A Kiss in the Dark

by Kimberly Logan

"You might say that." Tristan sent Deirdre a sly glance.

  Her thoughts flashing back to last night, she ducked her head, her cheeks flushing. Leave it to him to re­mind her of the incident just when she'd managed to put it out of her mind.

  As Benji continued to converse with their visitor, the other boys gradually started to relax, though many of their expressions remained wary. Once again, they be­gan to inundate Deirdre with excited queries, and Nat, the gang's second in command, approached her with a grin. "We were just getting ready to 'ave breakfast, m'lady. Would you like to join us?"

  "That would be lovely, Nat." Though she and Tris­tan had sat down to a light repast before departing the town house, neither of them had been able to eat much.

  As one of the younger boys moved to ready a place for them, she scanned the group around her, searching for one face in particular. When she didn't immedi­ately see him, she turned back to Nat with an inquiring look. "Where is Peter?"

  The instant she spoke, the atmosphere in the room seemed to abruptly change to one of tension, and Nat exchanged an uneasy glance with the boy closest to him before replying. " 'E's . . . er, out, m'lady."

  "When will he be back?"

  "I'm not certain, m'lady. It may be quite a while."

  His evasive answers left Deirdre puzzled, but she quelled the urge to question the boy further. "All right. I'll just wait here until he returns then, shall I?"

  Looking alarmed, Nat shook his head. "That might not be a good idea, m'lady. 'E could be gone most of the day."

  His response roused her suspicions. Something was definitely wrong here. It wasn't like Peter to leave the boys alone for very long.

  Narrowing her eyes, she surveyed the room once more and felt a jolt of concern when she noticed that Jack appeared to be missing as well. Though she could only consider that a blessing, she had to wonder about it. Had something happened between the two oldest members that the younger boys couldn't tell her about?

  "Who's Peter?"

  At the question, she looked up to see Tristan ap­proaching with Benji at his side. The rest of the lads immediately moved out of his path, eyeing him with distrust, but Benji's small hand was firmly tucked in the earl's large one.

  Deirdre felt a brief tug at her heartstrings as she watched them come closer. She never would have guessed Tristan could be so good at dealing with small children. He had a true gift for earning their confi­dence, and she had seen it displayed twice in as many days. First with Gracie McLean, now with Benji. The man never ceased to surprise her.

  "Who's Peter?" he repeated as he stopped at her side.

  It was Benji who answered. " 'E's our leader. But 'e isn't 'ere now. 'E went out with—"

  "Benji," Nat cut in sharply. "Why don't you go 'elp Davey wiv breakfast?"

  "Okay." The little boy released Tristan's hand and scampered off.

  Deirdre stared after him, trying to hide her growing worry. What had Benji been about to say? Who was Peter out with? Jack? Was it possible that the Rag-Tags' leader had allowed the older boy to convince him to go out on the job again?

  But she dismissed that notion almost right away. Peter had promised her he wouldn't do so for a while, and he always kept his promises. Despite his chosen profession, he had more integrity than anyone else she'd ever known.

  A hand on her elbow drew her attention, and she looked up to find Tristan studying her with probing intensity, a question in his eyes.

  He was too bloody observant by half, she thought, but she couldn't tell him of the reason for her disquiet. Not right now. His curiosity would just have to wait to be appeased. With a shrug, she allowed him to lead her to a seat at the table.

  After he seated himself beside her and the boys joined them, Deirdre turned back to Nat with a forced air of casualness. She was determined not to reveal her suspicion, but she was equally determined to ferret out the truth of the matter if she could. "It's not like Peter to be gone for such a long length of time, Nat. Is any­thing wrong?"

  "Wrong?" The boy's face was all innocence, but that didn't fool Deirdre. She could see the nervousness be­hind the facade. "Nothing's wrong. We were just sur­prised to see you, that's all. Not that we aren't glad you're 'ere. Right, boyos?"

  There was a murmured chorus of assent from the rest of the lads, but except for Benji, sitting on the other side of Tristan, not one of them sounded convincing.

  "Well," she drew out slowly, her gaze traveling around the table and resting on each boy in turn, "I should hope that if anything were wrong, you all would know you could come to me about it, no matter what it is."

  "Oh, we do, m'lady," Nat assured her in a gruff tone, and there was a note of sincerity in his voice that gave Deirdre at least some measure of relief. In his own way, Nat was as honorable as Peter, and he couldn't lie convincingly to save his life. She had to be­lieve that if it were a life-threatening situation, he would tell her. She would have to be satisfied with that for now.

  But that didn't mean she was giving up. Perhaps be­fore she left she could get Benji alone for a few minutes and see if she could glean any information from him. It may turn out that she was worrying for nothing.

  In the meantime, she had other things to concen­trate on. Such as the search for Emily.

  "Actually, I had a reason for stopping by today. There is something I'm hoping you can help me with."

  Nat seemed relieved at the change of subject. "We'd be glad to 'elp if we can, m'lady. After everything you've done for us, it's the least we can do."

  "I'm looking for someone. A young girl who has run away and seems to have taken refuge here in Tothill."

  For the second time that morning, her words pro­voked a surprising reaction in the Rag-Tag Bunch. They all froze, and Miles, who had just taken a bite of his food, choked and had to be pounded on the back by the lad next to him. Nat blinked. "A-a girl?"

  Deirdre examined the boy shrewdly. What on earth was going on here? Was it possible that the Rag-Tags knew something about Emily?

  "Yes. She's the sister of a friend of mine, and we're very concerned about her. It seems Barnaby Flynt is af­ter her."

  Benji bounced in his seat, drawing their attention. "Mr. Flynt is looking for our friend, too, and—"

  Once again, Nat cut the little boy off. "Benji, you're finished wiv breakfast. Why don't you go look at your book or something?"

  "Okay." Appearing unaffected by the dismissal, Benji looked up at the man next to him. "Mr. Tristan, can you read?"

  Tristan, who had been observing the exchange in si­lence, started and glanced down at the little boy. "Of course."

  "Could you read to me?"

  Tristan's gaze whipped to Deirdre, his eyebrows fly­ing up into his hairline. She almost laughed aloud at the look on his face. Truthfully, that might be a good idea. Perhaps the rest of the Rag-Tag Bunch would be a bit more forthcoming without Tristan's presence to in­timidate them.

  "That sounds like a splendid idea, Tristan." She smiled at him sweetly. "Why don't you go ahead and read to Benji while we chat?"

  His mouth tightened into a grim line. "Very well, my lady," he gritted out from between clenched teeth. Ob­viously, he was not at all happy at being excluded from the conversation.

  But there was no sign of his displeasure when he rose and turned back to the little boy. "Come show me what book you'd like to hear, Benji."

  Delighted, the lad jumped up and grasped Tris­tan's forearm, tugging him off toward the far side of the room.

  Deirdre stared after them for a moment, watching the two of them as they settled down on a bench against the wall with Benji's book. Tristan handled it as carefully as he'd handled the child thus far, his big hands turning the pages with gentleness, seeming to understand how important it was to the little boy with­out needing to be told. As Benji leaned against the man's side, staring up at him in clear adoration, Deirdre found herself wondering whether Tristan would be as patient and kind with his own children.

  Her breath seizing
in her throat, she whirled away from the sight, biting the inside of her cheek in dismay. Where had that come from? It was no business of hers what Tristan's rapport with his future progeny would be like. More than likely, she would never know.

  But then, why did she keep picturing innocent little faces with Tristan's startling violet eyes framed by strands of curling auburn hair?

  Shoving away the images, she forced herself to turn her attention back to the Rag-Tags. She had a task to accomplish, and every second that passed could be costly, especially with Emily's life in danger.

  "I was wondering if you boys might have heard something," she went on, watching their faces for any sign of deceit. "Perhaps you know someone who has mentioned seeing her or who has told you the reason why Barnaby is looking for her."

  Nat's eyes refused to quite meet hers. "No, my lady. I can't say I 'ave. Boys, what about the rest of you?"

  The gang responded with negative shakes of the head, but Deirdre didn't believe it for a second. Their expressions were far too uncomfortable, and a good number of them squirmed guiltily under her steady regard.

  She couldn't understand it. If they'd heard some­thing, why wouldn't they tell her? Was it merely the involvement of Barnaby Flynt that held their tongues, or was something more at work?

  Folding her hands on the table, she gave an exag­gerated sigh. "I was truly hoping you all would be able to help me. I'm very worried about her. Lady Emily is gently bred and not used to dealing with the sort of hardships you boys face."

  Nat's gaze met hers, his eyes round with astonish­ment. "Lady Emily?"

  "Yes. Her brother is an earl, as was her father before him, so you can well imagine the kind of life she is used to living. The streets of Tothill are no place for someone like her, and I'm very much afraid she won't last long if we cannot locate her."

  The boys all exchanged glances, but apparently whatever kept them quiet was stronger than guilt, for they said nothing.

  It was obvious she was going to get no further with this line of questioning. It might be that the gang knew nothing at all, that she was reading something into their behavior that wasn't there. Or perhaps it was simply Tristan's presence that was keeping them silent. All she could do for now was make sure they were aware they could come to her if they needed to.

  "Well, I suppose I'll have to keep searching then. You must promise me if you hear anything, anything at all, you will let me know at once, no matter what time of day or night." She peered up at Nat from under lowered lashes. "I'm so very afraid for her."

  Poor Nat. His face reddened to the color of a beet, and if he kept wriggling the way he was, he was going to tumble right off the edge of the bench. To her, he looked torn, like someone who desperately wanted to confide something but was afraid to.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. But just as his mouth opened, the door to the hideout flew open and crashed against the wall with a resounding bang, making everyone jump.

  Jack stood outlined in the opening, surveying the group with his customary insolence before stepping inside and slamming the door behind him.

  Oh, well, Deirdre thought with resignation. At least she knew Peter wasn't with him.

  "Well, if it isn't the Lady Bountiful 'erself," he sneered, studying Deirdre with contempt. " 'Ere to of­fer us some more charity, m'lady?"

  "Shut it, Jack," Nat admonished, glaring at the older boy.

  "You shut it," Jack snapped back at him, coming for­ward to stand before Deirdre with his hands on his hips, one corner of his mouth curled upward in a taunting grin. "I'm trying to greet the fine lady."

  Deirdre lifted her chin and gave him a cool look, de­termined not to let him provoke her. "Hello, Jack."

  " 'Ello, Jack," the boy mocked, affecting a singsong tone. "Just as sweet and prim as you please." To her stunned horror, he cupped himself lewdly and winked. "If you really want to 'elp me, m'lady, I'll tell you what you can do wiv that mouth of yours."

  There was a growl from across the room, and Tris­tan suddenly erupted from his bench and flung him­self forward, his face filled with fury.

  Springing from her own seat, Deirdre ran to throw herself in front of him, halting his enraged charge. Good heavens, he'd been so quiet in the last few minutes that she'd almost forgotten he was there. Leave it to Jack to stir the sleeping tiger by being even nastier than usual.

  She placed a hand on his chest, speaking in what she prayed was a calming voice. "It's all right, Tristan."

  He glared at her. "It is not all right."

  Jack was only momentarily caught off guard by Tris­tan's sudden appearance. Though he remained wary, he quickly regained his composure and gave them both a disdainful look. "Who's the bloke? Your fancy man?"

  Instead of Tristan or Deirdre, it was Benji who spoke up, peeping around Tristan's substantial form to frown at Jack. " 'E's Mr. Tristan, m'lady's footman."

  "Footman, eh? I'd wager 'e's a bit more than that. Like 'em big, do you, m'lady?"

  Tristan snarled and pushed past Deirdre, but she stopped him again by grabbing his arm. "Please, Tris­tan. He's just a boy."

  "A boy who needs some manners whipped into him."

  Jack laughed. "You won't be the first to try."

  Tristan took another step forward, dragging Deirdre with him. "Someone needs to teach you to re­spect a lady."

  "I don't see any lady. And it'll be a cold day in 'ell before I respect the likes of 'er."

  "Listen here, whelp—"

  "Tristan." Deirdre tightened her grip on his arm. "I care nothing for what he thinks of me. Let it be. It's time for us to go."

  She leaned close and went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "Remember Emily."

  At her words, some of the tension seeped out of him, though he continued to stare at Jack in a menac­ing manner.

  Turning, Deirdre glanced back at the lads at the table, who'd been watching the altercation in fascina­tion. "Thank you for breakfast, boys, but we'll have to be off. Please keep an ear out and let me know if you hear anything."

  Nat flushed, but nodded. If he'd been about to con­fide in her, the moment was now lost. "Of course, m'lady."

  She squeezed Benji's shoulder, then looked up at Tristan beseechingly. "Please. Let's go."

  With a curse, he stalked across the room to the door, and Deirdre sent the Rag-Tag Bunch one last wave be­fore hurrying after him. She would have loved to stay and interrogate the boys further, but with Jack's ar­rival, the situation had become entirely too explosive.

  The boys knew something. She was certain, and it was becoming clearer by the minute that she would never get very far with them as long as Tristan was with her.

  As they approached the carriage with her compan­ion marching ahead, she looked back over her shoul­der at the building, biting her lip. It had been a mistake to bring him. The Rag-Tags were already nervous about something, and having a stranger in their den could only have added to their uneasiness.

  Somehow, some way, she would have to sneak away from Tristan for a while and return to the hideout without him knowing. With him ensconced in her town house, that wouldn't be an easy feat, and he would be furious if he ever found out she had purpose­fully excluded him. It couldn't be helped.

  She could only hope that it wouldn't be for naught.

  Chapter 16

  Back in the coach and on their way once again, Tristan sat across from Deirdre, unable to keep himself from surreptitiously studying her out of the corner of one eye.

  She looked upset, he decided, and he supposed she had every right to be. After all, she'd warned him to be as unobtrusive as possible, but it just wasn't in his na­ture to remain idle while a lady was being insulted.

  And regardless of her origins, Deirdre was indeed every inch a lady. He felt guilty that he'd ever doubted it.

  His hand tightened into a fist on his knee. He hadn't meant to lose his temper, but watching that snide brat taunt Deirdre had unleashed every protective instinct he possessed, and
before he'd known it he'd been lunging into the fray.

  He supposed he owed her an apology. Bloody hell, it seemed he was constantly apologizing to her. But as he looked up and opened his mouth to speak, she inter­rupted him, her words bringing him to a stunned halt.

  "I'm sorry."

  Her voice was a husky whisper and she cleared her throat, glancing down at the floor of the carriage. "Jack's behavior was reprehensible."

  Incensed that she should try to accept responsibility in any way for Jack's display of venom, he leaned for­ward in his seat, willing her to look at him and see the sincerity in his face. "And in no way your fault. The boy is in need of a stern hand and some harsh discipline."

  "Oh, no. I believe that is part of his trouble. At one point in time, he was dealt with by too harsh a hand. Now I fear he may be beyond my help." She shook her head. "I know he can be frustrating, but the rest of the Rag-Tags can be very sweet, and they're worth every moment I've invested in them."

  "A pack of pickpockets, sweet?"

  "They have no one else but each other, Tristan, and no other way to earn a living. I do what I can, bring them food and blankets, but in so many ways their lives are even more difficult than mine ever was."

  She met his eyes, a slight smile curving her full lips. "And you seemed to like Benji well enough."

  Thinking of those innocent eyes looking up at him so trustingly, Tristan felt his heart squeeze. It was true. Benji had gotten to him, the child's obvious love of books reminding him of the long hours he'd spent reading to Emily at bedtime when she'd been that age. "He seems very unaffected."

  "The other boys have tried hard to shield him from the worst of things, though it's impossible to protect him from all of it. Apparently, Peter found him aban­doned in a back alley a few years ago. From what they tell me, he couldn't have been more than two or three at the time. They took him in, practically raised him. He never would have survived if it weren't for them."

  The deep green of her irises flooded with moisture, and she whipped her head around to stare out the win­dow, the delicate line of her jaw tightening. "Some­times I just want to gather them all up and take them away from all of this pain and poverty."