A Kiss Before Dawn (16 page)

A
fter another night spent tossing and turning with very little sleep, Peter rose and made his way downstairs long before the rest of Knighthaven's residents even began to stir. The sun had barely started to peek above the trees in the distance when he let himself out a side door, cut across the stable yard, and strode off along the trail that led into the woods. Perhaps a brisk walk about the estate would help to clear his head, or jar some obscure piece of information loose that might help him in his quest to unmask the Oxfordshire Thief.

He had been in Little Haverton for over a week now, and he was no closer to wrapping up this case than he'd been when he'd arrived. He had questioned all of the victims and their respective households—not to mention all of the guests who had been present at Lord and
Lady Fulberry's dinner party the night of the break-in at their home—and had nothing to show for his time but a scrap of cloth and a gut-level hunch that the culprit was someone the victims personally knew.

Taking a deep breath, Peter closed his eyes and made an attempt to sort out the muddled chaos of his thoughts.

Now, Quick,
a voice in the back of his head whispered,
let's put this thing in perspective. Just what do you know about this criminal?

He turned the facts over in his mind, examining them from all angles. First of all, the man seemed to be familiar with both the layout and the routines of each of the homes he'd broken into thus far. He'd also known exactly when the best time was to plan his attack and had been well aware of where his marks kept what he was looking for. And in each case, the thief had had something very specific in mind. At the Tuttlestons', he'd taken only the viscountess's necklace and the few baubles that had been in her jewelry box, but had made no attempt to break into Lord Tuttleston's safe downstairs.

To Peter, this alone seemed to point to some sort of acquaintance with the victims. He doubted any common thug off the street could have come by such knowledge, and though he supposed the culprit could be a servant on one of the estates, he had questioned each staff member in the employ of Lord and Lady Tuttleston, Lord and Lady Fulberry, and Lord Caulfield, and had run across nothing to arouse his suspicions.

The thief was also well versed in the art of house
breaking, he decided. He seemed to possess agility and stealth in abundance, as well as a true talent for lock-picking. So far, none of the locks on any of the means of entry the thief had used had posed any kind of challenge to him.

Unfortunately, that could be said for half the children at Willow Park, including Benji. More than one of them had been forced to try their hand at housebreaking at some time in the past, if only to steal food in order to feed themselves.

Why, even Emily had a passing skill at picking locks. He should know. He'd been the one who had taught her.

The memory of those long-ago lessons had the corner of Peter's mouth turning up in a slight smile. To his surprise, his well-bred pupil had displayed an amazing aptitude for a life of crime. During her time with the Rag-Tag Bunch, she had learned to pick pockets with ease, and even after she had returned to her brother and they had all made the permanent move to the country, she had continued to badger Peter for instruction. How to pick locks had been one of the last things he'd shown her before calling a halt to the proceedings in deference to the earl, who had seemed a bit alarmed by how well his sister appeared to be taking to it all.

A sudden bright glare in his eyes had Peter glancing up to see that the sun had finally risen above the tops of the trees in front of him and was casting its light across his path, dappling the forest floor with patterns of light and shadow. It was about time he started back to the house.

Doing an abrupt about-face, he began the return trek to Knighthaven as his mind mulled over the events of the last few days. More specifically, his interactions with Emily during that time. Or rather, his
lack
of interaction with her. Ever since their conversation in the stables and their visit to Lord Caulfield's, he'd found himself falling back on his original plan and going out of his way to avoid her. He wasn't certain what manner of devil had tempted him into teasing her about their very first kiss in such a way, but watching her read Moreland's note had only served to remind him once again of all the reasons to keep her out of arm's reach.

His hands tightened into fists in his pockets and he shook his head. He was well aware he couldn't avoid her forever. But he had felt the need for some space between them, a brief respite in order for him to gain control of the emotions that suddenly seemed so confusing.

Sooner or later, however, he would have to face her again. He may have finished interviewing the victims and potential witnesses, but that didn't mean he might not need her further input in the future.

At that moment, the trail broke from the trees, and as he approached Knighthaven, Peter turned off the path to take the shortcut through the garden. He had just reached the familiar patch of elms when he noticed a small figure seated on one of the benches that surrounded the central fountain, head bowed over a book. He stopped dead in his tracks in immediate recognition.

Emily.

As if suddenly becoming aware of his presence, she looked up and her eyes met his across the distance. Even
from this far away, he could feel something warm and almost tangible arc through the air between them. It was enough to have his nerve endings standing at attention.

Well, there could be no running away now. She had spotted him, and he'd be damned if he'd let her see him turn tail and flee like a whipped hound. Surely he could manage a polite greeting and a few pleasantries without making a fool of himself.

But as he started across the grass toward her and felt his heart speed up its beat in direct proportion to each step he took in her direction, he knew he was only deceiving himself.

 

Emily closed the book in her lap and watched Peter draw closer to her, the air seizing in her lungs as she noted his lazy, loose-limbed stride, the casual grace that always seemed to surround him like a mantle. Her reaction to him disconcerted her, as always. Just the mere sight of him shouldn't rob her of her very breath or send her heart racing until she felt certain it would pound right out of her chest.

And yet it did.

She wasn't ready to face him. It was one of the reasons she had retreated to the garden this morning, thinking if she stayed out of the house there would be less chance of running into him. After the debacle at Lord Brimley's last night and the later meeting with Jack, it had been quite late when she'd finally slipped back into Knighthaven and retired to her bed. And the plan she had hatched with Miles and Jenna for this evening had kept her awake long into the wee hours of the
morning, going over everything in her head to make sure there could be no mistakes.

Nothing could go wrong. She wouldn't allow it to. This was her one chance to bring an end to all of this, and she couldn't let herself forget that.

But whether she felt able to confront Peter or not, it seemed as if she had no choice now. She could only be grateful that she had remembered to cover the few cuts that had marred her cheeks—caused by her leap into Lord Brimley's bushes—with a faint dusting of powder before leaving the safety of her bedchamber. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to conceal the dark circles under her eyes.

It was too late to worry about that now, however, for Peter stood before her. Forcing a smile to her lips, she nodded in greeting, praying her expression betrayed none of her disquiet. “Good morning, Mr. Quick.”

He returned her nod. “Lady Emily.”

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, neither of them seeming to know what to say next. Then, Emily cleared her throat and ventured a question. “How is the investigation going? Any news?”

“I'm afraid not.” Exhaling, Peter appeared to relax a bit and propped a booted foot on the bench next to her, leaning forward to rest an elbow on his knee. The action dislodged a lock of tawny hair, causing it to fall forward over his brow. “I spoke with Tristan about the case at length yesterday. He agrees with me that it is quite probable the thief is someone who knows each of the families who have been victimized. Other than that, I'm sure of nothing.”

Emily's heart skipped a beat, but she smothered the burst of panic that raced through her at his words and managed to continue speaking in a calm tone. “I'm sorry to hear that. I know how much you and my brother want to see this criminal caught.” She folded her hands on top of her book in an attempt to cease their trembling. “What are you going to do now?”

“I was planning to spend this afternoon paying calls on some of the pawnbrokers in the village and the surrounding towns, to see if anyone has attempted to pass off any of the stolen goods to one of them. But I can't help but believe it will be a waste of my time. Our man is too wily for that. He'd be well aware there's a good chance anyone local would recognize one of the pieces and report him to the law.”

“Did you need me to accompany you?”

Peter's mouth curved in a grin as he looked down at her. “I thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid the areas I'll be frequenting aren't places where a lady should be seen.”

“Oh, well…Of course.” Feeling flustered at the way his smile spilled over her like warm honey, melting her insides into a puddle of tingling emotion, Emily ducked her head and reached up to push a stray curl back from her temple.

A callused hand snagged her wrist.

“Wh—what?” Startled, her eyes flew to his face to find that his smile had turned into a frown, and he was studying the hand he grasped in his with obvious concern.

“What's this?” he asked, holding her arm up for her inspection, his fingers gentle on her skin.

Tearing her gaze away from his face, Emily examined her wrist and had to stifle a gasp as she noticed the long, raw-looking scratch that marked the flesh on the inside of her lower forearm. Another telltale sign from her tangle with the Marquis of Brimley's bushes, she supposed.

“I don't know.” She bit her lip and tugged her arm from his grip, covering the wound with her other hand. “I stopped to smell some of the roses earlier, when I first came out to the garden. I must have scratched myself without realizing it.”

“You should have someone see to it. It looks rather angry, and it's never a good idea to leave a scratch like that untended.” He paused for a moment. Then, in another unexpected movement that had her gasping, he reached out to cup her chin in his palm, tilting her head up until he could see into her eyes. “Come to think of it, you're looking a trifle peaked, as well. Didn't you sleep last night?”

She scrambled to think of something to say, but his steady regard seemed to render her incapable of rational thought, and she couldn't have come up with a lie to save her life. “I admit I did have a bit of trouble settling down.” Heavens, but that was an understatement if she'd ever heard one!

His thumb smoothed over her lower lip. “You must take better care of yourself,” he told her, his voice soft, his gaze never straying from hers. “What would the children of Willow Park do without their guardian angel and storyteller?”

Emily felt her body quiver in response to the under
lying current of sensuality in his tone, and she felt herself drawn toward him as he leaned forward. Her eyes fell shut and her lips parted in anticipation—

“There you two are!”

The magical thread stretched so tautly between them snapped, and they both jerked away from each other like guilty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Certain her face must be as red as a beet, Emily blinked and looked up to see Deirdre coming down the path toward them.

Dear Lord, how much had her sister-in-law seen?

“You're certainly both out and about early,” the countess was saying as she approached, the serene mask of her features betraying not a hint as to what she may have witnessed. “Peter, I just passed Tristan in the foyer, and I believe he was looking for you. I promised him I would let you know if I saw you.”

“Thank you for relaying the message, my lady.” Peter lowered his foot from the bench and straightened, bowing to both of them. “More than likely he wishes to discuss the case. If you'll excuse me.” With one last unreadable glance at Emily, he strolled off toward the house.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Emily took a deep breath and braced herself for the probing questions she was sure would come. But Deirdre surprised her by making no mention of the scene she had stumbled upon. Instead, she tilted her head back with a sigh, placing a hand on the large mound of her belly.

“It's such a beautiful day, and I've had little chance
to enjoy getting out and about lately. Tristan has become worse than a mother hen, not wanting to let me out of his sight. I must confess, I'm starting to feel claustrophobic.” She sent Emily a pleading look from under lowered lashes. “Would you mind terribly taking a short stroll with me about the garden, dear? Perhaps if you're with me I shan't have to worry about my husband swooping down and declaring I'm much too delicate to be doing anything so strenuous as actually
walking
.”

Relieved that she didn't appear to be in for an inquisition, Emily smothered a smile at the mental picture of her powerful giant of a brother fussing over his wife like an overlarge nanny. “He loves you, Deirdre,” she pointed out in gentle amusement as she rose, tucked her book in the crook of her elbow, and looped her free arm through her sister-in-law's. “He's just trying to take care of you and the baby.”

“I know. But the man has to understand that he can't wrap me in cotton wool. I'm much stronger than he gives me credit for. I've had to be, and he should be well aware of that.”