A Kiss in the Dark

by Kimberly Logan

  The thought of her leaving hit him harder than he would have expected. Ever since his mother had thrown him out to fend for himself so long ago, he'd tried to keep people at a distance, but somehow Emily had managed to win her way through his defenses. She truly did seem to be the angel Benji believed her to be.

  As he remembered the way he'd slipped and called her that the other night, he felt his cheeks heat. It wasn't like him to be fanciful, but there it was. He'd been so stunned by what had almost happened that he'd spoken without thinking.

  And that brought him to Jack.

  Tensing, he got to his feet and wandered over to stand next to the fireplace, his back to the room. He'd known Jack was capable of a great many things, but he'd never dreamed the boy would do anything like what he'd attempted to do to Emily the other night. If he had succeeded, it would have been Peter's fault.

  He clenched his hands into frustrated fists. There was no doubt he'd done the right thing by throwing Jack out. It should have been done long ago. But he knew better than to think it was all over. Jack Barlow wasn't one to just walk away from a slight. He would be back. The only question was when. And how would he take his revenge?

  At that moment, he was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of the hideout door bursting open. All eyes flew in that direction.

  The figure of Lady Rotherby filled the opening, her discerning gaze traveling about the room as she stepped inside. She was followed by a dark-headed young girl Peter vaguely recognized.

  As one, the boys gathered about Emily and formed a wall in front of her, attempting to block her from view. But it was too late. The viscountess's eyes had al­ready lighted on the girl, and she'd apparently recog­nized Emily despite her lad's clothing. A wide smile spreading over her face, she crossed the room, coming to a halt only a few feet away from the group.

  "Emily," she said softly. "I can't tell you how glad I am to have found you."

  For several seconds, no one spoke. Everyone seemed frozen in place. Then Emily gave a desperate shake of her head and took a step backward, her ex­pression full of fear.

  The dark-haired girl, who had remained close to the door, began to bounce up and down in excitement. "I told you she was 'ere."

  "Jenna, hush," Lady Rotherby tossed over her shoulder before reaching out a supplicating hand to Emily. "Please, don't be afraid. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm a friend."

  "You're here to take me back to Tristan."

  "Well, yes, but—"

  "I won't go! I won't go back!"

  Before the viscountess could reply to Emily's vehe­ment exclamation, there was the sudden loud pounding of footsteps outside in the alleyway, and Miles flung himself in through the open door, gasping for breath.

  "Peter, it's Lady R! She's—" As he noticed the tableau before him, he skidded to a halt and his last word came out in a squeak. "—'ere."

  "So I see," Peter growled, planting his hands on his hips. He should have known better than to put Miles, of all people, on sentry duty.

  The freckled boy reddened guiltily. "Sorry, but she came in a 'ackney instead of 'er carriage, or I would 'ave recognized 'er sooner."

  Oh, well. It couldn't be helped now. They'd been discovered, and all they could do was wait and see what Lady Rotherby intended. "Please."

  The word was soft, little more than a whisper, but it had the impact of a shout in the crowded room. Heads whipped toward Emily as she stood with her arms wrapped about herself, her chin raised in defiance de­spite the moisture that shone in her eyes.

  "Please go away," she continued, her voice quaver­ing slightly. "Go away and leave me alone."

  Lady Rotherby shook her head. "Oh, Emily, I can't. Your brother deserves to know that you're all right. He's been so worried about you."

  "I don't believe you. My brother never cared about what happened to me before. Why should he start now?"

  "That's not true. He does care, darling. If you'll come back and give him a chance, you'll see that."

  "He had a chance. I tried to tell him how I felt, but he wouldn't listen." There was a mutinous set to her jaw that Peter recognized even after knowing Emily such a short time. She wasn't about to give in easily. "I want to stay with the Rag-Tag Bunch. I'm happier here than I ever was with Tristan."

  "And what about Barnaby Flynt?"

  Peter gave a start. The viscountess knew about Flynt's search for Emily?

  As if in answer to his silent question, Lady Rotherby nodded. "Yes, I've heard he's looking for you, and I know why." Forging a path through the crowd of boys surrounding Emily, she gently touched the girl's arm. "Believe it or not, I know a bit about Barnaby. I know how dangerous he is, and I know he won't give up. You can't hide forever. If you stay here, sooner or later he'll find you."

  Emily bit her lip. "And if I go home, how do I know he won't follow me there and hurt the people I care about? You didn't see what he did to that poor man. I couldn't bear it if he did something like that to some­one else."

  Lady Rotherby bent down to Emily's eye level, her gaze intent. "Your brother won't let that happen. If you come with me, we'll talk to him together. We'll go to the law and they'll arrest Barnaby so he'll never hurt anyone again."

  "I don't know." Her expression confused, plead­ing, Emily's gaze flew to Peter, as if begging him for guidance.

  He didn't know what to do. Though part of him longed for Emily to stay here, to be one of the gang from now on, he'd known from the very beginning that she didn't belong. Not here and not with him. She was the daughter of an earl. He was the son of a prosti­tute. She was meant for a world of wealth and privi­lege, while he could never hope to have anything better than what he had now.

  An angel didn't belong among thieves.

  Unable to ignore her beseeching stare, he made his way over to her and took her hand, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "You can trust Lady R, Em. If she says your brother can take care of this, 'e can. She's been a good friend to us, and I'd trust 'er wiv my life."

  Emily still looked doubtful and she studied him in­tently, as if attempting to verify the veracity of his state­ment. He remained silent, willing her his strength. This had to be her decision. He couldn't make it for her, no matter how much he might want to.

  Emily felt as if her whole world was spiraling out of control. After a week with the Rag-Tag Bunch, she'd started to let down her guard, to believe she was safe. Now, here she was, being forced to make a decision she wasn't ready to make. On the one hand, the Rag-Tags had come to mean so much to her. Each and every one of them was firmly embedded in her heart, and she didn't know how she could ever bring herself to leave them.

  But at the same time, Tristan was the only close fam­ily she had left. Deep down, underneath the layers of hurt and anger, Emily wanted to believe that her brother was sorry for all that had happened, that it was possible that things could be different between them.

  An image flashed behind her eyes. A memory of a long-ago afternoon when Tristan had taken her for a walk in the park. She couldn't have been more than three or four at the time, and her brother had carried her about high on his shoulders, his grip so steady and sure that she had never once felt afraid she would fall. Though she would have denied it aloud, she missed that feeling. The feeling that no matter what happened, her adored older brother would always be there for her to rely upon.

  After a moment, she glanced back at the viscount­ess. "Has Tristan really been worried about me?"

  "Oh, sweetheart, he's torn Tothill Fields apart look­ing for you." Lady Rotherby smiled reassuringly. "Your brother is a good man, Emily. I realize things have been difficult, but nothing will ever be solved as long as you keep running away."

  Emily let go of Peter's hand and moved off a short distance, considering all that had been said. She had to admit that it would be nice to be back in her own warm bed with a full belly and clean clothes to wear. And the thought of being able to sleep without worry­ing about Barnaby Flynt took a huge burden off her shoulders.


  However, she couldn't see herself just walking away from the new friends she'd made after everything they'd done for her. Her gaze swung back to Peter, searching his countenance for some sign of his feelings on the subject. His expression remained unreadable.

  "Do you love your brother, Emily?"

  Lady Rotherby's question caught her off guard. Once again, she found herself remembering that day in the park, the laughter and affection that had existed in that magic moment, and she felt a tug at her emotions.

  "I. . . I suppose so," she said slowly.

  "Then give him another chance. I know you won't regret it."

  Something about the woman's kind face and gentle smile drew Emily in, made her trust her in spite of everything. "Would I be able to come visit the Rag-Tags whenever I wanted?"

  The viscountess looked around at the assembled group. "That would be up to your brother, but I don't see why something couldn't be worked out."

  Well, that wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no, either. Emily sighed and closed her eyes. Now that she'd been found, she really didn't have much choice, did she? But perhaps she could win at least one concession.

  "All right. I'll go home. I'll give Tristan a chance." She paused. She knew she was only putting off the in­evitable, but she needed time. Time to resign herself to what was about to happen. Time to decide what on earth she was going to say to her brother when she saw him again. "But not yet."

  Lady Rotherby's pleased expression instantly faded. "I don't understand."

  "I want to stay just a little longer with the Rag-Tags," Emily explained, her gaze taking in the faces that had become so dear to her. "Some of the boys aren't even here right now. Nat, Benji. . . I couldn't leave without saying good-bye to them."

  It was true. Nat and Davey had taken Benji out with them early that morning and had yet to return.

  No, she couldn't go without saying good-bye to Benji. She had to wonder how he would react to her leaving. In the past few days, ever since Jack had de­stroyed his precious book, he'd taken to following her everywhere, clinging to her hand as if relying on her for support. How would the little boy fare without her?

  "Please?" she implored the viscountess. "A few more hours is all I ask."

  The woman sighed. "Emily, I understand how you feel. But even if I leave here without you right now, you must know the minute I tell your brother where you are, he'll be on his way here to take you home."

  "Then don't tell him."

  "Darling, I have to. I can't keep this from him."

  "You don't have to keep it from him forever. Just for a short while. Please, promise me you will?"

  "Emily—"

  "Please?"

  Lady Rotherby hesitated for a long moment, the tur­moil clear to see in her eyes. Then, finally, she gave a reluctant nod. "Very well. I don't like this at all, but I promise. I shall hold off telling Tristan for a few hours. And in return I need a promise from you. That you'll stay here and not go anywhere." Emily nodded. "I promise."

  That didn't appear to satisfy the viscountess. She turned to Peter, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Peter?"

  He crossed his arms and inclined his head. "I prom­ise she stays right 'ere until you come for 'er."

  "All right. Your brother and I will be back to get you this afternoon, and I expect you to be waiting." To Emily's surprise, the woman suddenly enveloped her in a warm, sweet-smelling hug. "I must be mad. When Tristan finds out about this . . . well, I only hope I'm doing the right thing."

  She wasn't the only one.

  Emily backed away from the viscountess and took in the expressions of the Rag-Tags. They were all try­ing so hard to look unconcerned, but their dismay was clear on their faces. All except for Peter, who avoided her eyes and stared down at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets.

  How on earth was she ever going to say good-bye?

  Chapter 24

  Deirdre couldn't believe she'd allowed Emily to con-vince her to continue to keep her where­abouts a secret.

  Of course, it was only for a short while, she thought as she climbed the steps of her town house with Jenna at her side. But Tristan had been through so much to find her that it seemed cruel to leave him in the dark even a second longer than necessary. One look into those violet eyes so like the ones of the man she loved, however, and she'd been unable to deny the girl's plea. No matter how guilty she felt, she'd made a promise, and she would abide by it. She also trusted Peter to keep his and make sure Emily remained where she was.

  Thank goodness she'd been able to talk the girl into coming home. The outcome had been uncertain there for a while. It was obvious Emily cared for her brother, but she'd been hurt badly enough that she was still wary of him. Deirdre supposed she couldn't blame Emily for being reluctant to leave her safe haven. She'd obviously found a home of sorts with the Rag-Tag Bunch, a place where she felt wanted and needed. It would be up to Tristan to prove that she was wanted and needed by him, as well.

  Deirdre only hoped she could talk the stubborn man out of his foolish notion of turning his sister over to his aunt.

  "Now, remember," she said to Jenna as they ap­proached the door. "Not a word about the Rag-Tags or finding Emily. We went out to take some air and that's all. Understood?"

  "Yes, m'lady."

  "Good girl." With an approving smile, Deirdre pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  Mrs. Godfrey descended on her at once. "Oh, my lady, there you are. We were wondering where you'd gotten to. You've been gone so long and—"

  "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

  The question was practically a roar, halting the housekeeper's words and sending Jenna scurrying be­hind Deirdre. Deirdre herself gave a start, her hand fly­ing to her throat as she caught sight of Tristan looming in the parlor doorway, his expression thunderous.

  "Oh, Tristan," she managed to say in a pleasant tone, struggling to keep her voice as casual as possible. "You frightened me."

  "Well, that makes two of us." He stalked toward her, followed by a frowning Cullen, who looked just as displeased with her as Tristan did. "Do you realize you've been gone for almost three hours?"

  Oh, dear. Had she really been gone that long? She glanced at the grandfather clock and nearly cringed to see that it was almost noon. She supposed that in the ex­citement of finding Emily, she'd lost track of the time.

  She hurried to smooth things over. "Surely Mrs. Godfrey told you I'd gone out?"

  "Yes, but she had no idea where. You didn't even bother to take Cullen with you, and I thought you never went anywhere without him. Do you realize how dangerous it can be to wander about this city alone?"

  The coachman crossed his arms and gave her a dis­approving scowl over Tristan's shoulder. Even Mrs. Godfrey seemed upset with her. Good heavens, had her own staff turned against her?

  "I was fine," she explained calmly. "I only had to run a few errands, and Jenna was with me."

  Tristan snorted. "As if she could have been of any use to you in a bad situation."

  Jenna poked her head out from behind Deirdre and glared at him. "I can too be of use. I already 'ave. I—"

  "Jenna, dear," Deirdre interrupted quickly, "why don't you go with Mrs. Godfrey to the kitchen and have some tea and biscuits?"

  "But—"

  "Go on. It's all right."

  After a second's hesitation, the child let the house­keeper lead her away, though she kept casting murder­ous glances back over her shoulder at Tristan until they were out of sight.

  Deirdre gave an inner sigh of relief. That had been close, but she wasn't out of the fire yet. Tristan was far from finished with her.

  Grasping her wrist, he pulled her closer, his eyes narrowing in a dangerous manner. "I shall ask you again. Where have you been?"

  "I told you." She shrugged, but avoided his probing gaze. "I had some errands to do and—"

  "That does it." Pivoting, Tristan began to drag her in the direction of the parlor, his steps purposeful. Deirdre wa
s so surprised that at first she could do nothing but allow herself to be towed along in his wake. But after a second she began to resist, dragging her feet and trying to tug her arm from his hold.

  "What on earth? Tristan, stop it! Let me go!" She glanced desperately back at Cullen, but there would be no help from that quarter. The coachman merely watched them go, a strange gleam in his eyes.

  Had everyone gone mad?

  As hard as she fought against it, Tristan finally man­aged to pull her into the parlor and slam the door. In the time it took for her to regain her equilibrium, he shot the lock home and leaned back against the panel, surveying her with brooding intent.

  "Don't ever," he said in a slow, deliberate tone, "do that again. Don't leave this house without letting someone know where you're going and taking Cullen with you."

  Deirdre's temper flared. "How dare you take it upon yourself to order me about! I've been on my own for quite some time now, and I don't need—"

  "I was worried."

  She halted, uncertain she'd heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"

  "I was worried, Deirdre. I had no idea where you were, and when you were gone for so long. . ." He shook his head, his expression troubled. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

  Her bubble of indignation instantly burst. How could she stay angry at him when he sounded so stricken? It made her heart melt.

  Walking toward him, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tristan. I didn't mean to worry you. I truly didn't think I'd be gone so long."

  After a second, she felt his strong arms enfold her, his cheek coming to rest against her hair as he expelled a breath. "I didn't mean to sound dictatorial. I know you're used to going your own way. But please try to remember that there are people here who care about you and don't want to see you hurt."