A Kiss Before Dawn (26 page)

His eyes blazed at her with a fierce light, and something passed between them in the second before Lord
Moreland pushed her forward toward the bag of jewels.

And in that instant, Emily slammed her elbow into Adam's gut and shoved at the hand holding the pistol as hard as she could.

The viscount cried out and clutched at his stomach, and his weapon went flying, hitting the floor and sliding across the carpet to disappear under the sideboard against the far wall.

And Peter exploded into action.

As the two men locked together in combat, Miles raced to untie Jenna and remove her from harm's way, while Emily ran across the room and dropped to her knees in front of the sideboard. If she could just get her hands on that gun…

But when she shoved her arm under the piece of furniture, her fingers closed on empty air.

Drat and blast, where was it?

She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her, the fight continued in earnest. There was no denying it was a life-or-death struggle, and both men were battered and bloody, each one determined to come out the victor. Even from this distance, Emily could see that one corner of Peter's lip was split and a nasty-looking bruise marred his cheekbone, while Lord Moreland sported a black eye that was already starting to swell.

As she watched, the viscount landed a particularly vicious blow that had Peter staggering backward, off balance, and she let out a cry of distress as he fell, landing on the carpet with a thud. Moreland took advantage of the opportunity to whirl around and withdraw a
poker from the stand next to the fireplace. A glint of wildness blazed in the man's hazel eyes as he lifted it above his head and faced Peter.

“I believe it's time to say good-bye, Mr. Quick,” he intoned with silky menace.

Frantically, Emily felt beneath the sideboard once again, and this time her groping fingers closed over cold metal. With a feeling of triumph, she withdrew the pistol and turned.

“Peter!” she shouted, and without hesitation she slid the weapon across the carpet toward him as hard as she could, just as the viscount launched himself forward, brandishing the poker.

In a flash of movement that was much too quick for Emily to even follow with her eyes, Peter snagged the gun, raised it, and fired.

Moreland jerked to a stop, the poker clattering to the ground. A splotch of red appeared on the front of his immaculate suit jacket, just above his heart, and he stared down at it in stunned silence for a long, drawn-out moment before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the floor, where he lay perfectly still.

For a second, no one moved. Then Emily shakily got to her feet and rushed to Peter, flinging her arms around his neck.

Dropping the still smoking pistol, he drew her down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her in an unbreakable vise as he buried his face in her hair. She could feel his heart thumping at a frenetic pace beneath her ear.

“My hero,” she whispered against his chest, and
though she tried to keep her voice light and teasing, it quavered ever so slightly.

“Oh, angel,” he choked out. “When I saw 'im 'olding that gun on you, I—” He stumbled to a halt, and she felt his body shudder. “God, I never want to go through anything like that again!”

Leaving Jenna standing near the parlor door, Miles had hurried forward to bend over Moreland's body and had a hand pressed to the side of his neck to check for a pulse. Emily looked up, and she knew even before the stable hand shook his head that the viscount was dead.

She felt nothing. This man had once been her friend, and the only thing she felt at his death was a curious sort of numbness. Perhaps later, after the shock had worn off, she would grieve. But for now, all she wanted to do was to stay right here in Peter's arms.

Forever, if he would allow it.

But it seemed forever was not to be. The sound of the front door slamming open out in the foyer suddenly echoed throughout the house. In the next instant, Lord Ellington appeared in the parlor doorway with Lilah and Cullen right behind him, a pale Deirdre cradled in his arms.

Alarmed at her sister-in-law's pallor, Emily sat forward in Peter's lap, stifling a gasp of dismay and concern. “Tristan, what is it?”

“Someone fetch the physician,” her brother croaked, his eyes wild and panicked. “She's having the baby!”

L
ate the next evening, Emily met with Peter and Tristan in her brother's study, feeling as if she were about to face a firing squad.

It had been a chaotic and draining twenty-four hours. With the countess's labor lasting all through the night and well into the morning, no one had gotten much rest. Not that Emily could have slept even if she'd attempted it after all that had happened. While she, Tristan, Lilah, and Jenna had stayed close to Deirdre's side, Peter, Miles, and Cullen had dealt with the removal of Viscount Moreland's body as well as contacting the authorities.

Emily had no notion of what Peter had told Tristan about the events of that evening or her part in the Oxfordshire thefts. She only knew that he had pulled her
brother aside briefly for a hushed conversation soon after the physician had arrived, then had departed with Miles and Cullen. Surely Tristan must have had some inkling of what she had done, though, for she'd caught him studying her with hooded eyes more than once over the course of the long night.

Though part of her had longed to fling herself at him, to throw her arms around his neck and let her long list of sins come pouring out, she'd known it would be selfish to unburden herself at this point. Deirdre and the baby had to come first, so she had remained silent. But she hadn't been able to help worrying about what would happen once her crimes were revealed.

By the time the sun had shone in through her sister-in-law's bedchamber window early that morning, Emily had been mentally and physically exhausted. And when the countess had finally been delivered of a healthy baby boy just after noon, the entire household had breathed a collective sigh of relief. Emily had barely made it to her room before collapsing into a deep and dreamless slumber.

She had arisen before dinnertime, feeling only partially refreshed, and made her way downstairs to discover that Peter had come back to the house while she'd been asleep, only to depart again with Tristan. Not knowing what was happening was enough to make her want to pull out her hair in frustration, and she had decided to try and take her mind off things by visiting with Deirdre and her new nephew.

And that was where she had been, seated at the countess's bedside and cradling the heir to the earldom
in her arms, when Langley had sought her out to let her know that Tristan and Peter had returned and were requesting her presence in the study.

This is it,
she'd thought, her heart pounding with dread. Had they brought the law with them? Would they insist on arresting her? Would Tristan ever forgive her for what she'd done? Oh, she had no doubt her brother would fight to keep them from putting her in jail or hanging her, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't blame her deep down.

And what about Peter?

To be truthful, she was almost more afraid of him than she was of facing her brother. He'd been so caring after what had happened with Adam, holding her in his arms as if she truly mattered to him, but he'd also been very angry with her when he'd discovered her duplicity. She hadn't talked to him since Tristan and Deirdre had walked into the middle of things last night, and she had no idea what he was thinking.

Or feeling.

Deirdre must have seen the trepidation on her face, but misread it as a reluctance to leave her nephew.

“Go on, dear,” the countess had said with a smile, taking the baby from Emily. “It's time for me to feed him anyway, and you can come and see him later. Jason will have plenty of time to get to know his aunt Emily.”

Emily had smiled and nodded, letting her sister-in-law believe what she wanted. After all, it was easier than telling her the truth.

And now, here she was, seated in a chair before her
brother, hands anxiously clasped together in her lap as she met Tristan's steady regard across the polished surface of his desk. His countenance was composed, unreadable.

There was a long silence in which each tick of the clock in the far corner could be heard. Uncertain of what to do or say, Emily was all too aware of Peter leaning against the wall behind her, arms crossed in a casual pose, his eyes burning into the back of her head in a most disconcerting fashion. She'd glanced at him once when she'd first entered the study, but she'd been careful to avoid looking at him since. His impassivity had rattled nerves that were already strung too tautly.

Finally, Tristan spoke, his voice calm without a trace of anger. “I thought you might like to know that all of the stolen items have been returned to their rightful owners.”

Emily felt a rush of relief at the same time as a sense of despair gripped her. So, the Tuttlestons, the Fulberrys, and Lord Caulfield would now all know what she had done.

But Tristan's next words surprised her. “They were delighted to have them back, of course. Right now they know nothing aside from the fact that the thief has been apprehended and the jewels recovered.”

Emily's eyes widened. “But surely they'll have to know the truth sooner or later?”

“Peter and I have discussed it, and we have decided it's for the best if your name remains out of it.”

“Out of it? How?”

“As far as the local authorities and the rest of Little Haverton are concerned, the sole perpetrator of the Oxfordshire thefts was a street thief named Jack Barlow. When the man was confronted last night regarding his crimes, he attempted to flee and was killed in the altercation. As was, sadly, the Viscount Moreland, who accompanied Peter in order to lend his aid in capturing the thief.

Emily shook her head, at a loss. None of what her brother was saying made sense. She couldn't help risking another glance back over her shoulder at Peter, who still stood in the same spot, his expression unchanged. “But I don't understand—”

“Peter gave me the letters you managed to…acquire from Barlow,” Tristan explained, drawing her attention back to him, “and we paid a visit to Lord Brimley. He agreed to hand over the rest of our mother's letters in exchange for our agreement to keep his son's part in this sorry affair silent. Of course, as a result the whole village shall wind up regarding the vile miscreant as a bit of a tragic hero, but I'm afraid that can't be helped.”

Rising, Tristan rounded his desk and stopped in front of Emily, catching her hands in his and drawing her to her feet. His face was no longer unreadable, but was full of warmth and concern. “I'm sorry, Emily,” he told her softly, giving her fingers a sympathetic squeeze. “I know he was your friend. I can't believe he managed to fool everyone so completely.”

She shook her head, still unable to believe that every
thing might work out for the best after all. Wasn't he going to yell at her, scold her? “But what about me? Don't I deserve some sort of punishment?”

For the first time since she'd entered the room, Tristan smiled. “I know you, sweetheart. I'm sure you've punished yourself far more than I ever could.” He let go of her hands to grip her shoulders, giving her a little shake. “Surely you must have known Peter and I would never let them arrest you? Yes, what you did was wrong, but you did it with the best of intentions, to protect the people you love.”

His smile faded to be replaced by a frown. “But don't believe for one minute that I'm not angry with you. Don't you ever dare keep such a thing from me again. Do you understand? We can weather any scandal, no matter what, so long as we stand together as a family.”

Her heart full of joy, Emily threw her arms around her brother in a grateful hug. “I love you, Tristan,” she whispered in a choked voice.

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” Tristan returned the hug, then set her from him and turned back to his desk to retrieve a bundle of yellowed papers tied with a ribbon. Emily recognized them immediately as the letters that had been in Lady Brimley's keepsake box the night she'd stolen the brooch.

He held them out to her. “Now, I think you should read these. I believe you might find that the situation with our mother was not as dire as you had feared.”

Emily eyed the letters askance for a moment, then
reached out and took them from her brother's hand before settling back into her chair to read.

The one on the top of the stack was dated two years after Tristan's birth.

Emily laid the yellowed page in her lap and looked up at her brother. “So, you
are
the true Earl of Ellington.”

Tristan shrugged. “At least as far as Mother was concerned. And I tend to agree. I look far too much like Father for me to ever believe otherwise, though it seems he was never entirely convinced of the fact. But that was his loss, I suppose.” He paused for a moment, then
inclined his head toward the letters she still held. “Why don't you keep those and read them when you have time? I've already looked through them, and it might help you feel a bit closer to Mother. I know you've always regretted the fact that your memories of her weren't as clear as mine.”

Emily's eyes blurred with tears and she bit her lip to keep them from spilling. “Thank you.”

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You are very welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I shall go spend some time with my wife and son. It's been a long day.”

With a nod to Peter, he departed the room.

Leaving the two of them alone for the first time since last night.

Emily's pulse beat in her ears and she took a deep breath before forcing herself to turn in her chair and face the man she loved. He was still standing with his arms crossed, his gaze hooded as he studied her.

What was she to say to him? Was he still angry? It was impossible for her to tell from his detached expression.

“Are you all right?”

His quiet inquiry startled her, and she jumped in her seat. Surely he couldn't hate her too much or he wouldn't have asked her such a question, wouldn't have cared whether she was all right or not.

She inhaled another steadying gust of air and forced a slight smile to her lips, unable to quite meet his eyes. “I am fine, though a bit tired.” Her fingers dug into the arms of her chair as she fought to slow the rapid pounding of her heart. “I want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not turning me in to the law, when I know it must have gone against everything you believe in as a Runner.”

An emotion she couldn't read flashed across his features and then was gone. “You were used, Emily. It's that simple.”

He seemed so cold, so distant, and Emily hated it. Where was the man who had held her tenderly in his arms last night, who had called her his angel?

Seeking to bridge the gap between them, she tucked her mother's letters in the pocket of her day dress and stood, taking a step toward him. “So, what will you do now?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone light and even. “Will you stay and visit with the future Earl of Ellington for a while?”

“As a matter of fact, I just informed your brother that I shall be leaving in the morning.”

Emily froze in place, certain she must have gone as white as a sheet. He was going away? After everything they had shared? He couldn't do this to her again!

Stunned, she forced herself to speak despite the sudden constriction of her throat. “Leaving? But why so soon?”

He lifted a shoulder in a careless manner and pushed himself away from the wall, striding over to stand before the window. “The case is solved and it is time for me to return to London. I've been here for almost a fortnight now, and I'm sure there must be important…matters awaiting my attention.”

Emily knew she would be leaving herself open to
heartache beyond bearing if she asked the question that trembled on her lips, but she had to know. “And what about us?”

“There is no us. There can't be.”

His reply left her feeling as if someone had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart, leaving a gaping hole in its place. “But…we made love last night.”

“That was a mistake that never should have happened. Nothing has changed. We cannot be together and you know why.”

“No, I don't know why!” Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, Emily made herself move forward once again until she stood directly behind him. She refused to let him throw away what they could have for the sake of what other people thought. “If we love each other, we should be willing to fight for what we want, and none of the rest matters.”

When he didn't speak, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under her touch, but she ignored it, desperate to get through to him, desperate to make him understand how she felt. “I love you, Peter. And I know you feel the same way.”

Utter silence.

“Peter?”

He turned back toward the window.

Dear God, but he
didn't
feel the same! That could be the only explanation for his reticence, and Emily was quite suddenly sure she would die from the pain and humiliation that washed through her. Peter had never said anything about his feelings for her, and she never should have let herself forget that.

“I see.” She backed away from him, unable to quell the slight hitch in her breathing. “I apologize for assuming you still had feelings for me. Obviously, I misunderstood what passed between us and was making far more of it than I should have.” Despite herself, a sob escaped her. “Please do have a safe journey back to London.”