A Kiss Before Dawn (11 page)

“I'm not hungry.”

“Perhaps not, but she says you've been keeping to yourself for the last few weeks, and she's worried about you. They all are. It might put their minds at ease if you would at least attempt to be a bit sociable. This separating yourself from everyone isn't like you.”

A muscle tightened in Benji's jaw and he looked away, gazing out over the pond. The silence stretched, and Peter was just beginning to think he would have to prod the boy again when he spoke.

“I don't belong with them.”

The words were said so inaudibly that at first Peter wasn't certain he'd heard correctly. When the statement finally registered, he felt his jaw drop in astonishment.

“Don't belong? Benji, you belong here just as much as anyone. Why would you say such a thing?”

The boy shook his head and reached up to rake his fingers through his blond curls. “It's just something I've always known. But lately—” He stopped, then gathered up his book and got to his feet, his eyes bleak behind the lenses of his spectacles. “Forget it. I don't want to talk about this.”

“But it might help if—”

“I said I don't want to talk about it!”

With that, Benji stormed off in the direction of Willow Park, leaving Peter staring after him.

O
ver two hours later, Emily found herself riding alongside Peter as they made their way toward Lord and Lady Fulberry's home on the outskirts of Little Haverton.

Reaching up with one hand, she brushed a stray curl back off her forehead, her bonnet having long ago tumbled off to hang down her back by its strings, and contemplated her companion from the corner of her eye.

He was such an enigma to her, she mused. Long ago she'd come to the conclusion that he couldn't possibly have been the sort of man her young heart had once believed him to be. That he couldn't honestly have cared for her and her family or anyone at Willow Park or he would never have left Oxfordshire—and her—the way that he had, without a word of explanation.

But observing him today, she'd been forced to concede that she just might have been mistaken in her assumptions. At least as far as the Willow Park residents were concerned. Talking and laughing with them at the lunch table, regaling them with tales of his life as a Bow Street runner, he'd seemed so happy, so content. To her consternation, he'd fit in as if he'd never left. And it was obvious the boys and girls adored him. To them, he was their hero. Just as he had once been hers.

Never before could Emily remember feeling so confused.

For the rest of their visit to the Park, she'd found herself unable to keep her eyes from this man who had caused such an upheaval in her life, both four years ago and in the last few days since his return. It was as if some strange magnetic pull beyond her control drew her gaze to him.

And more than one person had noticed her preoccupation with him. She'd seen Mrs. McLean send her several knowing looks, and Jenna had even pulled her aside before she and Peter had departed to comment on it.

“You keep staring at 'im like a cat at the cream,” her friend had pointed out with a sly grin as they'd watched him saying good-bye to everyone.

“What utter nonsense,” Emily had sniffed, deliberately turning her back on the sight of Peter as he'd shaken hands with Rachel McLean's big, redheaded husband, Angus. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, I'm sure you don't. But you know, it might not be so terrible if you was to give 'im another chance.”

“Another chance to what? Break my heart? Leave me behind again without a second thought? I don't think so.”

Jenna's face had turned solemn. “Em, Peter's a good man. If nothing else, seeing 'im with the children today should 'ave proven that. Everyone seems to love 'im. Even your brother and 'is wife like 'im. Shouldn't that tell you something?”

It didn't matter that her friend had only been repeating what she herself had been thinking. She wasn't quite ready to accept that her judgment of him could have been so far off the mark. “I don't know, Jenna. I don't know what to think.”

“I 'ate to say it, but maybe you ought to just come right out and ask 'im why 'e left.” The younger girl had laid a sympathetic hand on Emily's arm. “Until you do, it will always be there between you. And you never know. 'E might 'ave 'ad a very good reason for what 'e did. Doesn't 'e at least deserve the benefit of the doubt?”

Jenna's words echoed in her head now, and Emily scowled, her hands tightening on her reins. There had been more than ample opportunity over the years for Peter to explain his actions to her, but he had never gone out of his way to do so. Obviously it hadn't been that important to him or he wouldn't have spent his past visits to Oxfordshire avoiding her.

But you never sought him out, either, Emily,
a little voice in the back of her mind hissed.
You never bothered to ask him for his side of the story.

But did she really want to know the answer? Did she
really want to find out that the reason behind his hasty departure from Little Haverton had nothing to do with a lack of caring on his part, and everything to do with her?

At one time, Peter had given her every reason to believe they would be spending the rest of their lives together. But somewhere along the way, things had come undone. Perhaps he had changed his mind and decided he didn't want her after all. But if that had been the case, why hadn't he come to her and told her the truth?

She didn't know. The only thing she was certain of was that it was getting harder and harder to ignore the feelings he was still capable of stirring in her. And after that kiss last night…

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Peter's warm, husky voice jolted Emily out of her reverie, and she gave a startled jump before taking a deep breath to steady her suddenly fluttering pulse. Certain her face must be an alarming shade of red, she turned to look at him, praying that he would think the sun was responsible for the color in her cheeks.

“I was just wondering about your conversation with Benji,” she said, attempting to keep her voice calm and even. It wasn't a complete lie. She
had
been worrying about what had transpired between the two of them at the pond after she had left them. Peter hadn't mentioned it and the boy had never reappeared. “He never did join us for lunch.”

“No. He made it clear he wasn't interested in doing so.”

Glad to have something else to turn her mind to, she sighed and shook her head. “I just don't understand it.
Benji has always been so cheerful, so willing to spend time with the other children, especially the younger ones. Now, all of a sudden he can't stay far enough away from them.” She bit her lip. “You don't suppose it has something to do with the robberies, do you?”

“I don't know. It could. I'm assuming Constable Jenkins has questioned him?”

“Once, along with a couple of the other older boys. But the odious man spent the whole time trying to intimidate one of them into confessing, so Tristan wouldn't allow it again.” She would never forgive herself if what she was doing had led to Benji's present moroseness. She could well see how being suspected of a crime he'd had nothing to do with could make the boy resentful. Especially when he'd struggled so hard to better himself.

Peter frowned. “Sooner or later, I may have to question them again, if only to make sure I've covered all the same ground the constable has. But I don't believe for a minute that Benji had anything to do with it. Or any of the other children, for that matter. This thief is more than likely an adult. Someone who knows his marks personally and knows them well.”

Emily felt herself go cold at his words. “What makes you say that?”

“For one, he seems to be well aware of the routines of his victims. He knew what night Lord and Lady Tuttleston would be away from home and used that to his advantage. And from what Constable Jenkins has told me, Lord and Lady Fulberry always throw a rather large dinner party the week before they are scheduled
to depart for London every Season. I think the thief deliberately chose that night to break in knowing that they, as well as their servants, would be occupied seeing to their guests.”

He was getting much too close, Emily thought with a flare of panic. Uncomfortably close. “But couldn't anyone determine that just by asking a few subtle questions here and there, or by observing the victims for a while? I mean, isn't it possible the culprit could be someone unknown to the victims?”

One of Peter's tawny eyebrows shot upward and he studied her with interest as he replied. “Perhaps. But there is also the fact that the thief appears to know exactly where each of the victims kept their valuables and went straight to their location, something that wouldn't be common knowledge. In the case of the Tuttlestons, he had something specific in mind. Lady Tuttleston's necklace. And whoever it was knew she kept it in her jewelry box, not her husband's safe.”

“A servant might have that kind of information,” Emily insisted, determined to offer up at least a measure of doubt as to his theory.

“True. And I haven't ruled them out. But all of Lord and Lady Tuttleston's servants have alibis for the time of the break-in. Of course, that doesn't eliminate the possibility that they could be working with someone on the outside, someone they passed their information on to. And if I can compare that scrap of cloth I found to some of their clothing, I might luck out and find a match. Although I doubt the thief will wear the same clothing during the day as he does during his break-ins.”

“We still don't even know whether that scrap has anything to do with the thief,” Emily argued. “It could have been blown there from somewhere else entirely.”

“But it seems unlikely. It was stuck rather firmly to the branch, which I doubt could have happened if it had just been blown there by a passing breeze. I am well aware, however, that I can't rely solely on that to identify the culprit. You're right. Its presence in the tree can be too easily explained away by other means. But it
is
a place to start.”

Peter's visage was filled with such grim purpose that Emily couldn't suppress a small shiver. “You seem so determined. Do you truly think you will be able to catch him?”

“Oh, I can assure you, I
am
determined. And there is no doubt in my mind that I will catch him.” She watched him as his eyes narrowed and he gazed off into the distance. “Because of this criminal, my family has been threatened. The only family I have ever known. Not only have the children of Willow Park been badgered and accused of his crimes, but your brother and his wife have been forced to worry about the future of the home at a time when they should be concerning themselves with nothing but the arrival of their babe.”

He paused, then looked back at her, his countenance rife with utter resolve. “I will not stand by and allow it to continue. I
will
track this miscreant down, and when I do he will be made to pay for the pain he has caused. I give you my word on that.”

His voice was filled with such anger and assurance that Emily had to look away. She would not—could
not—allow herself to be swayed by guilt. She had to remember her family was at stake. But if she'd had any uncertainty over how Peter would react if he ever discovered her unholy alliance with Jack, she didn't now.

He would hate her.

“Well,” she said as Lord and Lady Fulberry's home came into view just up ahead, “here we are at our destination.” The towers of Fulberry Manor were a welcome sight, and needing to put some distance between herself and Peter, she urged Artemis ahead with a small nudge of her heel, calling back to him over her shoulder. “We'd better hurry. It's getting late.”

She caught a brief glimpse of his puzzled expression, but she brushed it aside as she trotted ahead of him up the drive. Better that she leave him wondering at her strange behavior than stay in his company and give herself away.

Deep down, she had known that his return to Knighthaven would cause her nothing but further heartache and pain. But never could she have guessed when she had run into him that morning in the woods that the man she had once loved might wind up holding her very future in his hands.

B
y the time Peter and Emily departed the Fulberry residence late that afternoon, the sun that had been so bright earlier in the day was starting to disappear behind a layer of threatening gray clouds. The scent of rain on the air and the faint sound of thunder in the distance heralded a coming storm.

A groom brought their horses forward, and as Peter moved to assist Emily into her saddle, he studied her rather closed expression. She'd been quiet ever since they had arrived, and he couldn't help wondering what was troubling her.

Apart from being forced to spend time in his company, of course.

With a grimace, he swung up onto his own mount's
back and fell in next to her as she prodded her mare into a walk. She seemed eager to be on her way.

And he supposed he couldn't blame her. They had spent several hours at Fulberry Manor, and he felt no closer to putting a name to the Oxfordshire Thief than he had the first day he'd arrived.

Unlike the Tuttlestons, Lord and Lady Fulberry were a young couple who had been married just a few short years. When questioned about the robberies, the marquis had only been able to say that it seemed the thief had entered the study through the room's French doors and had known the precise location of the family safe: behind a portrait of the very first Marquis and Marchioness of Fulberry. Once again, the lock on the French doors had apparently been picked by an expert hand, and the safe itself showed no signs of forced entry.

Almost as if the thief had known the combination.

When Peter had asked the marquis if this were possible, the man had blinked and shaken his head. “I suppose anything is possible, but as far as I know, the only ones with the combination are myself and my wife.”

Lady Fulberry, a flighty and high-strung young woman a few years older than Emily, had sobbed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “This entire situation has been a nightmare! And now we shall have to delay our departure for London for the Season until this whole matter is settled. We shall have to miss the Duchess of Klein's ball this year, and I can't tell you what a disappointment that is.”

Emily had made a sympathetic noise and patted the woman's arm, and Peter had found himself grateful
once again for her presence. She alone had appeared to be holding the emotional marchioness in check, as Lord Fulberry himself had seemed at an utter loss as to how to deal with his weeping wife.

Peter could only breathe a sigh of relief when it was finally time to leave. The marquis had provided him with a list of guests that had attended their dinner party the evening of the break-in, as well as an itemized list of the valuables that had been taken, and after undertaking a thorough search of the premises and speaking with the staff, he could think of nothing more to be done.

He glanced over at Emily now where she trotted along beside him and cleared his throat, drawing her curious gaze to his.

“I want to thank you for your help today,” he ventured. “I appreciate it.”

She shrugged. “I didn't really do all that much.”

“On the contrary. You did a great deal. You kept the marchioness calm and out of the way. I must confess, if I'd been forced to spend too much time in the lady's esteemed company, I might have been tempted to jump from the highest tower.”

One corner of Emily's mouth curved in amusement. “Penelope isn't so bad. A bit shallow, it's true, but deep down she has a good heart.”

When Peter raised an eyebrow at her in inquiry, she went on. “I've known her since we were quite young. We were never the best of friends, of course. More acquaintances. But she never treated me as if I were an outcast as some others in society did. She talked her husband into making a very generous donation to Wil
low Park recently, and I'll always be grateful to her for that.”

“That was indeed kind of her.”

“Yes. It was.”

They rode on in silence for several minutes, and Peter found himself racking his brain for some other topic of conversation. When he opened his mouth again and his next words came out, however, he could have bitten his tongue off.

“You know, you never did explain where it was you went to last night.”

Emily stiffened noticeably, and he stifled a curse. Of all the things he could have said, bringing up their run in the evening before was the last one he should have mentioned. He was well aware of that, but the truth was, as hard as he'd tried, he had been unable to dismiss his curiosity as to where she had been before he'd stumbled across her in the garden. It had been weighing on his mind, and he couldn't seem to rid himself of the suspicion that it might have had something to do with the Viscount Moreland.

The very possibility was enough to make him see red.

“I told you, I went for a walk,” she said, her tone stilted as she avoided his gaze. “And I thought we had agreed we weren't going to speak of it again.”

“We agreed we wouldn't speak of what occurred between us. I never agreed not to question you as to your whereabouts.” Some demon of jealousy inside of him would not let him drop the subject now that it had been brought up. “You're being so secretive about it, can you
blame me for wondering? Are you certain it has nothing to do with your…good friend Lord Moreland?”

Her face reddened and she faced him once more, her violet eyes blazing. “I'm not being secretive. I've told you exactly where I went and there is nothing more to be said. And Lord Moreland is a gentleman who would never think of luring a young lady out of her home in the middle of the night for any reason.” She lifted her chin in a mutinous fashion. “But as I said last evening, even if I had been sneaking out to meet him, I can't see where it would be any business of yours. You gave up the right to meddle in my affairs when you left us all.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, aching to break free. But before he could give voice to his anger, a drop of rain splattered against his cheek and called his attention to the menacing sky above. The sun had long ago disappeared, and the roiling black clouds overhead looked ready to drop their heavy burden at any moment.

Brushing aside his temper, Peter indicated the darkness above them with a jerk of his head. “As much as I would love to continue to argue the point with you, I'm afraid we have a problem. It's going to rain at any moment, and from the looks of those clouds and the way the wind is whipping up, it's not going to be any brief spring shower. There's no way we're going to make it to Knighthaven before it pours.”

As if to punctuate his statement, a bolt of lightning cut across the sky in front of them in a jagged arc, followed by a roll of thunder, and two more fat raindrops pelted the side of his face. Damnation! They were still
on the outskirts of Little Haverton and had at least a mile or two to travel before they would even reach the village, much less Knighthaven.

Emily reached up and caught at the bonnet that hung down her back as a sudden gust of wind attempted to wrest it from her grasp, then looked over at Peter with apprehension, her earlier disagreement with him forgotten for the moment. “Should we go back to Fulberry Manor to wait it out?”

He shook his head. “It's almost as far to go back now as it would be to continue on to the village.”

She bit her lip and studied the path ahead for a moment, then glanced back at him. “I believe there is a small cottage just a little farther ahead, set back off the road. It's abandoned and quite dilapidated, but it might offer us a bit of shelter from the storm.”

Peter knew the building she was speaking of. The home of a previous tenant who had once resided on the Fulberry estate, it had been vacant for as long as he could remember, and it was indeed ramshackle at best. In fact, they would be lucky if it didn't fall down around their heads.

But as far as he could see, they didn't have much choice.

He nodded. “All right. Let's go.”

No sooner had he come to that decision than the rain began to come down in earnest, and he and Emily urged their horses on to a faster pace, their clothes quickly becoming drenched with water as they struggled through the downpour.

After what seemed like a small eternity, Peter finally
caught sight of the cottage's roof through the trees and called out to his companion, signaling her to turn Artemis off the road. She did so and he followed, both of them coming to a halt in the weed-choked yard.

Swinging down from his saddle, he reached up to assist Emily and gave her a nudge in the direction of the building once she joined him on the ground. “Go ahead in,” he told her. “I'll take care of the horses.”

“But—”

“Go on. It shouldn't take long, and I'll be in shortly.”

She hesitated for only a second, then obeyed, and he waited until he was certain she was safely inside before leading their mounts around to the rear of the dwelling. There, a squat wooden structure that must have once been used to house the former occupant's horses sat a short distance away from the cottage itself. Though it appeared to be in even worse shape than the rest of the property, at least the roof was still intact and should offer Champion and Artemis some measure of protection from the elements.

Once he had calmed the two animals and had made them as comfortable as possible in the circumstances, he retrieved his saddlebag and returned to Emily.

The interior of the cottage was cold and dark, and Peter had to pause for a moment in the doorway to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the dimness. A sudden flare of light from the far corner drew his attention, and as he saw Emily straighten away from the tumbledown fireplace, he was surprised to realize that she'd managed to start a small fire.

As she stood silhouetted by its glow, she had never
looked more like an angel. It took his breath away. Her long blond curls had come loose from their pins and fell about her shoulders in a damp mass of molten gold, and her sodden yellow gown clung to her ripe curves like a second skin, outlining her full breasts, slender waist, and rounded hips to perfection.

His mouth went dry. Perhaps not an angel. More like a seductive nymph sent to tempt him, despite all of his good intentions.

Taking note of him lingering on the threshold, she sent him a wry smile that he could see even in the half-light. “I could be wrong, but I doubt that you'll get very dry if you intend to remain out there in the storm.”

He gave a start. She must think him mad to be standing here gaping at her like a complete lack-wit. Struggling to subdue his seething emotions, he came the rest of the way inside and closed the heavy wooden door behind him against the torrents of rain.

She came toward him, her head tilted as she examined him with veiled eyes. “Are the horses settled?”

Unable to speak, he nodded and turned his attention to their surroundings, faintly illuminated by the glow of the flames. The room was large and drafty with a hard-packed dirt floor and a low-beamed ceiling. It was also empty. There wasn't a lick of furniture in the place except for a rickety wooden stool set before the fire.

He jerked his head in that direction, needing a way to escape her disturbing proximity. “Why don't you go warm yourself by the flames? You need to let your clothes dry out or you'll be catching a fever, and your brother will never forgive me.”

She studied him for a long, drawn-out moment, and just when he thought she wasn't going to comply, she shrugged and moved away, seating herself on the stool before the hearth.

With an inner sigh of relief, Peter hunched down on the dirt floor and started to unpack his saddlebag.

The first thing he withdrew was his pistol.

Hearing a slight gasp, he looked up to find Emily watching him with eyes as wide as saucers in her pale face. She was staring at the weapon, her expression apprehensive.

What? Did she think he was going to shoot her?

When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper. “You know, I…” She stumbled to a halt and licked her lips, the action unknowingly sensuous, then tried again. “I've always been aware in some corner of my mind that your job involves a certain amount of danger, but I don't think I ever let myself truly consider just
how
dangerous it must be.”

He ignored the jolt the sight of that pink tongue sweeping across her lips caused him and hefted the pistol in his hand, holding it up so the firelight flickered off the cold metal of the barrel. “Yes, well, luckily I've rarely been forced to use this.” He shot her a censuring look. “Thank God I didn't have it with me last night.”

She froze for an infinitesimal second, then her chin went up at a haughty angle and she looked away, staring into the orange flames next to her.

Would he never learn to keep his mouth shut? It seemed he always knew the right thing to say to put her
back up. One minute they could be having a perfectly cordial conversation, and the next they were at each other's throats.

Smothering the frustration that boiled within him, Peter yanked a blanket from his bag and held it out toward Emily. “Here. You need to get out of that dress.”

Her head jerked back in his direction with such force that her wet curls bounced on her shoulders. “I beg your pardon?”

One corner of his mouth quirked upward in amusement in spite of himself. “You're still shivering. You need to take off the gown and wrap yourself in this.”

She hesitated, then stood and came forward to accept the blanket, eyeing him with a certain amount of distrust. “You won't look?”

“You know, I am capable of being a gentleman if the situation calls for it.” And the last thing he needed was to see that luscious figure unclothed. “I promise I won't look.”

To emphasize his point, he turned his back and busied himself emptying the rest of his pack, trying to ignore the sound of material rustling behind him. He could almost visualize the creamy skin that would be revealed as she peeled the muslin gown down over her body, the way the firelight would illuminate all her secret curves and hollows, gilding her with an ethereal glow…