A Kiss Before Dawn (25 page)

But perhaps this was a far more fitting punishment.

“I'm dead, ain't I?” Jack was finally able to force the words out, though they sounded thick and garbled.

Peter paused for a moment, but there was no use lying to the man. He nodded.

Jack gave a watery chuckle, then coughed up a clot of blood. “Always knew…you'd be the death…of me, you bloody bastard.”

“Why don't you come clean while you still can, Jack?” Peter suggested, almost gently. “Tell me where you got the letters. Did you rob Brimley Hall? Did you steal them from Lord Brimley?”

“'Course not. Someone…gave them to me.” When Peter's eyebrows shot up in surprise, Jack gave a derisive snort that ended in another cough. “You didn't think…I was in this alone…did you? I 'ad 'elp almost from the beginning.”

Peter felt a chill of foreboding trickle down his spine. “Who?” he demanded, digging his fingers into Jack's shoulders. “Damn you, don't you die on me until you tell me who!”

“Why, your…lady love's dear friend Viscount Moreland, of course.”

Lord Moreland? But the man's own home had been robbed! It wasn't possible!

Was it?

“It seems 'e's desperate…for Lady Emily to marry 'im, and 'e'll do…just about anything to see that she does.” One corner of Jack's bloodstained mouth curled upward in a taunting smile. “In fact,'e sent me…a message tonight at…the' Awk's Eye to let me know 'e was…'eading over to Knight'aven this evening. Seems 'e's too anxious to wait…for'er
answer to 'is proposal. 'E should be arriving there just about…now.”

Dear God! Peter's instincts had told him the viscount was up to no good, but he had put it down to jealousy. Now, because he had ignored the warning signs, Emily could very well be in danger.

“Ah, quite the…tangle, isn't it?” Jack's eyes were starting to glaze over and were becoming more and more unfocused with every second that passed, but the satisfaction in his voice was clear. “Will Prince Peter be…in time to…save the princess, I wonder?”

Peter stood and looked down at the man who had caused him and the people he cared about so much pain. “Too bad you won't be around to find out.”

The thief started to speak again, but all of a sudden he gave a harsh gurgling sound and a stream of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head and the shrill whistle of his breath stuttered once—then ceased altogether.

Jack Barlow was gone.

Without giving the man another thought, Peter whirled and headed for the door. He would have to worry about cleaning up this mess later. For now, he had more important things to concern himself with.

Like saving the life of the only woman he would ever love.

“Miles!”

The stable hand appeared in the entranceway, his curious stare taking in the still body of Jack Barlow before moving on to Peter's grim countenance. “Is everything taken care of?”

“No.” Peter pushed past him and started around the side of the cottage toward where they had left their horses, his strides long and purposeful, and Miles fell in at his heels. “We have to hurry. Lord Moreland was in on the scheme all along. And if Jack was right, Emily and Jenna might very well be in his clutches right now.”

Miles made a sound of distress, but he didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. His fear and worry were almost tangible.

Peter wanted to believe that the viscount truly cared about Emily, that their long-standing friendship would prevent him from harming her. But he could be certain of nothing. If the man discovered that his and Jack's plot had been uncovered, there was no telling what he might do.

Peter's heart clutched at the mere thought of losing Emily.

Please, God, let them be in time!

E
mily finished securing Jenna's wrists to the arms of the chair she sat in with the tasseled cords from the parlor draperies, aware the whole while of Lord Moreland standing behind her, the barrel of his pistol pointed at the back of her head.

“Make sure they're tight,” he instructed, his voice flat and chilling. “If she should escape, I'll be forced to shoot her, and we wouldn't want that, would we?”

Emily obediently rechecked her friend's bonds as Jenna glared up at him, her brown eyes brimming with hatred. “You bloody bastard! I always knew you were no good, lord or no! You just wait until—”

The viscount shoved a handkerchief into Emily's hands. “And gag her. I refuse to listen to her prattle.”

With an apologetic look at Jenna, she obeyed, her
mind awhirl with the implications of Adam's actions. Somehow, he was involved in all of this, but she was stumped as to how.

And why.

She finally turned to face him, unable to restrain a wince at the utter lack of feeling he displayed. Dear God, she'd thought she'd known him so well. How could she have been so wrong? “I don't understand any of this, Adam.”

He raised his eyebrows at her in a haughty, condescending manner. “Yes, I know. And I regret the necessity for such deceit on my part. But one does what one must to look after one's best interests, wouldn't you agree? After all, isn't that what you've been doing by playing the part of the Oxfordshire Thief?”

“You knew about this all along, didn't you?” she accused. “You were in on Jack's plan.”

“Guilty, I'm afraid.”

Emily felt her heart lurch in her chest, the sense of betrayal staggering as the light suddenly dawned. “You were the one who gave Jack the letters my mother wrote!”

He inclined his head in a stiff nod.

“But why? Why would you do such a thing?”

“I fear I've managed to get myself into a spot of trouble at the gaming tables. The creditors are hounding my heels, and Father refuses to pay them off.” Moreland's jaw tightened, and for the first time, a glint of true emotion flashed in his eyes, a spark of desperation. “I've done everything short of beg the man on bended knee, but he won't listen to reason. I
may have reacted rashly, but his stubbornness forced me to it.”

Still holding the pistol on her, he reached up with his free hand to rake his fingers through his hair, leaving the blond strands standing on end. “I thought to sell off a few of my mother's possessions, so I slipped into her room one night and stumbled across her keepsake box. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered your mother's letters, but I had no idea then that they could prove to be of use to me. At the time, I was only interested in those items that might be of monetary value.”

“Such as your mother's brooch?” Emily prompted.

“Precisely. Unfortunately, my father brought a halt to the scheme. He caught me in Mother's room and rang a peal about my head. He was outraged that I would even dare to consider selling off anything that had belonged to her. Never mind that his only son could wind up being thrown in debtor's prison. So, I was forced to come up with another solution.”

“Marriage to me?”

Moreland lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I'm not sure when it first occurred to me, but one day I realized that if you and I were to wed, it would solve all my problems. Your brother was sure to settle a sizable dowry on you, more than enough to cover my debts. With that in mind, I set out to woo you.” He frowned at her. “Of course, you had to make things difficult by refusing to cooperate. You started avoiding me, and I don't mind admitting that I grew quite frustrated with you.”

Emily placed one hand against her midriff in an at
tempt to calm the churning in her belly. True, she had never planned on accepting his proposal, had never cared for him that way, but it hurt to know that he would have used her in such a fashion.

“I never would have married you,” she whispered, her voice shaking with barely suppressed anger. “Never.”

He laughed without mirth. “I don't doubt that, my dear. It was your obstinacy that drove me to the local tavern one night to drown some of my sorrows in a pint or two of ale. I wound up drunk and pouring my story out to the man who sat next to me at the bar.” One corner of his mouth quirked in a wry grimace. “That man turned out to be Jack Barlow.”

Emily's hands clenched into fists. So that was how such an unholy alliance had formed. “And?”

“And he admitted to me that he had a grudge against someone associated with you and your family, and that he was in Little Haverton trying to come up with a way to strike back at this person. He told me if I would help him with his revenge scheme, he could fix it so that sooner or later you would be guaranteed to accept my offer of marriage.”

“You believed him?”

“What can I say? I was far from sober at the time, and his plan sounded plausible. The only thing he lacked was a means to force you into doing his bidding.”

“So you thought of the letters.”

“Of course. I slipped back into Mother's room and snatched a couple of them, two of the more incriminating ones, and handed them over to Barlow.”

Emily shook her head. She felt numb all over and part of her wanted to just sit down and cry, to let out all of her sorrow and anger. But she wouldn't. She wouldn't give Adam the satisfaction. “And to think I was actually fool enough to believe you were my friend.”

“You must understand, Emily.” The viscount met her gaze, his expression touched with the faintest hint of regret. “I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I was desperate. Barlow kept saying that eventually you'd come around, that you would turn to me for comfort. And when you did, I was supposed to offer to make all of your troubles go away—for a price.”

“Marriage?”

“Clever girl.” His brow lowered in a fierce frown. “But then your Mr. Quick showed up and ruined everything. I'm not blind. I could see the way you looked at him, and I knew the moment I met him that he would throw a wrench into our plans.”

Which must have been why he had stepped up the campaign to woo her and had become more aggressive in his pursuit so soon after Peter had arrived, Emily decided. The scoundrel had never truly cared for her at all!

Wrapping her arms about herself to ward off a chill, she glanced in the direction of the clock. It was after midnight. Surely Deirdre and Tristan should be home at any moment? If she could keep him talking, stall him just long enough…

“But what about the robbery at Brimley Hall?” she asked casually, praying that her face gave away none of her thoughts. “If you were involved in Jack's plot from
the beginning, why would you allow your own home to be robbed?”

“Ah. A stroke of genius on my part.” Moreland's smile was arrogant and assured. “A ploy to divert suspicion from myself, just in case your Mr. Quick should happen to catch on to things and start looking in my direction. And, of course, my mother's brooch was to have been my share of the spoils.” The smile faded and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Now, however, I'm afraid Mr. Quick has more than put paid to that plan. If he hasn't arrested Barlow, then he's more than likely chased the bastard out of town along with all of the jewels. So, as it happens, I'm afraid I'll have to improvise.”

He jerked the gun at Emily. “Come along, my dear. As much as I hate to do this, I'm afraid I'll have to take you with me.”

She took a step away from him, shaking her head. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Oh, but you are.” He reached out and snagged her wrist, jerking her toward him. “A bit of added insurance, you see, to make sure I get out of Little Haverton safely. Your Sir Galahad won't try to stop me so long as your life is in my hands, now will he?”

“But…Jenna…” She sent a worried glance in the direction of her friend, who wriggled in her chair, watching them with frightened dark eyes.

“She'll be fine. As soon as your brother and his wife arrive home, they'll release her, but by that time we'll be long gone. Now, hurry up. I want to be out of here before your Mr. Quick returns.”

“Too late, Moreland.”

The sound of the deep, calm voice sent a surge of relief through Emily, and she looked up to see Peter and Miles step in through the parlor door.

Adam quickly pulled her in front of him and pressed the pistol to her temple. “Why, it seems you've decided to join the party, Mr. Quick. Come ahead in. But please don't make any sudden moves. I would hate for anyone to get hurt.”

Peter came forward, his hands raised, palms outward, to show he held no weapon. “Let her go, Moreland. You can't hope to accomplish anything this way.”

“She'll see that I make it out of town without a bullet in my back.” The viscount paused for a moment, and Emily could feel his breath on her neck, hot and damp. “Barlow?”

“Dead. We struggled and he fell on his knife, but not before he confessed to his crimes, and your part in them.”

“I'm not surprised. The little weasel was only out for himself in the end.” Moreland's hold on Emily tightened, and she barely restrained a wince. “Now, as I'm not the simpleton you seem to believe I am, Mr. Quick, I would like you to remove the pistol I know you're carrying and lay it on the floor in front of you, but slowly. Lady Emily wouldn't be nearly as pretty with a hole in her lovely head.”

Without hesitation, Peter complied, withdrawing his weapon from the waistband of his breeches and placing it on the carpet before him.

“Good. Now, kick it over here.”

Once again, Peter did as asked.

The viscount relaxed his grip on Emily the slightest fraction. “Emily, dearest,” he said in her ear, “would you be so kind as to retrieve Mr. Quick's weapon for me, please?”

She wanted to spit in his eye, but as that wasn't an option, she leaned over and gingerly picked up the pistol, then craned her neck to look up at him, awaiting further instructions. His stare never wavered from Peter. “Now, open the window and throw it out.”

Adam kept his own weapon trained on her as she took the two steps necessary to swing open the nearest casement and toss the gun out into the night.

He instantly reclaimed her arm and drew her back to his side. “There. I feel much better now, Mr. Quick. Much more comfortable. Don't you?” He gestured to Miles, who had remained in the doorway. “You. Stable boy. Go stand against the wall, where I can keep an eye on you.”

Tearing his concerned gaze away from Jenna, Miles glared at the viscount as he moved to follow orders.

“Now then, Mr. Quick.” Lord Moreland took a step forward, nudging Emily along in front of him, keeping his gun aimed at her head. “If you wouldn't mind clearing a path to the door, Lady Emily and I will be going. And if you want her to remain alive and well, I'd suggest you not follow me.”

Peter didn't budge. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest in a deceptively casual stance, his countenance almost dispassionate. But though he never looked at her, Emily knew him well enough to sense
the fury that seethed just beneath the outwardly composed surface, the barely leashed energy he held in check. “I wouldn't do that if I were you, Moreland. Do you really want to add kidnapping to your list of crimes?”

“Do you think it matters? I'll wind up behind bars either way, and I'm not about to let that happen.”

“What if I told you I had recovered the stolen items and was willing to make a trade? The jewels for Lady Emily.”

Lord Moreland froze, his sudden stillness an indication of his shock. When he spoke, his voice was laced with suspicion. “And I'm supposed to believe that you, a Bow Street Runner, will just hand them over to me and let me go?”

Peter shrugged, but didn't reply.

Emily could almost hear Adam's mind working, ticking through the possibilities. “Where are they? I want to see them!”

Peter looked at Miles, who reached into his pocket and withdrew the drawstring bag they had found at the cottage earlier that evening. Careful to make no unexpected moves, the stable hand reached inside and withdrew Lady Brimley's brooch, holding it up for the viscount's inspection.

“Just think,” Peter said softly. “You'll have the monetary means at your fingertips to go far away, to start a life somewhere else. Lady Emily would only be an encumbrance.”

“Ahhh.” Lord Moreland sounded well pleased, and
Emily longed to kick him in the shin, to yell at Miles to run and take the jewels with him. But she did neither of those things. She had to trust in Peter, had to believe that he knew what he was doing. “Well, as I am the one with a weapon, I don't imagine there is much you could do about it, Mr. Quick, should I decide I wanted the jewels
and
Lady Emily. And as it happens, that is exactly what I want. But I thank you for being so accommodating.”

The viscount turned his burning stare on Miles. “Lay the bag on the floor and back away, stable boy.”

The stable hand glanced at Peter, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, then returned the brooch to the bag and bent over to place it on the floor before returning to his spot by the wall.

“There. Now, I'll just retrieve the spoils and we'll be on our way.” Moreland's fingers dug into Emily's arm, and this time she couldn't hold back a pained gasp.

Peter's head flew up, his gaze meeting hers for the first time since he'd entered the room, and she saw all the anger, fear, and concern for her welfare that he'd been hiding since he'd arrived. His fists clenched at his sides in a visible effort to rein himself in.

Emily's heart filled with warmth and love. No matter what happened, she had faith in Peter. He would rescue her. She had no doubt.

Praying he could read the sincerity in her expression, she gave him a shaky smile and mouthed the words
I trust you
.