A Kiss Before Dawn (17 page)

As they started along the path at a leisurely pace, Emily studied the countess's stomach with concern. Was it just her imagination, or did it look twice as big as it had yesterday? “And how is the future Earl of Ellington?”

“As well as can be expected. According to the doctor, he should be making an appearance any day now.”

“And you're so certain he's a boy?”

Deirdre gave a tinkling laugh. “He wouldn't dare be
anything else.” She touched her belly again, a brief, loving caress. “He's been restless the last few days. Almost as restless as I am. It's as if he knows it's time.”

Emily felt renewed determination stiffen her spine at her sister-in-law's words. If that were true, then it was all the more reason to put an end to Jack's machinations. When this child came into the world, she wanted Jack Barlow in jail, no longer able to threaten anything or anyone she loved.

It made what would happen tonight that much more important.

They had halted next to the fountain, and Deirdre's expression became serious as she turned to face Emily. “There is more than one reason I asked you to walk with me. I want you to know how glad I am to see that you've been able to put your differences with Peter aside and work with him on this investigation. It has meant a great deal to your brother and me, though I know it has been difficult for you.”

“Yes, well, I've been glad to be of help. You know I would do anything for you and Tristan.”

The countess's eyes narrowed in sudden shrewdness. “And what about Peter?”

The mere mention of the man's name was enough to bring to life all the confusing, mixed-up emotions that seemed to overwhelm Emily whenever she was in his presence, and just thinking about their near-kiss of only moments ago made her shiver. Struggling to appear unaffected, she gave a deliberate shrug. “What about him?”

“Oh, darling, I'm not blind. It used to be that you
would have done anything for him, as well. In fact, I would have wagered a guess that Peter was the most important person in your life. I know he hurt you when he left, but after spending time with him this past week, perhaps you've realized that not everything is what it seems.”

Emily started to protest, to deny there was any truth to what Lady Ellington was saying, but somehow the words just wouldn't come. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, arresting the lie before it could escape her lips. What was the use of denying something that had always been all too obvious?

“He believes he wasn't—isn't good enough for me,” she finally whispered.

She felt Deirdre's fingers tighten on her arm, and she looked up to find the older woman watching her with a sympathetic countenance. “I'm going to let you in on a little secret, dear. Males don't always know everything. In fact, they are quite frequently wrong about a great many things, though they would never admit it. And that is when the female must learn to take matters into her own hands.”

She began to walk again, tugging Emily along with her, this time toward Knighthaven. “By the way,” she drew out slowly, one corner of her mouth curving upward in a significant smile. “You might be interested to know that Tristan and I have been invited to dinner at Cullen and Lilah's tonight, and after much pleading on my part, your brother has agreed to go. I expect that we shall be gone
most of the evening,
and the house should be quite…
empty
.”

Emily's feet froze to the cobblestones and she came
to an abrupt stop on the walkway, certain she must have misread the less than subtle hint in the woman's voice. “Deirdre, what are you saying?”

The countess let go of Emily's arm and placed her hands on her hips with an exasperated sniff. “Emily Knight, if you don't know, I'm certainly not going to tell you. But you've never been one to give up on something you really want, so if you love that man, you'd best figure it out. And quickly.”

With that, she waddled off in the direction of the house.

Stunned, Emily stared after her, her mouth agape, clutching her book to her chest in an almost convulsive grip. Perhaps if she'd had her wits about her, she might have been more flabbergasted at the fact that her elegant sister-in-law had, for all intents and purposes, just given her permission to seduce Peter Quick right under Knighthaven's very roof, though in a rather roundabout fashion. But she was too caught up in the words Deirdre had spoken before she'd walked away.

“If you love that man, you'd best figure it out.”

Love? She didn't
love
Peter. There was no denying she had in the past, of course, and it was true that there was still a certain amount of physical attraction between them, but love? No. She couldn't—she didn't—

Oh, dear God, she did!

A picture of Peter's smiling face flashed across her inner vision, and her mind went back over the last week since his return. She thought of the way he had been with the children the day they had visited Willow Park, so patient and kind, and the way he had
talked and laughed with her in the stables the other day, his gentle teasing reminding her of the strength of their childhood bond. The way he had caressed her, kissed her in the abandoned cottage, with such worshipful reverence, as if she were infinitely precious to him…

Her knees suddenly felt like water and she had to clutch at a nearby statue for support. Despite the best of intentions and the defenses she had tried to erect between them, he'd somehow found his way past her wounded exterior to her heart again.

She still loved him. Perhaps she had never stopped.

Without conscious thought, her feet carried her in the direction of the house, her mind focused on the dilemma that lay before her. Never had she felt so lost. Acknowledging the true depth of her feelings for Peter could only cause her more heartache in the end. He had already made up his mind that he wasn't good enough for her, that a real relationship between them could never be. And once he discovered what she had done, how she had deceived him…

Dear God, what was she going to do?

Entering Knighthaven through the French doors into the parlor, Emily crossed the room and stepped out into the foyer, her mind still awhirl with the confusion of her thoughts. She had just made her way to the foot of the stairs when Tristan's study door opened and Peter emerged.

Seeing him so soon after becoming aware of her newly reawakened emotions left her feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach. Her breath seemed to
leave her as their eyes met across the short distance separating them.

Say something, Emily,
a voice scolded sternly in her head.
Quit standing here, staring at him like a ninny, and say something!

She opened her mouth to speak, determined to force out some sort of polite pleasantry, no matter how banal it sounded. But before she could say a thing, there was a knock at the door.

Langley hurried past them on the way to open it, and Emily breathed an inner sigh of relief. She could only be grateful for the timely interruption, for she couldn't have guaranteed that any words she had spoken would have made sense.

But when the butler swung open the heavy oak portal and she saw who was standing on the other side, her relief turned to alarm.

“Constable Jenkins.” Peter came forward to greet the man, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. “Has something untoward occurred?”

“I'm afraid so, Mr. Quick.” The man glanced at Emily over Peter's shoulder, looking just as sullen and unhappy to be there as he had on his previous visit. “You asked me to keep you apprised of anything new in the case of the Oxfordshire thefts. Well, it seems there was a break-in at Brimley Hall last night. A very expensive brooch was stolen.”

“Our man?”

“Appears to be. But this time someone got a look at him. Lord Brimley himself apparently stumbled upon the thief in the midst of the robbery.”

Emily felt her stomach turn over and she took a step backward, glad that Peter's back was to her and he couldn't see her reaction. Had the marquis recognized her after all?

“Unfortunately, the marquis has suffered some sort of attack,” the constable went on. “His heart, the physician seems to think. The man's not very lucid and I'm having a hard time getting anything out of him other than a lot of rambling nonsense. Lord Moreland suggested that you might be of help.” His condescending tone clearly said that he rather doubted that.

This was it, Emily thought wildly. She would have to go back to Brimley Hall and face the very person who had seen her stealing from his home just a matter of hours before. Would he remember? Would he denounce her in front of Adam and the constable?

And Peter?

Guilt stabbed her in the heart. And how was she to deal with the fact that she was the cause of the poor man's current condition? Some sort of attack? Dear God, it was all her fault!

Peter spun to face her, the light of determination gleaming in his eyes. “This could be what we've been waiting for. Are you up for a visit to Brimley Hall, my lady?”

Struggling to keep her face expressionless, Emily nodded. It was a risk, but what else could she do? Adam was her friend, the marquis a close neighbor. After accompanying Peter to the homes of each of the previous victims, she would draw suspicions if she refused. And
she
had
to find out for herself what he had seen. She would never rest easy otherwise.

She suppressed a shudder of fear and dread as Peter turned back to the constable. What would she do if Lord Brimley gave her away?

It didn't bear thinking about.

F
rom his seat across from Emily in the Ellington carriage, Peter studied her delicate profile as she peered out the window at the passing scenery on the way to Brimley Hall. He couldn't help but note that she'd been silent ever since they had departed Knighthaven.

Anyone who didn't know her well might have been fooled by the bland mask of her features into believing she was calm and composed, but the stiffness of her posture and the tightening of her full lips were clear indications to Peter of the disquiet that seethed just beneath the surface of that cool façade.

What could possibly be troubling her?

He couldn't help but wonder if their encounter in the garden had something to do with it. Damn it, he had
never meant to touch her, but the paleness of her features, the weariness in her eyes, had made him long to comfort her. And his good intentions had gone right out the window the moment she had leaned toward him with her mouth temptingly parted. Though he should be grateful that Deirdre had interrupted them, he found that he couldn't quite manage to convince himself that tasting those sweet lips again would have been a mistake.

Had the incident left Emily as restless and aching as it had left him?

Feeling his body react in a predictable male fashion to the lustful direction of his thoughts, Peter shrugged off the vision of Emily in his arms and shifted in his seat, forcing himself to face her once again.

He schooled his own features into what he hoped was an unreadable expression and fought to keep his voice steady when he spoke to her. “Are you feeling all right? You've been very quiet since we left the house.”

He saw her hands tighten into fists in her lap, and she paused for a moment before turning away from the window to send him a veiled look from under lowered lashes. “I'm fine. Just concerned about Lord Brimley, I suppose. He's been unwell for quite some time, but something like this…” She glanced away again, her jaw tautening. “Is it necessary for us to interview him now? I would hate to cause him any undue distress.”

Peter leaned forward, silently willing her to meet his eyes. When she finally did, he offered her an understanding smile. “I dislike the prospect as much as you do, but I'm afraid this is the only lead we have at this point, and it's best that we speak with him while the in
cident is fresh in his mind. We can't afford to leave any stone unturned. I assure you, I have no wish to cause the marquis any further harm. We'll speak with his physician first, and I'll be as gentle and brief in my questioning as possible.”

She gave him a timid smile in return, and the shy sweetness of it robbed him of breath. More and more often lately, the young girl he had once known was showing through that prickly exterior, making it difficult for him to distance himself from her in any way.

“I understand,” she told him, her voice whisper soft. “I do. It's just that he's been through so much already.”

The worry in her tone had Peter reaching out to her before he thought, his hand covering hers in her lap in what had been meant to be a comforting gesture.

He was immediately singed by the heat that arced between them.

Emily gave an audible gasp, and their gazes locked for a long, drawn-out moment. Time hung suspended.

And then the carriage lurched to a halt.

Breathing an inner sigh of relief, Peter removed his hand from its unnerving contact with hers and inclined his head in a brisk nod. “Right. It appears we have arrived.”

Before he could think of anything else to say to help alleviate the sudden tension that seemed to suffuse the very air around them, the door of the coach swung outward and Lord Moreland appeared in the opening.

“You're here!” Ignoring Peter's presence, the man reached inside for Emily, who rose from her seat and
accepted his help in alighting. “The constable returned just a short while ago. He said you were on your way, so I've been waiting.”

“Oh, Adam, I was so sorry to hear about what happened. And your father…” Once Emily was on the ground next to him, she wrapped her arms about the viscount's neck in a brief, sympathetic hug. “How is he?”

Peter, climbing down from the carriage behind her, felt his blood start a slow, simmering boil through his veins as Moreland returned her hug. The way the man slipped his arms about Emily's waist seemed much too familiar, the look on that handsome face far too calculating for his liking.

“He's doing as well as can be expected,” Moreland was saying in response to Emily's query. When she drew away and would have taken a step back, he halted her with one hand at her elbow, guiding her toward the stone steps that led up to the large front door in a proprietary manner that set Peter's teeth on edge. He was left to bring up the rear.

As usual,
he thought darkly, falling into step behind them.

“The physician says he should recover,” the viscount continued as they entered the house. Pausing in the polished marble entryway, he gestured to a hovering butler, who hurried forward to divest the new arrivals of their hats and gloves before fading away into the background again. “
If
he will start obeying instructions and remain in bed. However, you know Father. He never
should have attempted to confront the thief on his own, but he's a stubborn old man.”

Peter could remain quiet no longer. “Exactly what was taken, Lord Moreland?”

The viscount frowned in his direction, but Peter refused to back down. He had an investigation to run, and it was just too bloody damn bad if this dandified snob didn't like it.

Some of his determination must have shown on his face, for Moreland shrugged and relented. “A brooch that belonged to my late mother. Damned if I know how the bounder even found it. Father wanted to leave things in her room untouched, so it has remained in her keepsake box on the topmost shelf of her armoire ever since her death. He only rarely took it out.”

“And who else would have occasion to know this?”

“Only those close to the family, and perhaps a few servants.”

Peter furrowed his brow in thought. As he had suspected.

Emily, who had been silent all this time, finally took a step forward and spoke up. “And nothing else was taken?”

“Not that we can ascertain. It appears as if the thief picked the lock on the library doors and came in that way. Passed right by my father's safe and didn't even touch it.”

Peter contemplated the winding staircase that led up toward the dark upper reaches of the house. “May we speak with the marquis?”

“You're welcome to try. The constable has spent
most of the morning doing just that, but every time he starts to get somewhere, Father drifts off into his own little world.” The viscount's mouth tightened. “He's tended to ramble quite a bit in recent years, but it seems worse since last night.”

“Oh, Adam, I'm so sorry.” As Peter watched, a shadow seemed to cross Emily's face and her eyes glittered with unshed tears before she blinked them away and reached up to lay a hand on Moreland's arm. “So very sorry.”

To Peter's ears, she sounded pained, almost tormented. It was more than mere sympathy that showed in her expression. It was grief, stark and unflinching.

Had she truly been that close to the Marquis of Brimley? Or was her agonized reaction due to her relationship with Lord Moreland?

The viscount waved a hand at the stairs. “You may go ahead up if you like. The constable is waiting, and I'm certain he's anxious for you to join him.”

Peter gave him a curious look. “You aren't coming?”

“It's difficult for me to see him like this. The physician has suggested that I hire a round-the-clock nurse to sit with him. Father has resisted the idea in the past, but now…”

When his voice trailed off, Emily gave him a gentle smile and moved closer to him in a way that had Peter clenching his hands into fists in order to resist the urge to pull her away from the man.

“I understand,” she said, her tone soothing.

“I only hope Father does.” Lord Moreland patted Emily's hand, then sent Peter a hooded glare from nar
rowed hazel eyes. “You go on. I'll be up in a short while.”

“Very well.” Emily turned to Peter, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Mr. Quick?”

He sketched her a slight bow, unable to resist goading her just a bit after all the attention she had given the viscount. He knew it was childish, but watching her fawn over the man had been too damn aggravating. “After you, my lady.”

She pursed her lips and regarded him for a long moment, then swept past him on the way to the stairs. Peter followed, casting one last glance back at the viscount as he went.

Moreland stared after them, his visage devoid of emotion.

Peter shook his head. Maybe it was jealousy, plain and simple, but as Emily led the way up the stairs, he couldn't help but feel that the man was hiding something.

The second-floor hallway was dim and hushed, the draperies covering the windows at each end drawn against the morning sunlight. Standing before Lord Brimley's bedchamber door, the constable chatted with a balding, middle-aged man whom Peter took to be the marquis's physician.

As he and Emily approached, the two men ceased their conversation and the constable nodded stiffly to them both. “My lady. Mr. Quick.”

The other gentleman was introduced as Dr. Billings, and after the customary pleasantries were exchanged, Peter posed his first question to him. “How fares the marquis? Is he well enough to be interviewed?”

The doctor surveyed them with disapproval, but gave his consent with a curt gesture. “I suppose it would be all right as long as you don't take long and don't over-tire him. But Constable Jenkins has spoken with his lordship at length and failed to gain anything of use from him, so I can't see how it will do you any good.”

Jenkins's smug smirk infuriated Peter. But he merely drew a deep breath in order to gain control of his seething temper, letting one corner of his mouth curve upward slightly in a superior smile that was certain to irritate the man. “You may be surprised, Dr. Billings.”

“Perhaps.” The physician frowned, his eyebrows lowering in a censorious fashion as he turned from Peter to Emily. “My lady, are you certain you wish to go in as well? I can't help but believe it isn't at all proper.”

If Dr. Billings had hoped to convince Emily to remain outside the sickroom, he had chosen the wrong words to do so. Peter watched as her shoulders straightened and she leveled the doctor with a chilly stare.

“Nonsense,” she informed the physician in a lofty tone, her violet eyes shooting sparks that had Peter stifling a chuckle. “The marquis is an old family friend, and what is
proper
doesn't enter into it. Besides, I'm certain having a bit of company can only do him good.”

Dr. Billings puffed up in obvious displeasure, appearing disgruntled and rather affronted by Emily's unwillingness to concede his point, but he backed down in the face of her determined ire. “Of course, my lady. As you say.”

With a sniff, she pivoted and swept off toward Lord
Brimley's room, and Peter followed, still grinning. That was his Em, he mused with a definite touch of pride and—-no matter how he tried to deny it—-more than a hint of possessiveness.

Once inside the bedchamber with the door closed behind them, however, Emily's militant mien suddenly abandoned her. She came to a halt at the foot of the large, four-poster bed, and the same shadow that had crossed her face downstairs settled over her features once more, making her look pale and shaken.

Peter longed to hold her, to comfort her with the strength of his arms around her, but he resisted the urge and instead did nothing more than brush her arm in an all too brief caress.

“Would you like to speak to him first?” he asked in a whisper. “It might better prepare him for my questions if you were to smooth the way.”

She bit her lip, then gave an abrupt nod in response.

The chamber was dark and still. As the curtains were tightly drawn, the only illumination came from the faint glow of a lamp on a nearby night table, and the only sound that could be heard was the raspy breathing of the room's frail occupant.

Emily moved to stand next to the bed, sinking down to sit on the edge of the mattress in a careful motion.

“Lord Brimley,” she murmured, leaning over the elderly gentleman, her visage a mask of concern that Peter could read even in the dimness. “Lord Brimley, can you open your eyes?”

The figure on the bed twitched, then mumbled some
thing incoherent before heavily veined eyelids fluttered open. They unveiled a pair of rheumy hazel irises, bloodshot and clouded with age.

“What—who—” the man gasped, his gnarled hand flying up off the mattress in alarm, palm outward as if to ward off an enemy.

Or a thief.

“Lord Brimley? It's all right. You're safe.” Emily caught the marquis's hand in hers and spoke in a soothing tone as Peter crossed the chamber to stand at her elbow, trying his best to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

Brimley released a gusty sigh and seemed to calm a bit, those eyes struggling to focus on the person seated next to him. “Ah. Victoria, is that you? It's been so long since you came to see us. Lavinia will be glad you're here.”

Peter felt Emily stiffen, but there was no trace of tension in her voice when she spoke again. “No, my lord. It is Emily, Victoria's daughter.”

“Emily?” The man appeared confused for a moment, then his wrinkled countenance brightened. “Why, Emily, how you've grown. You're the picture of your mother.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She paused for a moment and glanced up at Peter before continuing. “Adam tells me you had a bit of a run-in with the Oxfordshire Thief last night, and there is someone here who would like to speak to you about it.”

“Someone here?” The marquis squinted up at Peter
and his brow lowered in a fierce expression. “Here now! Who are you? If you're one of my son's creditors, I can tell you right now you'll get nothing from me! Nothing!”