A Kiss Before Dawn (24 page)

She caught up with Peter just as he reached the front entrance.

“Peter, wait.”

Before she could say anything else, however, there was a sudden loud pounding on the door, and Peter flung it open to find Miles and Jenna hovering on the top step, their expressions concerned.

Jenna pushed past the stable hand into the entry hall without even seeming to notice Peter and hurried toward Emily. “We 'id the jewels. We didn't know what else to do wiv them, and we were worried about you. Are you all right? Does Peter know? Did 'e…” She trailed off as her eyes followed Emily's to where Peter stood next to the door, arms crossed as he glowered at her. “Oh, bloody 'ell.”

“Bloody hell, indeed,” he intoned sarcastically. “And to answer your question, yes, I do know.”

Miles nodded in satisfaction. “It's about time.”

Peter turned to the stable hand. “I was just about to leave to go after Barlow. Do you want to accompany me?”

“No need to even ask, guv. I'd never turn down a chance to scrap wiv that bastard. 'E usually 'angs around the 'Awk's Eye for a couple of hours, so if we leave now, we should get there just as 'e's arriving back at the cottage.”

“Let's go then.”

Emily stepped forward and clutched at Peter's sleeve. “I'm going, too.”

Peter's face darkened and he reached out to grip her arms, giving her a shake that had her teeth rattling. “Oh no you are not. You are staying right here with Jenna, or so help me…” He halted, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing in a slightly calmer tone. “You're in enough trouble as it is. I don't need you getting in the middle of things. For once, just trust me.”

With that, he stalked from the house with Miles at his heels.

The door slammed behind them, and for a long moment neither woman spoke. Then Jenna planted her hands on her hips and sent Emily a knowing look. “You aren't staying 'ere, are you?”

“Of course not.” Emily whirled and scurried back to the parlor, where she quickly slipped her feet into the riding boots she had discarded earlier. “Peter just doesn't understand. It's not that I don't trust him, but this is all my fault. It's my responsibility to take care of it, not his.”

“I some'ow doubt Peter will see it that way.”

“I can't help that. Jack is dangerous, and I refuse to stand by and watch Peter get hurt because I made a mess of things.” Emily glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “You don't have to come with me if you don't want to.”

“Of course I'm coming. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?” Jenna paused for a second, studying Emily's flushed face and state of dishabille with growing interest. “What 'appened between the two of you, anyway?”

Emily was certain her cheeks must have reddened even more at the question. “Just never you mind.”

The two women hurried back out to the foyer, intent on their mission. But when Emily swung open the door to find Lord Moreland on the other side, hand raised to knock, it was an unexpected—and unwelcome—surprise.

The viscount seemed just as shocked, and he stood taking in Emily's appearance for a moment with wide eyes before letting his hand fall and shaking his head in obvious consternation. “Emily, what on earth…?”

Drat and blast, she didn't have time for this! Every second that passed was a second wasted. She had to get to Peter! “Adam, it's after eleven o'clock. What are you doing here at this time of night?”

“I'm sorry.” He sounded contrite, but something about the way his stare passed over her made her feel a trifle uneasy. “I'm afraid I found myself too anxious to await your answer to my proposal any longer. I was hoping to catch you awake, but…it seems you're on the way out?”

He didn't wait for her to invite him in, but stepped over the threshold and swept his hat off his blond head, an eyebrow arched in inquiry. “Where are you off to so late? And dressed in such a manner? You look like a stable boy.”

Emily exchanged glances with Jenna, who gave an unhelpful shrug. What should she do? Perhaps it might be a good idea to confide in Adam. He was her friend, after all, and if he went with them he might be able to help Peter in some way.

Of course, there was only so much she could tell him. She doubted that now was the time to admit that she was the one who had stolen his mother's brooch and caused his father's violent relapse. That confession might be better left for later.

She made a split-second decision.

“Adam, you have to come with us! Mr. Quick is on his way to apprehend the Oxfordshire Thief and we must go after him!”

Lord Moreland froze. “He has figured out who the scoundrel is?”

“Yes.” She would have to tread carefully. She wouldn't tell any outright lies, but she couldn't be entirely truthful. “A man named Jack Barlow is responsible. He's been hiding in an abandoned cottage on my brother's estate, and Mr. Quick is on his way there now to confront him.”

The viscount seemed to go pale, but Emily had only a moment to wonder at his reaction before she marched past him for the door, trailed by Jenna. “Hurry. We have to help Peter.”

“I'm sorry, Emily.”

At the strange note in Adam's voice, Emily whirled back to face him just in time to see him reach into an inner pocket of his coat and withdraw a small, lethal-looking pistol. He leveled it on her and Jenna with eyes that were suddenly cold with menace. “I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that.”

J
ack Barlow would receive his comeuppance.

The very thought was enough to send a jolt of adrenaline rushing through Peter's veins as he crept closer to the cottage on silent feet. Approaching from the rear of the dilapidated structure, he and Miles had left their mounts tethered to a pair of bushes and had made their way around the outer edge of the clearing, making sure to keep to the concealment of the tree line. The gray horse Jack had been riding earlier was placidly munching on grass next to the partially open door, and the wavering light from a candle passed back and forth in front of the windows, a clear indication that the man had returned.

Aware of the reassuring weight of his pistol at his back, Peter felt one corner of his mouth kick upward in
anticipation. Emily was right. Jack would most likely have some sort of weapon and wouldn't hesitate to use it, but Peter had no intention of using his unless he was forced to. Barlow deserved to languish behind prison bars, to suffer for his sins. Death would be too quick and merciful for him.

When he thought of the torment the man had put Benji through, it was enough to make Peter see red. And Emily…

It was true he had been furious when he'd first learned of her perfidy. A part of him was still angry. But he couldn't entirely blame her for what she had done. She'd been confused and afraid with no idea of which way to turn. And well he knew how much her family meant to her. When she loved someone, his fierce little angel loved with her whole heart and soul. There were no half-measures for her, and he knew she would have done anything asked of her to spare those she cared about from harm.

How could he continue to be angry at her for that when it was one of the qualities he'd always admired the most about her?

No, the most overwhelming emotion he felt right now was hurt. Hurt that she hadn't turned to him with her problems, that she had felt she had to deceive him rather than confide in him. She hadn't trusted him, and though he might understand why she had reacted the way she had, that didn't make it sting any less.

But he didn't have time to think about that right now. He would deal with Emily and his feelings regarding
her deception later. Right now he had to focus on the task at hand.

Confronting Jack.

“Now?”

Miles's question coming from behind him had Peter looking back over his shoulder. The stable hand crouched behind a tree a few feet away, his expression tense.

“Yes, but I'm going in alone.”

Miles started to protest, but Peter raised a quelling hand. “We have no idea what sort of situation we could be walking into, Miles. Jack is unpredictable at the best of times. You'll do me more good if you wait just outside the door without letting him know you're here. That way, you can step in if he happens to get past me.”

The stable hand still didn't look happy, but he gave an abrupt nod of acquiescence.

Peter turned back to the cottage, took a deep breath, and started forward.

A few swift, stealthy strides brought him to the entrance of the dwelling, and he peered around the edge of the door into the dimly lit room beyond. A shadowy figure sat at a plank table next to the fireplace, his movements frantic as he stuffed items into a frayed knapsack.

So, it appeared he'd arrived just in time. Barlow had most likely discovered his stash was gone and was getting ready to either go after Emily or light out of town.

Peter wouldn't allow him to do either one.

Stepping across the threshold, he crossed his arms
and spoke in a low, harsh growl, fraught with menace. “Going somewhere, Jack?”

The man froze for a second, then lunged to his feet, whirling to face the door. The light from the candle on the fireplace mantel cast its sputtering glow over Jack Barlow's face, illuminating his startled countenance.

And Peter found himself face-to-face with his worst enemy for the first time in eight years.

Jack hadn't changed much. He was a bit taller and stockier, his black hair a bit longer, but he still possessed the same chilling pair of frosty gray eyes in a pale face that was marked by a perpetual sneer of cruelty. Peter would have recognized him anywhere.

The look of surprise faded from the man's face, to be replaced by a thin-lipped smile of pure evil. “Well, well. If it isn't my good friend Peter Quick.”

“Hello, Jack.”

In a deceptively casual posture, Barlow moved to lean against the plank table next to him. But Peter wasn't fooled. There was a tenseness, an alertness under that nonchalant pose that told him the thief was ready to spring if given the slightest chance. “I don't suppose you would 'appen to know where my jewels are?”

“In a safe place. Somewhere you'll never find them.”

Something glinted briefly in the depths of those cold eyes, something that might have been fear. But it came and went quickly, and the thief raised his chin with a smirk. “I should 'ave known the princess would peach on me sooner or later.”

“It wasn't Emily who told me. It was Benji.”

“Ahhh. The brat. Of course.” Barlow lifted one shoul
der in a shrug. “I suppose it was pushing my luck to approach both of them, but I couldn't resist the opportunity.”

“The opportunity for what?” Peter took another step into the room, his eyes never leaving his prey. “Just what did you hope to accomplish with this? If you wanted the jewels so badly, why didn't you just commit the robberies yourself? You're more than capable. Why rope Emily into doing your dirty work? Why try to involve Benji?”

Jack's eyes narrowed. “It was never about the jewels, you bloody idiot! It was about revenge.”

“Revenge against whom? Emily and Benji?”

“Can't you guess?” Barlow laughed, but the sound was far from humorous. It sounded jagged and a bit less than sane. “Of course, making the princess and the brat suffer was a nice side benefit, but they were just pawns. This is about you, and it always 'as been.”

He sidled forward a bit, a hank of greasy hair falling over his eyes as he tilted his head to study Peter with malevolence. “The Perfect Peter Quick. Do you 'ave any idea 'ow much I 'ate you? 'Ow much I've always 'ated you? All the Rag-Tags looked up to you as if you were a bloody saint. I was the oldest.
I
should 'ave been the leader.
I
should have been the one in charge, the one who gave them their orders. But it 'ad to be
you
. And then you 'ad the bloody nerve to turn around and kick me out of the gang!”

“You attacked Emily, Jack.”

“So? I wasn't asking for anything more than what she was already giving you. She was, wasn't she? But
the 'igh-and-mighty little bitch was too good for the likes of me!”

Peter barely held himself in check. He couldn't let his temper get the better of him, no matter what Jack said. He had to time this just right.

He sucked in a steadying breath of air and managed to school his features into a semblance of calmness that he was far from feeling. “You're right, Jack. Emily is far too good for the likes of you.”

Jack growled and his hands fisted at his sides. “The honorable Peter Quick. I should 'ave known you'd wind up betraying your own kind, turning on all of us by going over to the side of the law. A Bow Street Runner.” He spat the words with scorn. “'Ow many of your old friends 'ave you arrested, Peter? 'Ow many of the people you grew up wiv did you throw into Newgate?”

That evil grin returned, spreading across the thief's pale face in a way that had Peter itching to plant a fist in it. “I knew you couldn't resist poking your nose into what was going on around 'ere once you 'eard about the robberies. I knew you'd come back to town. And what better way to gain my revenge on you than to force the boy you've always thought of as a brother and your 'ighborn doxy into a life of crime?” He shook his head. “Of course, I didn't manage to rope Benji in, more's the pity. But Lady Emily fell in wiv my plans quite nicely. Tsk. Tsk. What a choice you 'ave. Love or duty. What do you plan to do, Mr. Bow Street Runner? Arrest 'er? Toss 'er be'ind bars and throw away the key?”

“The only one I plan to toss behind bars at this moment is you.”

Jack gave a raspy chuckle, and in a flash of movement, he whipped a nasty-looking knife from the knapsack on the table next to him and brandished it before him in a threatening manner. “You're welcome to try.”

It was the invitation Peter had been waiting for. He lunged forward and tackled Jack about the waist, knocking the shorter man off balance and sending the knife flying from his hand before they both went crashing to the ground.

The fight began in earnest, the two of them rolling about, grappling and exchanging blows, each of them trying to gain the upper hand. Jack was heavier, but Peter had height and righteous fury on his side, as well as four years of experience in apprehending dangerous criminals, and it wasn't long before he managed to subdue the smaller man, holding him still with an arm wrapped about Jack's neck.

Now that he had things under control, Peter let the rage he'd been holding at bay pour over him. At the thought of what this bastard had done to Emily and Benji, he was tempted to pound him into the dirt floor. But he had questions. Questions that couldn't be answered if Barlow was unconscious.

“Tell me, Jack,” he gritted out close to the thief's ear as he hauled him to his feet. “Was anything you told them the truth?”

“Go to bloody 'ell.”

“You first.” Peter's arm tightened just the slightest bit, pressing against Jack's windpipe. “You know, I could snap your neck, right here and now. No one would ever need to know.”

“You wouldn't do that. You're too bloody honorable, Saint Peter.”

Barlow was right, but there was no reason he had to know that.

“Don't push me. After what you've done, you're lucky I didn't shoot you the minute I came in the door. If I got rid of you, I'd be doing the world a favor.” Peter tightened his hold again, squeezing just enough to impede the thief's airway. “What a sad little life you must have led in the last eight years, Jack. Always running, always looking over your shoulder, wondering when the law was going to catch up to you, obsessed with finding a way to pay me back for my supposed sins against you.”

Jack's face had started to turn red and real panic showed in his expression. A queer choking sound escaped him before he clutched at the arm around his neck, trying to pry it away, but Peter held fast. “Come now, Jack. Don't you want to meet your maker with a clear conscience? Tell me. Do you really know anything about Benji's past?”

The thief remained stubbornly silent.

Peter's voice rose to a dangerous level. “Do you?”

“Damn it, no!” Jack finally admitted, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper as he struggled to breathe. “No, I don't know anything!”

Relaxing his grip, Peter allowed Jack to suck in a lungful of air. “And what about the letters? The letters you
say
Emily's mother wrote. Are they real, or did you have someone forge them for you?”

“Oh, they're real, all right. It's funny 'ow things like
that just 'appen to fall into your lap when you least expect it. They were just the leverage I needed to push Lady Emily into doing exactly what I wanted.”

Peter restrained another growl of anger and frustration and let go of the thief's throat, jerking him around to face him. “Where did you get them?”

Once again, Jack's mouth clamped shut, and he gave Peter a mutinous look.

Peter's fist closed around the collar of Barlow's shirt, lifting him up onto his toes. “Where did you get them?” he repeated through clenched teeth.

“Now, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?”

This was useless. Jack wasn't going to tell him what he wanted to know.

“That's it.” Peter gave him a shove in the direction of the cottage door. “Let's go. Maybe a night spent in the local jail will make you more cooperative.”

Jack stumbled, then started forward at a slow plod as Peter fell in behind him. But at the last second before he reached the door, the thief put on a burst of speed, swerved, and ducked, retrieving his knife from where it had landed on the dirt floor during their earlier altercation. He spun around to meet Peter's gaze, his features twisted into a mask of hatred and malicious intent.

“I ain't going anywhere. I didn't come this far just to get thrown into some dark, stinking cell. I'll kill you first!”

Peter had been expecting Jack to try something. Desperate and reckless people did desperate and reckless things, so he was prepared when the man launched
himself at him, eyes wild and knife upraised. Peter could have reached for his pistol, but instead he waited until Jack was almost upon him before calmly stepping out of his path and sticking out a booted foot.

By the time it registered with Jack that Peter had moved out of the way, it was too late to do anything about it. The thief's momentum carried him onward. He tripped over Peter's foot and went sprawling in the dirt, hitting the ground with a jarring thud.

And he didn't get up.

Peter felt his blood run cold. Damn it, no!

Kneeling down, he rolled Jack over to find those gray eyes blinking up at him, looking dazed and confused. The man was alive, but barely.

And not for long.

The knife protruded from the thief's chest, a slowly growing stain of red spreading outward from the point of entry. The angle of the weapon when he had fallen on it had been such that the blade had sliced upward in a deadly arc, sliding under the ribs, and Peter didn't have to be a physician to know that the wound was mortal. The shrill whistle of air from a punctured lung could be heard as Jack struggled to speak, and his mouth was flecked with a frothy red foam.

Bloody hell, Peter thought grimly. He had wanted to bring Barlow in alive, to see the man brought to justice for what he had done. Now that wouldn't be possible.