A Kiss in the Dark

by Kimberly Logan

  "But—"

  Deirdre gave her a reprimanding look that brought an immediate halt to her protest. "There will be no ar­gument. I appreciate that you want to help, and I promise we'll find a way for you to do so, but for now you are to wait right here. And if you don't behave, Cullen has my permission to take you straight home."

  Grumbling under her breath, Jenna crossed her arms and leaned back against the carriage, her expres­sion sullen.

  With a glance at her coachman, who nodded in re­sponse, Deirdre gestured to Tristan and led the way into the tavern.

  Harry met them just inside the door, bearing a tray piled high with dirty plates and glasses.

  " 'E's in the back." Before moving off toward the bar, the tavern-keeper jerked his head in the direction of a solitary figure seated at a table in the far corner.

  Deirdre took a deep breath and started across the room with Tristan close behind her. With every step, her hope and anticipation grew. This could be it, the culmination of all they'd prayed for. The search for Emily could finally be over.

  Dan rose as she approached, and he indicated the chair opposite him with a slight bow. "Good morning, DeeDee. You got 'ere quicker than I expected."

  Struggling to restrain the urge to grab the boxer by his lapels and shake him until he revealed all he had discovered, she reined in her wildly teetering emotions and seated herself while Tristan held her chair. "As I'm sure you can understand, I was most anxious for your news. Have you located Emily?"

  Dan eyed Tristan, who remained standing. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not."

  His words sent a wave of disappointment crashing over her. Next to her, she felt Tristan stiffen, as if ab­sorbing a blow. Dear God, they'd been so certain . . .

  " 'Owever," Dan continued, "I 'ave something that I thought might be of interest to you." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew an object and offered it to her with an expectant air.

  Deirdre caught a flash of gold and leaned forward to examine the item draped across his palm. "A locket?"

  "One of me men got it off a street urchin who ad­mitted lifting it from a young lady who matched the description of the girl you're looking for."

  She took the delicate piece of jewelry from him, studying with renewed excitement the inscription en­graved on the heart-shaped locket.

  "For my wife, Victoria, with love." Turning to Tris­tan, she held it out to him. "Do you recognize it?"

  He accepted the necklace, his eyes lighting as they met Deirdre's. "Yes. It was my mother's. My father must have given it to Emily."

  She faced Dan once again. "Did the urchin notice where she went? Did he—"

  The boxer interrupted her with a shake of his head. "I questioned 'im thoroughly. 'E 'as no idea where she is. All 'e did was snatch 'er bag. 'E didn't pay any at­tention to where she went after that."

  Tristan's fingers closed around the locket so tightly that Deirdre could see the whiteness of his knuckles. "Then how does this help us?"

  Dan surveyed the younger man with shrewd eyes. "I thought 'er family might like to 'ave it back. And I wanted you to know that one of the men I've 'ad trail­ing Flynt's boys reported back this morning to let me know 'e'd found out why Barnaby is looking for your little friend." He glanced at Deirdre. "Apparently, she saw 'im off a bloke. Someone who double-crossed 'im."

  Deirdre's blood ran cold. So, she'd been right after all. Tristan's sister had been a witness to Barnaby's lat­est crime.

  Dan steepled his fingers beneath his chin and went on. "Word is, 'e's still looking for 'er, so at least you know 'e 'asn't found 'er yet."

  That was some comfort, however small. But they still had no idea where Emily was hiding, and it would only be a matter of time before the girl's luck wore off and Flynt's men stumbled upon her.

  "I'm sorry me news ain't better," the boxer said gravely. "I know you were 'oping for more."

  Deirdre sighed. "You're doing all you can, Dan, and I appreciate it. More than I can say." Her eyes went to Tristan, who had moved a little distance away and stood staring down at the locket in his palm. A muscle ticked in his jaw and lines of tension bracketed his mouth.

  All she wanted to do was reach out to him, to take him in her arms and soothe away his fear and worry. But Dan's next words drew her attention.

  "I promise, I'll keep me men on it, DeeDee. The minute I learn anything new, I'll send Jenna to you."

  That reminded her of another subject she wanted to broach with him. "By the way. I don't know that I ap­prove of you getting Jenna involved in your . . . activi­ties. She's had enough of a problem staying out of trouble lately. You haven't—"

  "Taken advantage of 'er talents?" The boxer shook his head. "No. 'Er mother would 'ave me 'ide if I did. I simply 'eard 'er family was lacking for funds, so I de­cided to 'elp out by paying 'er to run a few errands for me." At Deirdre's frown, he waved a hand in a dismis­sive gesture. "Nothing dangerous, I assure you. Just delivering messages and the like."

  She was only somewhat mollified. "That was kind of you."

  He shrugged. "Not at all. I'm rather fond of 'er, to tell the truth. She's been 'anging around me club, sneaking in to watch the matches for a couple of months now. Put me in mind of another young girl I used to know."

  Their gazes held, rife with shared memories.

  "You will look after her, won't you?" Deirdre finally prompted seriously.

  "Of course. And I promise to do better by 'er than I did by you."

  His statement disarmed her, but before she could re­gain her equilibrium enough to continue the conversa­tion, Tristan spoke up from behind. "Speaking of Jenna, I thought you told her to wait outside."

  Deirdre glanced in the direction of the entrance and had to stifle a groan as she caught sight of the subject of their discussion standing just inside the doorway, talk­ing to an obviously disgruntled Harry. "Oh, dear. I thought Cullen was watching her."

  "It seems Cullen got distracted." Tristan nodded to­ward the Jolly Roger's large front windows, where the Rotherby carriage could be seen pulled up to the curb. Deirdre's red-faced coachman had been cornered up against its side by a flirtatious Lilah, and he was scratching his head in apparent consternation at what­ever it was the prostitute was saying.

  Deirdre rose with an exasperated sigh. "I suppose I'll have to go rescue them. If you'll both excuse me, I'll be right back."

  As she started forward, she glanced at Tristan, and something in his eyes reminded her of the antagonism that had sprung up between him and Dan when they'd first met. For a second she wondered if leaving them alone together was a good idea, but a loud excla­mation from Jenna pushed it from her mind, and she hurried away.

  Tristan watched as she crossed the room toward the girl and the tavern-keeper, then he looked down at the locket in his hand. Touching it, holding something that had once belonged to his mother, should have made him feel better. Instead, it made him think of all the things he'd done wrong. Just a short time ago he'd been so hopeful, certain Emily would finally be re­turned to him. Now all he felt was a curious emptiness that seemed to grow larger in his chest with every breath.

  "So, you're staying with DeeDee?"

  He looked up at Dan's question, taking instant note of the disapproval in the older man's eyes. "How did you know that?"

  "I 'ave me ways." The boxer crossed his arms, and one corner of his mouth curled downward in a snarl. "I just want you to know I'll be keeping me eye on you. I ain't about to let anyone take advantage of DeeDee. She's like a daughter to me, and I plan on looking after 'er."

  Tristan felt a righteous spurt of anger on Deirdre's behalf. "Yes. And you did such a wonderful job of it the first time around. Leaving a child to fend for herself on the streets. You were quite the protector."

  A flush crept over Dan's cheekbones, and his con­frontational manner seemed to seep away, leaving him looking surprisingly vulnerable. "She told you about that?"

  "Yes."

  The boxer gave a sharp exhalation and
reached up to pass a hand over his face. "I was wrong, and I admit it. I was thinking about meself, wrapped up in me own business, and I didn't 'ave time for a child. I tried to tell meself that someone would take 'er in. Lilah, or one of the local orphanages. By the time I found out it didn't 'appen that way, it was too late."

  "What do you mean, too late?"

  "That's DeeDee's story to tell, but I will say this." Dan's visage hardened once more. "I won't let 'er down again. This time I'll make sure she's taken care of."

  Tristan tilted his head and studied the boxer with newfound respect. It seemed the man meant what he said. "That makes two of us. We might be better served if we try working together rather than at cross purposes."

  "Eh? What's that you're saying?"

  Tristan lowered himself into Deirdre's vacated chair and leaned forward to hold Dan's gaze with his. "I'm saying that I care about Deirdre very much. Anyone in­tending to hurt her will have to go through me to do it."

  The boxer stared at him in silence for several sec­onds, then a slow grin spread over his countenance. "Well, it seems we both want the same thing." He pounded a fist on the scarred surface of the table. "You're right, you are. We should be working together. I'd 'ate to see DeeDee wind up in Flynt's hands again because of all of this."

  Tristan's heart skipped a beat. In Flynt's hands again? This was the second time someone had alluded to Deirdre's past involvement with the gang leader, but before he could even think of a subtle way to glean anything more from the older man, Deirdre appeared at his side.

  "Well, that should take care of that," she said brightly. "Lilah has agreed to help Cullen keep Jenna entertained outside, so we can get back to the business of finding Emily."

  Something about the way she kept her eyes averted had Tristan thinking that her timely interruption had been more than a coincidence, but he didn't call her on it as he relinquished the chair and watched her settle into it, her gaze on Dan.

  What sort of past could she possibly share with Flynt, and why wouldn't she have told him about it?

  He could only pray that whatever secrets she contin­ued to keep wouldn't eventually wind up coming be­tween them.

  Chapter 23

  For the next few days, there was no further news of Emily. Even with Dan and his men combing the streets of Tothill, the search seemed to have come to a standstill. Deirdre was very much afraid she wouldn't be able to keep Tristan from going to the law for too much longer.

  She supposed she couldn't blame him, she thought as she descended the stairs early one morning, three days after their visit to the Jolly Roger. They'd been getting nowhere using her methods. Every afternoon, they ven­tured into the Fields to question more people, all to no avail.

  Though he tried to hide it, Tristan was starting to unravel. Deirdre knew him well enough now to see be­neath that reserved facade to his growing fear and des­peration. When they were home, he paced his confines like a caged animal, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He didn't sleep at night, but thrashed rest­lessly in the throes of one nightmare after another.

  And she was in a position to know.

  Ever since the evening they'd first made love, she and Tristan hadn't slept apart. It was almost as if some secret, unvoiced understanding existed between them to take advantage of what time they had left. Her love for him grew stronger with every hour that passed, and when she'd awakened this morning to find him gone, she'd been aware of a frightening sense of empti­ness, as if she'd been missing a vital part of herself. It made her dread the time ahead, when she knew she would be forced to go on without him.

  Pushing away her ruminations, she met Mrs. God­frey at the bottom of the stairs. She couldn't help but smile as she caught sight of a beribboned Sally trot­ting at the housekeeper's heels. The little terrier had become the woman's shadow, and though Mrs. Godfrey had grumbled at being given the task of car­ing for the little dog, it seemed the adoration was mutual.

  "Good morning," Deirdre greeted her, bending down to stroke Sally's head. "Have you seen Lord Ellington by any chance?"

  "He's in the parlor, my lady. Dodger Dan has called, and I believe they are discussing the next step in the search."

  Deirdre felt vaguely nonplussed. Ever since their meeting with the boxer at the Jolly Roger, something seemed to have shifted in the relationship between the two men. They had formed a bond that was surprising after their initial antipathy.

  Every morning for the past few days, Dan had dropped by the town house to keep them abreast of the hunt for Emily Once he and Tristan started con­versing, however, Deirdre often found herself feeling strangely left out. She could only be grateful she'd had the chance to pull Dan aside and warn him not to tell Tristan of her past with Barnaby. From what she'd overheard upon returning to their table at the tavern the other day, it was something the boxer had come close to doing once already.

  She heaved a sigh. "I suppose I'll leave them to it, then. Perhaps you could take a tray of tea and biscuits in shortly?"

  Mrs. Godfrey nodded, her disapproval clear on her face. It was a look the servant wore far too often when it came to their houseguest. Though Deirdre and Tris­tan had tried to be discreet where their evening activi­ties were concerned, it was obvious the housekeeper knew what was going on.

  Up until now, Deirdre had believed it was better not to make an issue of it, but this time she couldn't hold her tongue.

  "Mrs. Godfrey, Lord Ellington is a good man. It isn't his intention to hurt anyone. All he wants is to find his sister."

  The servant blinked and looked away. "I realize that, my lady, but I can't help but worry. I wouldn't want him to take advantage of you."

  "He's not. Nothing has happened between us that I haven't wanted." She gave the housekeeper a beseech­ing look. "Please try to keep that in mind and give him the benefit of the doubt."

  Mrs. Godfrey was silent for a long moment as she studied her mistress, then she gave a slight nod. "I'll try, my lady."

  She started to turn away, but a sudden loud knock­ing at the front door had her halting in her tracks.

  "I'll get it," Deirdre told her, waving her on her way. "Why don't you go ahead and fetch that tea tray for the gentlemen?"

  The housekeeper nodded and continued on toward the kitchen while Deirdre crossed the foyer to open the door.

  The identity of her visitor had her jaw dropping in surprise. "Jenna? What are you doing here?"

  The girl didn't answer, but brushed past her into the entry hall. Her cheeks were red and she was panting for breath, as if she'd just finished running a race.

  Concerned, Deirdre shut the door and wrapped an arm around the child's shoulders. "Jenna, are you looking for Dan?"

  She shook her head. "I came to speak to you, m'lady. I've been asking around, you know, about your friend. You said I could 'elp, remember?"

  Deirdre didn't know what she thought of Jenna "helping" in such a way. With Flynt involved, the po­tential for danger lurked around every corner. But the girl was so very eager to share her news that Deirdre couldn't bring herself to reprimand her. "Of course I remember."

  "Well, I was down by the bakery this morning, talk­ing to the orange seller who works on the corner. She said she 'asn't seen any girls lurking about, but she 'as noticed a new boy 'anging with the Rag-Tag Bunch."

  The mere mention of the Rag-Tags brought Deirdre to immediate attention. She'd been so busy the past few days that she'd nearly forgotten her suspicions re­garding them. "A boy?"

  Jenna nodded. "Some of the Rag-Tags like to visit 'er now and then, see if they can get 'er to part with some oranges. She said they stopped by a day or two ago and this boy was wiv 'em. She told me she noticed 'im right off, cause 'e 'ad the strangest eyes she'd ever seen. Almost purple-like."

  A boy with strange purple eyes? Could it be . . . ? Deirdre's heart rate increased, and she glanced in the direction of the parlor. Should she tell Tristan?

  But almost as soon as the notion occurred, she dis­c
arded it. She'd already decided his presence was detrimental to getting any information out of the Rag-Tags, and she didn't want to get his hopes up for noth­ing. Someone needed to pay the boys a visit, however, and now was as good a time as any.

  Jenna was dancing about before her, her eyes bright. "Did I 'elp?"

  "You certainly did." Deirdre smiled at her and started forward to retrieve her cloak just as her house­keeper appeared at the end of the hallway, bearing a tray.

  "Mrs. Godfrey, I'm going out. If Lord Ellington should inquire as to my whereabouts, tell him I've gone to run a few errands and will be back shortly."

  "Should I have Cullen bring the carriage around?"

  Deirdre bit her lip. That would more than likely be a mistake. Dan wasn't the only one to have been won over by the earl. Her coachman seemed to have fallen under his spell, as well, and Cullen would probably re­fuse to take her until she told Tristan of her discovery.

  "No, that's all right." Catching Jenna by the arm, she pulled her toward the door. "It's a nice day, so I think I'll walk."

  "Walk? But, my lady—"

  "I'll be fine. Don't worry. I won't be gone long." De­liberately ignoring the housekeeper's concerned look, she offered her a reassuring smile and ducked out the door with Jenna in tow. She could only hope she could accomplish her task and be back before Tristan noticed her absence.

  Peter sat at the plank table with his chin propped on his hand, watching as Emily laughed with a group of the other boys on the far side of the room.

  She'd been with them for a week now, and he'd al­ready forgotten what life had ever been like without her. Despite the uncertainty of her situation, she'd proved to be amazingly courageous, her cheerful na­ture lifting the spirits of the rest of them. She actively participated in the activities of the Rag-Tags, doing her share of chores and helping to keep the younger ones, especially Benji, occupied and out of trouble.

  She'd even continued to go out with Peter to prac­tice her lift technique. After a few times, she'd proved to be rather adept at it, though she hadn't yet tried a real mark. To her, the whole experience was a game, and Peter was reluctant to take it beyond that. He doubted she would ever really have a use for what she'd learned, as he couldn't help but believe that she wouldn't be with them much longer.