A Kiss Before Dawn (27 page)

With that, she fled, no longer able to hold back her tears.

H
is mind and spirit numb, Peter sat ensconced in an armchair in Lord Ellington's study, staring out the window at the sunny day beyond the glass without really seeing it.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. He had gotten very little sleep in the last two nights, and he'd arisen early this morning in order to make sure his belongings were packed for the return trip to London. Tristan had put the Ellington carriage at his disposal, and once he got around to saying his farewells, all should be in readiness for his departure. But somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to take the steps necessary to carry him out the door.

Emily.

The mere thought of her was enough to send a wave of anguish washing over him.

He loved her. He always had and he always would. He had known he could no longer deny it to himself the instant he had realized her life was in danger.

When he had walked into the parlor the other night to find Moreland holding a gun on her, fear such as he had never known had taken him over, making it practically impossible for him to think, much less function with his customary rationality. All that he'd been able to concentrate on had been freeing her, making sure she wasn't harmed. Nothing else had mattered. If she hadn't managed to get her hands on the viscount's weapon when she had…well, who knew what might have happened? He didn't even want to imagine the possible scenarios.

But now that things had all been settled, it was time to let his angel go.

Peter couldn't restrain a wince as he remembered the stricken look on her face when he had told her he was leaving. Having finally managed to regain the one thing he'd longed for most, her precious trust, he'd turned around and thrown it away. God, hurting her had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, and letting her believe he didn't care about her had been like a knife in his chest, but he knew it was for the best. Nothing had changed. He might love and want her more than his next breath, but he was still the son of a prostitute, a man who could never be worthy of her.

He never should have made love to her.

Throughout the night, he'd been haunted by images
of Emily naked in his arms, her skin gleaming in the lamplight, her violet eyes full of love and desire. All for him. Just knowing that he'd been the first to ever make her feel that way filled him with a fierce sense of satisfaction and possessiveness.

But it had been a mistake. Now that he'd had her, now that he knew what it was like to move deep inside her, a part of her, it would be harder than ever to stay away from her, to go back to pretending his love for her didn't exist. But he had no other choice. For her sake, he had to manage somehow.

He groaned and lowered his head into his hands. It felt as if he were being ripped apart from the inside out, and if he'd believed it would ease the ache, he might have been tempted to lose himself in a bottle of the earl's best brandy. He was well aware, however, that not even the haze of alcohol would be enough to drown out the pain of having to give Emily up. Again.

“I beg your pardon, Master Peter.”

He looked up to find that Langley had appeared in the doorway.

“Master Benji is here to see you,” the butler informed him. “He awaits you in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Langley.”

The butler inclined his head and disappeared from view.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Peter reached up to rub wearily at his temples. He had planned on stopping by the Park on his way out of town to say good-bye and let the boy know what he had learned from Jack, but he supposed now was as good a time as
any. With a sharp exhalation of air, he pushed himself to his feet and strode from the study.

He found Benji standing before the French doors in the parlor, his shoulders stiff, his thin frame rigid with obvious tension.

Bloody hell, but how was he going to tell the lad he'd found out nothing? Peter wondered bleakly. “Hello, Benji.”

The boy swung about and shoved his hands in his pockets, meeting Peter's gaze with eyes that swirled with a mixture of anxiety and uncertainty. “Mr. McLean told me last night that Jack Barlow was dead. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“What did he…What did he say? About me?”

“I'm sorry, Benji, but the man didn't know anything. It was a ploy to draw you in, nothing more.”

Benji drew in a shaky breath and stared down at the floor. “I was afraid of that, but I just kept hoping…” In an abrupt move, he slammed a balled fist down on the back of the closest chair and turned away, a muscle working in his jaw. “Now I'll never know where I come from!”

“Don't be so quick to curse the fact. That might not be a bad thing.”

The lad shook his head and glanced back at Peter over his shoulder. “How can you say that? My parents could have been the worst sort of criminals. Thieves, murderers. If nothing else, Jack Barlow's appearance only proves how the past can come back to haunt you. What if my mother or father should decide to turn up now?”

“It's highly doubtful after all these years, Benji.”

“But it's possible. And what about what they say about bad blood? If my parents were truly evil people, how long will it be before those tendencies start showing up in me?”

Peter felt his heart contract at the utter despondency on the boy's face. “That's nonsense!”

“Is it? Do you know that for sure? I couldn't stand to disappoint the earl and countess after the faith they've put in me.”

Taking a step forward, Peter reached out to grip Benji's arm, drawing him around to face him. “You are an exceptional young man, and I can guarantee that you will never disappoint Lord and Lady Ellington. You are who you are, Benji. The past has no bearing on today.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“You can. My God, Benji, look at
me
. My mother was a prostitute, my father…well, I don't even know who the man was. I was a pickpocket, a thief, and I did some things I don't even want to remember in order to survive, things I will always regret. But I've made my life my own. I've risen above it. And if you take a good, hard look, I think you'll see that you have, too.”

Something shifted in the boy's expression, some faint trace of hope that convinced Peter he was finally getting through to him. “You think so?”

“I
know
so. But if you don't believe me, ask Lord and Lady Ellington. I'm certain they'll agree. You have a wonderful future ahead of you, Benji. Don't let the past dictate the choices you make now.”

Benji inclined his head, his countenance thoughtful, then crossed his arms and regarded Peter from under lowered brows. “Mr. McLean mentioned that you were leaving this morning.”

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

“Why?”

Feeling awkward, Peter released the boy's arm and shrugged. What could he possibly say? “My work here is done, and I'll be needed back at Bow Street.”

“Surely you could visit for a little while longer?”

“That wouldn't be a good idea, Benji.”

“But why?”

Because he was letting the past dictate his choices.

Sudden insight slammed into Peter like a lightning bolt from the blue, and he almost reeled at the impact. My God, it was true! Here he was, counseling Benji to let go of the past, while he was holding on to his own with all of his might, using it as a barrier between him and Emily.

He loved Emily, and if he could believe what she'd said, she loved him, too. As far as she was concerned, his background didn't matter and it never had. No, he didn't like the thought of society ostracizing her, turning their backs on her because of him, but wasn't their love worth fighting for? Wasn't it worth the sacrifice if it meant they could be together?

Yes, by damn, it was!

Emily had tried to tell him that, had tried to make him see, but he hadn't wanted to listen. Now, he could only pray he wasn't too late.

“Benji, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me now.
There is something rather important I need to do. But I will send Lord Ellington to you, and I want you to tell him exactly what you've told me. I'm certain he'll be more then willing to reassure you on all counts. All right?”

Benji nodded.

Peter offered the boy one last encouraging smile before leaving the room.

He ran into Tristan just outside the door. “My lord, Benji is awaiting you in the parlor. There is something he needs to speak to you about that has been troubling him for quite some time, and I believe you may be able to put his mind at ease on the issue.”

“Of course.” The earl glanced in the direction of the parlor, then raised an eyebrow at Peter in question. “But where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Now came the first test. He had always known that Tristan had the highest respect for him, but the man might feel differently when it came to a former street thief wedding his sister. Peter was willing to face anything for the woman he loved, however. Even the displeasure of the man who had given him so much. “I'm on my way to beg Emily's forgiveness on bended knee.” He paused for a moment, then plunged onward. “And to ask for her hand in marriage.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence, then a wide grin spread over Tristan's face. “Well, it's about time. Deirdre will be happy to hear it.” He winked at Peter and clapped him on the back. “I believe Emily was in the garden the last time I saw her.”

Peter's relief was staggering. “Thank you, my lord. I swear I'll make her happy.”

“I never doubted it. Not for a second.”

 

Would the pain never go away?

Seated on her favorite bench next to the fountain in the garden, Emily bent her head over her book, trying to ignore the soul-deep ache that plagued her and concentrate on the story. But the words were blurring on the page, making it impossible for her to see.

It might have been because her eyes kept filling with tears.

She had known from the beginning that it would be a mistake to trust Peter, to let him close again, but she had listened to her heart instead of her head, and look where it had gotten her!

When she had arisen this morning after a night spent tossing and turning, unable to sleep, she'd wasted no time in escaping the house. She didn't want to be present when Peter departed, to have to pretend it didn't matter that the only man she would ever love was leaving her again. All she wanted was to be left alone, to try to find some way to resign herself to the fact that Peter didn't want her.

But that was easier said than done.

With a sigh, Emily gave up on even attempting to make sense of what she was reading and closed the book in her lap, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose in sudden weariness. Hoping to raise her spirits, she had stopped by the stables earlier in order to visit
with Artemis, but even being in the presence of her beloved horse hadn't helped, and watching Miles and Jenna together had been almost more than she could bear. Not that she begrudged her two friends their happiness, but they had spent most of the time holding hands, exchanging whispers and kisses in the far corner of the stall, and seeing the love in their eyes for each other had been like salt in a raw and gaping wound.

So she had retreated here to the garden, believing that the peacefulness and solitude might soothe her troubled thoughts. So far, however, she'd had no such luck.

Well, if Peter Quick was stupid enough to throw away what they could have, then he didn't deserve her love! Let him go back to London and get on with his life, just as she would get on with hers. She wouldn't waste another second of her valuable time mourning his loss.

And that had to be the biggest lie she'd ever told herself.

“Emily.”

At first, she thought she was imagining things, that the soft voice calling her name came from the depths of her own subconscious. But when it drifted to her again, sounding gently insistent, she looked up to find Peter standing a few feet away, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Oh, no! Had he purposely sought her out to say good-bye? What should she do? What would she say?

Taking a deep breath and bracing herself, she laid her book aside and returned his stare with a steady one of her own. “What do you want?” she asked, struggling
to keep her tone even. “I thought you were leaving.”

He took a deliberate step forward, his gaze never wavering from her face. “I was. But it occurred to me that there was something important I needed to tell you first.”

Emily swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to give a haughty sniff. “I'm certain I don't know what you could possibly have to say that I would care to hear.”

“I love you.”

She froze, every muscle in her body rendered immobile at the stunning impact of his words. Surely she must have misunderstood? “I beg your pardon?”

In a swift motion that had her stifling a gasp, Peter closed the space left between them and stood before her, his blue eyes suddenly blazing with a fierce light that caused her heart to skip a beat and her mouth to go dry in response. “I said I love you, and I'm willing to do whatever I need to do, whatever you want me to do, to prove it to you.”

He couldn't mean it! He'd made it quite clear last evening how he felt about her.

“What am I supposed to say, Peter?” Despite herself, her voice quavered. “How can I believe you? We made love, but you insisted it was a mistake. You took me in your arms after the incident with Adam as if I truly meant something to you, yet you all but turned your back on me last night. Every time I let myself trust you, every time I let myself care, I wind up getting hurt. I can't risk that again. I won't.”

At her obvious agony, Peter flinched, then reached
out to catch her by the elbows, drawing her up off the bench. “I'm so sorry, angel. I deserve your anger. I know I do. And I hate like hell that I hurt you. My only excuse is that I was doing what I thought was best.” He paused for a moment, then sucked in an audible gust of air. “Will you at least let me try to explain?”