A Kiss Before Dawn (10 page)

Peter groaned and raised his head to bury his lips in
the hair close to her temple, sounding like a man in torment. “Emily…Angel…”

His voice was a husky rasp, sending a shiver through her that left her weak and quivering. Letting her head fall back, she stared up at him, one hand sliding up over his shoulder to tangle in the long length of his tousled, tawny hair. “Oh, Peter. Please…”

Her words seemed to act like a dash of icy water. Peter abruptly froze and let his hold on her loosen bit by bit until his hands fell away and he stepped back, his expression cool and distant.

With him no longer supporting her, Emily's trembling legs caused her to stumble back a few paces, the night air rushing over her in a way that left her feeling bereft. “Peter—”

He shook his head, then reached out to catch her wrist in an unbreakable grip. “Come with me.”

Before Emily could say a word, he started across the garden, tugging her along behind him like a recalcitrant child. Still off balance over their intense encounter, she didn't bother to protest. She was much too disconcerted to do more than follow him meekly.

Somehow, without her being quite aware of how they got there, they were standing beneath her bedroom window.

Peter let go of her arm and gestured to the rose trellis. “I'm assuming this is how you made your great escape?”

Emily nodded.

“Up with you, then.”

When she didn't move or reply, merely gazed at him blankly, he gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of
the trellis. “Go on. Climb up. And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay in your room after dark from now on, or the next time you'll be explaining yourself to your brother.”

Emily felt her face heat in response to his patronizing tone. Of all the nerve! How dare he kiss her like that, then turn around and treat her as if she were little more than a nuisance to be dealt with! But instead of arguing with him, she gave a sniff, placed her foot on the first rung of the trellis, and began to climb.

By the time she reached the window ledge of her room and turned to look back over her shoulder, he was already gone.

Damn him!

She was very tempted to slam the window closed behind her in order to relieve some of her boiling frustration, but with the other occupants of the house still asleep, she realized that wasn't an option. Instead, she shut it as silently as possible and then slid down to sit on the carpeted floor, burying her flushed face in her upraised knees.

What on earth had come over her? How could she have allowed Peter to kiss her, to touch her like that? Had all reason deserted her? She should have slapped his face for his effrontery, or at the very least blistered his ears with a firm dressing-down. But she had behaved like an utter wanton. Had lost herself in the sensuality of the moment, in the feeling of his lips on hers after all these years…

Thank God Peter had called a halt before things went too far. But it rankled her pride that he had been the one
to do so. That he still had such power over her defied all explanation. He had even managed to pull a confession from her regarding the incident with Lord Percy that night four years ago.

She sighed and lifted her head. Well, at least the kiss had served one useful purpose. It had made Peter abandon his quest to find out where she'd gone this evening. She could only be grateful she'd kept enough of her wits about her to make sure her clothing remained concealed by her cloak, or he would have been demanding an explanation for that, as well.

From now on, she would have to take extra precautions when coming and going from the house on her clandestine midnight missions. And she would have to make sure that she kept her distance from Peter. She couldn't allow him to touch her in such a way again, either physically…or emotionally.

For she knew without a doubt that she wouldn't be able to withstand the pain if she allowed him to get close and he left her again. She'd had her heart broken by Peter Quick once, and this time she was afraid the damage just might be irreparable.

P
eter awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through his bedchamber window. Wincing against the brightness, he let out a groan and flung his arm across his eyes to shield himself against the glare. Bloody hell, what time was it?

After his encounter with Emily last night, he'd returned to his room to find he was no less restless than he'd been when he'd left it. Even after stripping off his clothes and climbing under the covers, he'd tossed and turned for hours, until he'd finally drifted off sometime just before dawn.

At the memory of their passionate kiss, another groan escaped him and he rolled over to bury his head under his pillow. He could still hear Emily's low moans
as he'd run his hands over her soft curves, picture the way she had looked when she gazed up at him, her violet eyes gone dark and dreamy with desire. And the way she had rubbed herself so sinuously against the hard ridge of his erection…

Feeling the lower part of his male anatomy stir in response to the vision, Peter pushed the image away.

What had he been thinking?

I still want her
.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, but there was no hiding from the truth. The moment his lips had touched hers he had known it could no longer be denied. Kissing her, holding her, had felt too much like coming home. But a former street thief had no business even imagining that he was worthy of the sister of an earl.

“You're a worthless little bastard.”

It was his mother's voice, harsh and biting, throwing the same words at him that he'd heard so often as a boy. They were an ever-present mantra at the edges of his consciousness, an insidious whisper that taunted him whenever he started to think that he just might be able to finally leave his past behind him.

For the few short years he had lived at Willow Park, Peter had lulled himself into a false sense of security, allowing himself to be fooled into thinking that his background no longer mattered. He had opened his hardened heart to Emily and had even begun to believe that they could have a future together.

But he'd been wrong.

And after last night he owed her an apology.

The thought of facing her after what had passed between them was discomfiting, to say the least. But he couldn't deny he needed her help. There was no doubt in his mind that her presence yesterday had made his interview with Lord and Lady Tuttleston go much more smoothly than it might have otherwise, and if he planned on making the trip to Lord and Lady Fulberry's today, he needed Emily by his side.

Tossing aside his covers, he swung his legs out of bed and sat up, pushing a hank of hair off his forehead. From the angle of the sun outside his window, he would guess it must be close to noon. Already he'd wasted half the morning.

There was no use putting off the inevitable.

He rose and started to dress.

 

A short while later, having questioned Langley as to Lady Emily's whereabouts, Peter found himself traversing the long, tree-lined driveway that led to Willow Park. Apparently, this was Emily's regular day to visit with the children, and deciding that it was about time he paid his respects as well, he had set off on Champion.

The park wasn't more than a few miles away along the winding main thoroughfare that eventually ran through the village, and it had taken him less than half an hour to cover the distance between the two properties. Set back from the road behind a dense grove of oaks and maples, not even its tall chimneys could be seen above the tops of the uppermost branches.

Though not as large or majestic as Knighthaven, Willow Park was impressive enough in its own right, with a red-brick exterior and wide, stained-glass windows. Once, the house had belonged to the late Countess of Ellington, but it had passed to Tristan as part of his inheritance after her death and had sat neglected for several years. It hadn't been until Tristan and Deirdre had come to live permanently at Knighthaven that they had returned the Park to its former glory and started their home for wayward children there.

As Peter approached the circular drive in front of the house and pulled his horse to a halt, he became aware of the sound of a child's giggle, briefly echoing over the vast expanse of lawn. Swinging down from his saddle, he handed the gelding's reins to the groom who hurried forward and glanced about, trying to locate the source of the noise.

It didn't take long. From here, he could see a small group clustered about a willow tree next to the fish pond. And as he started across the grass toward them, he realized the identity of the person who was holding their rapt attention.

Emily.

She looked utterly enchanting, with her blond curls spilling from underneath the edge of her yellow, lace-edged bonnet and the sun gilding her animated features. She was reading from a storybook, and she held the children enthralled with the sheer magnetism of her voice.

Peter came to an abrupt halt a few feet away, frozen
in place as he recalled a similar scene, this one in a darkened corner of the Rag-Tag Bunch's hideout as she'd read to the boys gathered at her feet by the glow of one meager candle.

Dear God, she'd been their light in the darkness back then, her sweet and cheerful disposition making their lives a bit more bearable. And her friendship over the years had given Peter a sense of worth. The way she'd looked at him as if he were ten feet tall had made him believe he could do anything, regardless of his background.

At that moment, she caught sight of him and her smile faded. Though her voice stumbled a bit over the passage she was reading, she managed to regroup and bring the story to an end with little sign of her unease at his appearance. No one studying her would have ever guessed that she was even conscious of his presence. But he knew. He could feel the awareness vibrating between them like a wire strung too tautly.

As she closed the book, the children grumbled in disappointment.

“Oh, please, Lady Emily, couldn't we 'ear another story?” a young lad seated toward the front asked.

“I'm sorry, Will, but I'm afraid it's almost time for lunch.” Her gaze went to Peter, cool and unreadable. “And it seems we have a visitor you might want to say hello to.”

As one, the children all turned, and upon seeing Peter they let out glad cries and jumped to their feet.

Before he could move or say a word, he was instantly
surrounded by a laughing, chattering group of boys and girls, each one vying for his attention.

“Oh, Peter, you're 'ere!”

“Did you bring us anything, Peter?”

“I want to 'ear all about that murderer you captured! I bet you bloody well showed 'im not to mess wiv Bow Street, didn't you?”

“Children, please.” Peter looked up to see Rachel McLean, a plump, dark-haired woman with kind brown eyes, coming toward them, shaking her head in fond exasperation. “You must give him a chance to breathe. I'm sure he'll be glad to answer all your questions. But Lady Emily is correct. Right now it is time for luncheon.”

She turned to Peter with a warm smile. “I'm so glad you stopped by, dear. You will be joining us for lunch, won't you?”

He clasped her hand and raised it to his lips with a jaunty grin. “My dear lady, I assure you I would feel quite deprived if I wasn't invited.” He winked at the children. “And I promise I shall fill you all in on every bloody detail of my London exploits. I'm sure you'll want to hear all about the time I chased the notorious Nine-fingered Ned into the sewers and brought him to justice with the business end of my trusty knife blade. I keep one of his nine fingers in a jar next to my bed, don't you know?”

They all cheered, and Mrs. McLean rolled her eyes. “Saints preserve us, they'll all be having nightmares.” She shooed the group on their way with both hands. “All right, then. Back to the Park so we can all wash up.”

They all started to troop up the lawn toward the house, their voices raised in excitement, and Peter turned to find Emily coming toward him, her storybook tucked under one arm.

Tilting her head, she looked up at him with a raised brow. “Nine-fingered Ned?”

He shrugged. “They're a bloodthirsty lot. I'm afraid they'd find the real tales of what I do rather boring.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

There was an instant of silence, then Peter cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets, not quite certain how to go about phrasing what he wanted to say next. “About last night…I want to apologize—”

Emily's expression closed up. “I'd rather not discuss last night, if you don't mind,” she interrupted him, her jaw tightening visibly. “It would be better if we both put it in the past and pretend it never happened.” She narrowed her eyes, holding his gaze with her own as if trying to convey the seriousness of her conviction. “And I'm certain we'll both make sure it
never
happens again.”

Though he'd intended to tell her the very same thing, Peter couldn't help but feel a sharp spurt of anger at her words. She spoke with such assurance. Would it be that easy for her to forget what had passed between them? “Yes. Of course. I was just going to say that myself, as a matter of fact.”

“Good. I'm glad we agree.” There was another short span of silence, and when she spoke again some of the tension seemed to have seeped out of her. “Why are you
here, Mr. Quick? Not that I'm unhappy you've stopped by to see the children, but I can't help but feel that's not the only reason you've come.”

So they were back to Mr. Quick. Last night she'd called him Peter. “It's not. Langley said you would be here, and I was hoping to talk you into coming with me to visit Lord and Lady Fulberry later this afternoon. The sooner I interview them, the sooner I can start making some progress on this case.”

Emily crossed her arms, hugging the book against her chest as she studied him. Then she gave an affirmative nod. “Certainly. We can depart first thing after lunch, if you would like.”

She began to turn away, but before she'd gone more than a step or two after the others, something stronger than his need to keep distance between them compelled him to call her back, to hold on to her company for just a moment longer.

“Seeing you read to the children brings back memories.”

She froze mid-step at his statement. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” He strode forward to stand next to her once again. “I can remember watching you read to the Rag-Tags all those years ago, the looks on their faces as you carried them off to a different place and time with the power of your words. For just a short while they could believe they were someone else, living a better life.” He paused, then took a deep breath. “You made a difference in our lives then, Emily, and I never thanked you for that.”

He watched as pearly white teeth sank into her lower lip, her expression uncertain as she examined every inch of his features. Could she take nothing he said at face value?

As if she had finally determined the sincerity of his words, her mouth slowly curved in a genuine smile. “You don't need to thank me. It's something I enjoyed doing. Something I still enjoy doing.” She indicated the book in her arms with an inclination of her head. “I try to come and read to the children here at Willow Park at least once a week. And I usually spend an hour or so working with a few of them on their reading and writing skills if I have the time. They're so eager to learn.”

“I'm sure they all appreciate your help. I know the McLeans do. They were just telling me the other night at dinner that they didn't know what they would do without you, especially since Deirdre has been unable to be available as much of late due to her current difficulties.”

Emily flushed and looked away. “Yes, well…thank you for saying so.” Tightening her hold on her book, she glanced toward the house, where the rest of the group had just reached the circular drive. “I suppose we'd best hurry if we don't want to be late for luncheon.”

Peter nodded, but just as he started to fall into step beside her, a slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Looking back, he noticed for the first time that someone occupied a tree stump farther back in the grove of willows, several feet away
from the place where the rest of the children had been sitting to listen to Emily's story.

Benji.

As usual, the young man's nose was buried in a book, but his posture was stiff and guarded, as if daring anyone to come near him.

“Why don't you go ahead, Lady Emily,” Peter suggested, his brow furrowing as he studied the lad's closed expression. “I'll join you shortly, but I see someone I need to speak with first.”

Emily took note of the direction of his gaze and her eyes clouded. Peter braced himself for her disapproval. After her reaction the other night, he was well aware how she felt about his interference in any matter involving Benji.

But she surprised him.

“If you can,” she said softly, “please try to talk him into joining us for lunch? He's been avoiding the rest of the children for the last several weeks, and I can't believe that it's good for him to be alone so much.”

He nodded, then waited for her to walk away before he started toward Benji.

The boy must have heard his footsteps in the grass, for he closed his book and looked up as Peter approached him, his eyebrows arching above his glasses in an expectant manner. “Finally decided to pay us a visit, did you?”

There was no missing the sarcasm in Benji's tone. Peter crouched down on his haunches next to the lad and propped his elbows on his knees, struggling to come up with the right words to say. “You should know
I would never return to Little Haverton without stopping by to see all of you. This is my home, my family.”

Benji lifted a shoulder in a careless manner, but didn't reply.

For a second or two, all was quiet, the only sound the twitter of birds in the trees overhead. Then Peter spoke again. “You know, Lady Emily was hoping you'd join us for lunch.”