He lifted her chin so he could stare down into her eyes. "Including me."
Deirdre felt her breath catch. Never had a man looked at her that way before. As if she was the most important thing in the world to him.
Unable to resist, she laced her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and drew him down for a long, drugging kiss.
That was all it took. They caught fire the way they always did whenever their lips met. Pressing herself against him, she reveled in the solidness of his big body, inhaled the spicy scent she'd come to associate only with him.
As their kisses grew hungrier, as their tongues twined over and over in a wild mating, he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the sofa, lowering her onto the plump cushions. He followed her down, but as he started to reach for the front of his shirt, she stayed his hand, pulling back to hold his gaze with her own.
"Let me," she murmured.
Without waiting for his approval, she went to work on his buttons, undoing them with dexterity. Then, in one smooth movement, she pushed the material down his arms, baring his broad chest for her own admiration.
Dear God, he was so beautiful, she thought, brushing a kiss to the spot just below his collarbone. Her tongue flicked out to savor his slightly salty taste, and he shuddered at the contact, filling her with a heady sense of power.
He reached for her, but she evaded his touch, pressing him back with her hands against his shoulders.
"Deirdre—" he started to protest, but she hushed him with a finger to his lips.
"Shhh," she whispered, tracing the outline of his mouth in a seductive manner that had him groaning. "Let me do this for you. Please."
He relaxed back against the cushions, and she leaned forward to replace her finger with her lips, tasting him deeply while her palm trailed down over the flat, firm expanse of his abdomen. She felt him tense as her hand lingered in a teasing fashion at the waistband of his breeches before dipping inside to wrap around the thick, hard length of him.
"God, Deirdre." His breathing sped up as she continued to explore the straining tip, and when she finally peeled his breeches down past his hips and bent over to take him into the velvety heat of her mouth, he lost all control.
Catching her by the shoulders, he drew her back up to greedily devour her lips with his, his hands traveling downward to cup the globes of her breasts through her gown. She gasped as he molded their rounded contours, then plucked at the distended tips with thumb and forefinger before dragging the muslin material down her arms to free the ripe mounds for his delectation.
His mouth latched onto a nipple in a gentle suckling, and she settled herself within the indentation of his thighs and rubbed her moist cleft against his arousal, rocking her hips in a titillating fashion. It took but a few minute adjustments from him to nudge aside the barrier of her undergarments and thrust home.
The feel of him inside of her, filling her, was enough to have Deirdre releasing a quavering moan. She lifted herself and began to slide up and down his length, and he rose to meet her. The glorious friction sent her senses reeling, and with her eyes closed and her head thrown back, she rode him to a shattering completion.
Emily was worried about Peter.
Biting her lip, she studied his back as he sat before the fire, staring with an intent expression into the flames. Ever since Lady Rotherby had departed the hideout, he'd seemed strangely withdrawn. He hadn't joined the other boys in wishing her well or in helping her to gather her few belongings together, and she had to wonder if she hadn't done something to offend him somehow.
The mere possibility disturbed her. Rising from her place at the table, she approached him in an almost timid manner.
"Peter?" she began in a hesitant voice. "Are you angry with me?"
He started at her question, but didn't turn to face her. "Angry? No. Why should I be?"
"I don't know. You've been so quiet ever since Lady Rotherby left. I suppose I wondered if you thought I'd made the wrong decision."
"Actually, I was just thinking that you'd made the right one."
"Oh?"
He did look at her then, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "You're better off away from 'ere."
"Away from here?" She sank into the chair next to him. "What do you mean?" As the seconds ticked by and he didn't answer, the light slowly dawned. "You want me to leave?"
"It's not that I want you to leave, but it's too dangerous for you 'ere, Em. What wiv Flynt and now Jack. . ." He shook his head. "If you stay 'ere. I don't know if I can protect you. You'll be safer at 'ome with your brother."
Her heart clutched and she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, unable to bring herself to meet his gaze. Dear God, Peter didn't want her here anymore! "I don't understand."
He shrugged. "It sounds like 'e really misses you. Just seems to me that if you 'ave a family who cares enough not to give up on you, you shouldn't give up on them."
"But what about you and the rest of the Rag-Tags? I thought I had a family here with you, too."
Peter flushed and avoided her eyes. "You don't belong here."
His words wounded her more deeply than she could ever remember being hurt before. Slumping back in her seat, she struggled to think of something to say, to get past the claws of pain that ripped and tore at her heart. "I see."
"Em, please. I didn't mean it like that." Peter immediately looked stricken and he reached out toward her, but she avoided his grasp. Getting to her feet, she moved off to stand with her back to him, not wanting him to see her tears.
"You're right," she choked out. "I'd forgotten I'm not really one of you."
"Em—"
"Silly of me, I know. But I hoped you would at least miss me a little."
She felt him come up behind her, heard him draw a breath to speak.
But before he could utter a word, the door of the hideout flew open with a crash. There was a sudden silence as all eyes in the room focused on the figure who loomed in the doorway, and Emily felt herself go cold all over as she recognized who it was.
'"Ello there, Quick." Toby spat on the floor and sauntered forward to stand with his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed to evil slits. "So, this is where you've been 'iding out, eh?"
The rest of the Rag-Tags leaped to their feet and faced the intruder with varying degrees of apprehension and anger, while Peter moved to place himself protectively in front of Emily.
"Get out of 'ere, Toby," he gritted out through clenched teeth, his hands doubling into fists at his sides.
"I don't think so. You 'ave something we want, and we don't intend to leave wiv'out it."
Emily felt her head spin, and she clutched at Peter's sleeve as the "we" Toby spoke of entered the hideout right behind him. It was a group of several of Barnaby Flynt's ruffians, all as big as Toby and obviously ready for a fight.
But it was the last young man through the door that had the breath whistling out through Emily's teeth and made her go weak in the knees.
Jack Barlow tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his breeches and grinned insolently. "'Ello, Peter. I'm back, and I brought a few friends wiv me."
Peter stiffened in front of her. "You bloody traitor!"
"Traitor? Now you've gone and 'urt me feelings. I've just switched sides, is all. I can't tell you 'ow grateful Mr. Flynt was when I turned up at 'is doorstep to tell 'im I knew where you were 'iding." Jack's gaze slid to Emily. "And when I told 'im the girl 'e was looking for was the daughter of an earl. . . well, 'e came up with a whole new plan. Surely it must be worth a few pounds to 'er brother to 'ave 'er returned to 'im safe and sound, wouldn't you say?"
Peter growled low in his throat and started forward in a threatening manner, but Jack flung up a hand to ward him off. "I wouldn't if I were you."
At that moment, Nat and Davey were brutally shoved into the room, tumbling to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. They were followed by Toby's pal, Sam, who held a kicking, squirming Benji by
the collar of his shirt.
Peter froze.
"Now, 'ere's the deal," Jack said, his tone menacing. "You'll 'and over the girl, and you'll do it now, or I'll let Toby use 'is knife to gut the little brat right 'ere in front of you."
Peter glanced back at Emily, and his expression was so hopeless that she felt her stomach lurch. He was being asked to make a terrible decision, and she couldn't let him do it. Benji was like a brother to him, and she wouldn't allow him to be forced into choosing between her or the little boy.
When Jack took a step in Benji's direction, Emily pushed past Peter and let out a cry that halted him in his tracks. "No! Don't hurt him! I'll go with you!"
"Emily, no!" Peter protested, grasping at her arm to hold her back, but she evaded his hand.
"I have to," she whispered hoarsely. "You know I do. I can't let them hurt Benji."
With that, before he could make another move to stop her, she stepped forward and was seized by Toby, who was grinning maniacally.
"Good. Now, there's only a few things left to do." Jack gestured at Peter. "Get 'im."
Before anyone realized what they were about, two of Toby's boys lunged forward and grabbed Peter by both arms, holding him in an unbreakable vise.
"I think I owe you one, mate." Without warning, Jack plowed a fist into Peter's midsection. He let out a groan and bent over at the waist, gasping for air.
The rest of the Rag-Tags shifted restlessly, but they were held at bay by Sam's continued grasp on Benji. In desperation, Emily fought against Toby's grip.
"Stop! Leave him alone!" she cried.
But Jack ignored her. Catching a fistful of Peter's hair, he yanked him upright. "I'm not done wiv you. Before I'm finished, you'll be sorry you ever crossed me."
He swung again, this time bloodying Peter's nose, and Emily began to sob.
"I want you to pay close attention," Jack rasped, leaning down until his face was only inches away from Peter's. "Mr. Flynt 'as a job for you, and if you ever want to see your little dollybird alive again, you'll do exactly as I say."
Chapter 25
Tristan drifted awake to the sweet, familiar feeling of Deirdre nestled against him. They still lay on the sofa, her back to his front, her bottom pressed against the very seat of his arousal. As he often did lately, he found himself marveling at how well they fit together, and he realized that sometime during the past week, he'd come to a conclusion he hadn't acknowledged, even to himself.
It would be impossible to say good-bye to her when this was all over. She'd become too much a part of him. Though he wasn't yet ready to put a name to this emotion that swelled within his heart, it was there, growing stronger every day that passed.
He couldn't imagine his life without her now. That was part of the reason he'd reacted the way he had when she'd been gone so long this morning. The very thought of anything happening to her was enough to fill him with fear and dread, and he'd spent the time since Dan's departure anxiously pacing the parlor, awaiting her return. Thank God she'd come back when she had. He'd been ready to go bloody mad!
Exhaling a gust of air, he reached up to smooth down her wayward curls. He couldn't hold back a soft chuckle when they sprang into their previous position the moment he took his hand away. He could see now why she usually kept her hair so tidily restrained. When set free, the shoulder-length strands were an unruly mass of spiraling curls that tumbled in all directions, stubborn and unpredictable.
A bit like her.
And to think he'd once believed her to be prim and unemotional. He could still picture her the way she'd looked on the night they'd first met, so cool and untouchable. If only he'd known then what he knew now, he never would have judged her so harshly. The truth was, her reserved manner was all a facade, a wall she hid behind because she felt too much.
If there was anything he could identify with, it was putting up walls. All his life he'd hidden behind his own, afraid to let anyone too close or care too much. Rather than face his demons, he'd run away, certain his father had been right about his being nothing but a failure. However, with Deirdre's constant reassurances to the contrary, he was slowly coming to believe that his father might have been wrong.
Damn his aunt, he thought with determination. She would just have to get used to Deirdre's presence in his life. And as for society, he'd never much cared what they thought anyway. There had to be a way he could have Deirdre and not have to give up Emily. There had to be.
At that moment, a sudden loud pounding from the direction of the foyer had Deirdre shooting upright in his arms, coming awake almost instantly.
"What's that?" she whispered.
He shrugged and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "I don't know. It sounds like someone trying to break down the front door."
When the knocking continued, growing louder and more insistent, Deirdre glanced up at him, her eyes wide. "I suppose we'd better go see what's going on. It sounds urgent."
They both rose and quickly dressed. Then, with one last lingering kiss and a hand at her waist, he guided her out into the entry hall just as Mrs. Godfrey opened the door.
In stumbled a young boy of about fourteen or fifteen years of age. Tall and lean with long, tawny hair, he wasn't anyone Tristan recognized, but his badly battered face called attention right away. With one eye bruised and swollen almost shut, and his lower lip cut and bleeding, he looked as if he'd gone more than one round with one of Dodger Dan's boxers.
The housekeeper let out a muffled shriek, and Deirdre gasped before rushing forward to catch the youth as he swayed before them. "Peter! What on earth has happened?"
Peter? Tristan crossed his arms and studied the boy with open curiosity. This was the leader of the Rag-Tag Bunch?
The lad took several deep breaths and reached out to grip Deirdre's arm. His first words were enough to fill Tristan with sudden, unmistakable terror. "Lady R, it's Emily! Barnaby Flynt 'as Emily!"
Deirdre felt all the blood in her body drain into her toes as she stared at Peter in disbelief.
"I don't understand. How—"
"It was Jack." The words sounded slurred as he forced them out from between misshapen lips. "I didn't tell you earlier, but I kicked 'im out a few days ago. I knew 'e'd try to pay me back, but I never thought. . ." He looked up at her in clear distress. " 'E went to Flynt and told 'im everything. Even told 'im Emily's brother is an earl. 'Is boys showed up at the 'ideout to take 'er and I. . . I couldn't stop 'em."
No! Deirdre thought frantically. It was her worst nightmare come to life!
Horrified and unable to bring herself to even look at Tristan, she whirled to face the housekeeper. "Mrs. Godfrey, I need warm water, clean cloths for his injuries. Quickly." She waited until the woman hurried off before turning back to Peter.
"What about the other boys? Are they all right?"
"They're fine. Benji got roughed up a bit, but 'e's okay. I 'ad Nat clear them all out and take them over to the Jolly Roger so Lilah can look after them."
"What's this all about?"
Deirdre's heart sank further as Tristan came forward to join them, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light. The hour of reckoning had come even sooner than she had expected.
"You know my sister?" he questioned the boy, his tone chilling.
To his credit, Peter didn't cower, but straightened as best he could and met Tristan's eyes squarely. "Yes, m'lord. I know 'er. She's been staying wiv us for a week, 'iding from Barnaby."
"I was just at your hideout a few days ago. How did I miss—"
"We weren't there. Emily and me, I mean. We didn't find out you'd been there until after we got back."
Tristan's gaze narrowed. "Yet despite the fact that you knew I was looking for her, you continued to keep her presence a secret."
Peter nodded reluctantly. "She asked me to, m'lord."
A muscle ticking in his jaw, Tristan reached out and caught the boy by his collar, lifting him up onto his toes. "Do you have any idea of what y
ou've done? Because of you, my sister is now in the hands of a murderous bastard who sees her as a loose end!"
"Tristan, no." Deirdre grasped his arm. "You can't blame Peter for all of this." She paused for a second before plunging ahead. "I'm partly at fault, as well."
Releasing Peter, Tristan turned to face her. "What do you mean?"
The time for keeping secrets was long past, and she refused to let Peter suffer his wrath alone. She took a deep breath, then blurted, "I knew Emily was with the Rag-Tags."
The absolute silence that followed her confession was unnerving. Tristan stood as still as a statue, the blankness of his features making her wonder if he'd even heard her.
When he finally did speak, it was so low that she had to strain to hear. "You knew?"
"Only since this morning." Anxious to make him understand, she took a step closer to him. "I suspected the day we first went to see them, because they acted so strangely when I questioned them about her. But I didn't know for certain until I went back and—"
"You knew and you didn't tell me?"
This time his voice was louder, full of incredulity and an underlying hurt that had her wincing.
"I'm so sorry, Tristan," she whispered, reaching out to him in a supplicating gesture. "I was going to tell you. Emily only wanted a little time to say good-bye to the Rag-Tags, so I promised her a few hours, that's all."
But it was as if he didn't hear her. Raking a hand through his hair, he began to pace. "You knew how worried about her I was, how much I wanted to find her. How could you not tell me?"
She shook her head, at a loss as to what to say to make things right. "I wanted to. I would have within a few hours."
He stopped and whirled to face her so abruptly that she started. "So that's where you were this morning," he gritted out. "Is that what the parlor was all about? Were you trying to distract me?"
Stunned and wounded that he would think such a thing, she felt the accusation like a blow. "No!" She glanced at Peter, who still stood quietly observing them, before she continued in a softer tone. "I would never do something like that."
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