominous jingle. He stared down at it, his expression unreadable. "It ap­pears, Mr. Baldwin, that you've made the serious mis­take of trying to double-cross me."

  Even in the dimness, Emily could see the mer­chant's face bleach of all color, becoming a pale mask beneath his injuries. "No. Please."

  Ignoring him, Flynt tossed the bag back to his min­ion and turned to walk away a few paces, his stance deceptively casual. "I 'ate to do this, Baldwin. I truly do. Good receivers are 'ard to find in this part of town. But I can't let it be said that Barnaby Flynt let a man steal from 'im and get away wiv it, now can I?"

  "Please, Mr. Flynt, I swear it won't happen again!"

  "You're right. It won't."

  Flynt whirled back around, and the next thing Emily knew, he'd withdrawn a thin-bladed knife and sent it whistling through the air to embed itself deep in the merchant's chest.

  Baldwin cried out in shock and pain, one hand ris­ing to touch the handle of the knife in disbelief. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head and he pitched forward to lay unmoving, a growing stain of red spreading out from his prone body.

  Emily could no longer hide her horror. With a small squeal, she stumbled backward, her booted foot con­necting with a stack of crates piled behind her, sending them crashing to the ground.

  In a split second, the eyes of every man in the alley­way were focused on her.

  For a long moment, nobody moved or spoke. Then Barnaby Flynt opened that twisted mouth to deliver a harsh command. "Get 'er!"

  Emily didn't wait another second. Spinning, she ran back the way she'd come, her pulse pounding in her ears. Dear God, if they caught her, they'd kill her! Just like that poor Mr. Baldwin!

  Emerging from the alley, she glanced desperately up and down the street, looking for someone, anyone to come to her rescue. Unfortunately, no one appeared to be about, and as the footsteps of her pursuers closed in from behind, she picked up her skirts and raced off down the sidewalk, her gaze darting here and there, searching for some avenue of escape.

  Suddenly, up ahead on the right, the entrance to an­other alleyway loomed. Thinking to lose herself in the darkness of the narrow passage, she swerved and ducked around the corner—only to collide with some­one coming from the other direction.

  The force of it was almost enough to knock her off her feet, dislodging the hood of her cloak and sending her tangled curls tumbling about her shoulders. Hands gently grasped her wrists and held her steady until she managed to regain her balance.

  Tilting her head back, Emily found herself looking up at a boy of about her age. Tall and lean, he pos­sessed longish brown hair that just brushed his shoul­ders and intense blue eyes that studied her from beneath the bill of a peaked cap.

  "Please," she whispered, her voice tinged with de­spair as she clutched at his elbows. "Please help me."

  He stared at her without speaking, and for a mo­ment she thought he would ignore her plea. But as

  Barnaby Flynt's ruffians came into view at the open­ing of the alley, he abruptly yanked her behind him and turned to face them with arms crossed in a defi­ant pose.

  The four young men drew to a halt in front of her defender, and as she peered over his shoulder, Emily could see they were older than she'd first surmised. At least eighteen or nineteen, they were a sorry lot, with pockmarked faces and lank, greasy hair. The one named Toby wore an evil sneer that had her suppress­ing a shiver.

  "Well, well, well, Toby," her savior said in a casually insolent tone. "What 'ave we 'ere? Taken to bullying lit­tle girls now, 'ave we?"

  "You just stay out of
this, Quick, and 'and 'er over. Mr. Flynt's got business wiv this one."

  "Ah. Mr. Flynt." Quick paused for a minute, cock­ing his head as if considering the possibility. "What do I get if I do? 'And 'er over, I mean?"

  Emily gasped in outrage and tugged at his sleeve, but he didn't acknowledge her in any way. He didn't take his eyes off the threat in front of them.

  Toby bared his crooked teeth in a caricature of a smile. "We'll let you live."

  One of the other boys laughed. "Your days are num­bered anyway, Quick. Mr. Flynt's runnin' things around 'ere now, and your little gang won't be lastin' too much longer. What do you think about that?"

  "I think you should remember the other day, Sam, when I caught you and Toby shoving around one of my boys. My little gang sent you both on your way wiv your tails between your legs, didn't we?"

  Toby's face turned a mottled shade of red. "Things

  will be different today. There's four of us and only one of you. I think we can 'andle it."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Sure of what?"

  Quick shrugged. "That there's only one of me. I just thought you might want to count the rest of my gang, since they're coming up be'ind you right now."

  As one, four pairs of eyes swung to look over their shoulders, and in that instant, Quick grabbed Emily's hand and hissed in her ear, "Run!"

  She needed no second urging. Hanging on for dear life, she raced after him. From behind, she heard a curse and the sound of pounding feet, and she knew the young men were hot on their heels.

  Quick led her on a zigzag course through the maze of alleyways, leaping over debris and rounding cor­ners at a speed that had her breathless and gasping. The whole time, she could hear their pursuers gaining.