A Kiss In The Dark (18 page)

“Can I offer you anything, me dear?” Dan asked. “A drink, per’aps?”

Deirdre shook her head. “No, thank you. It is kind of you to offer, but I’m fine.”

Dan rested his elbows on the desk and propped his chin on steepled fingers, examining her with an unreadable expression. “Well, what is it I can do for you, little DeeDee? I ’aven’t seen you in ’ere since you up and married that rich bloke a few years ago. You used to visit me all the time.”

It was true, and for a moment she was overwhelmed with memories of all the times she had slipped into Dan’s fights as a little girl, watching from the shadows in awestruck wonder as he’d bested much larger and bulkier opponents time after time. With his lightning-quick reflexes and agile frame, he had been practically unbeatable.

And those quick reflexes had made him a legend in the world of pickpockets and thieves. In the criminal arena, he was without peer. He was, after all, the one who had taught Deirdre everything she knew.

“I have a favor to ask of you.” Reaching into her reticule, she once more pulled out the miniature of Emily and laid it on the desk, sliding it across the polished surface so that Dan could see.

“I’m trying to locate a young girl. She has run away, and her family is desperate to find her.”

Dan studied the portrait a moment, then looked up. “’Ow desperate?”

Deirdre felt Tristan stiffen behind her, but she ignored him. “They are willing to pay almost anything to have her back.”

“And you think I can ’elp you because …?”

“She’s somewhere here in Tothill Fields.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“As certain as I can be. And there’s something else. Barnaby Flynt is after her, as well.”

Dan’s face bleached of color and his hands tightened into fists on the desk. “Flynt?”

“Yes. I don’t know why, but it seems he’s offering a reward for anyone who brings her to him.” She held his gaze with her own. “Her family is willing to double the amount to have her returned.”

Dan pushed the miniature back toward her and shook his head. “I’m sorry, DeeDee, but you know my policy about messing with Flynt. I can’t afford to draw ’is attention.”

“And how long do you think you can avoid it?” Deirdre pressed, her eyes blazing. “How long do you think it’s going to be before he shows up at your door, expecting a share?”

Dan started to protest, but Deirdre cut him off. “You owe me, Dodger. I came to you once before and you refused me, turned me away. Do you remember?”

This time, he flushed and stirred a bit uncomfortably in his seat. “I ’ad to, girl. This club is no place to be raising a child.”

“And I was better off where I wound up?”

He was silent for a long moment, then gave a reluctant nod. “Very well. I’ll put some of me men on it right away. But after this, all is forgiven. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” She put the portrait back in her reticule. “Mainly, what I need for you to do is find out why Barnaby is looking for her. Any information you can dig up would be appreciated. In the meantime, I shall continue my own inquiries into the matter. Hopefully, with the two of us working together, we shall be able to bring this situation to a close very shortly.”

Dan rose and moved around the desk. “If I learn anything, I’ll send a messenger round to your town’ouse. But it would be best if you don’t venture ’ere again. It’s too risky.”

“And how do we know we can trust you?”

It was Tristan who spoke, and the former boxer leveled him with a stern glare. “I’ve known DeeDee since she was a babe in arms. I was a friend of ’er mother’s. She can trust me.”

“Well, you’ll have to pardon my doubt, but I haven’t known you for quite that long.” Tristan crossed his arms and faced Dan with defiance written all over his face. “What assurance do we have that you won’t go behind our backs and turn my—the girl over to Flynt?”

Dan drew himself up, bristling like a cat whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way. “DeeDee, who
is
this bloke?”

Deirdre gave an inner groan and reached up to lay a calming hand on Tristan’s arm. The last thing she needed was for him and Dan to be at each other’s throats. The situation was already fraught with enough tension. “This is Tristan. I’ve hired him as a sort of … er, bodyguard.”

Dan frowned and addressed Tristan. “A bit ’igh in the instep for a servant, ain’t ya? Well, I can promise you I would never stab DeeDee in the back. Barnaby Flynt is no friend of mine.”

He turned back to Deirdre. “Now, you’d better go, me dear. It ain’t wise to leave your carriage unattended for too long in this part of town. And it would likely be best if you went out the back way. There’s been enough brawling in me club for one night.”

Deirdre stood and accepted his crooked arm. “Of course. And I do apologize for the … contretemps. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Dan started to escort her toward the door, and Tristan followed in their wake. “It’s quite all right, me dear. That kind of thing ’appens in ’ere all the time.” He sent a scathing glance over his shoulder at Tristan. “And I hope that at least
you
know I would never betray me star pupil.”

“Pupil?” Tristan’s voice dripped with scorn. “And what could you have possibly taught her?”

Deirdre froze, her mouth going dry with sudden fear. Dear God, this was part of the reason she hadn’t wanted Tristan to come in here, and there was nothing she could do to stop Dan’s next words. It was like being in the path of a wildly careening coal cart and being unable to avoid the inevitable collision.

“Why, ’ow to pick pockets, of course. Our little DeeDee used to be one of the best street thieves in all of Tot’ill Fields!”

B
ack in the carriage, silence once again reigned. However, this time it was even more uncomfortable than the silence that had prevailed between them before they had arrived at the club. Tristan hadn’t said a word since Dan had informed him of Deirdre’s past profession, and she was too reluctant to be the one to speak first.

What is he thinking?
she wondered, biting her lip as she watched him from the corner of her eye. What would he do now? Would he turn her away, refuse to let her assist him any longer? Dear God, she hated this unbearable tension!

“Why?”

It was a single word, quietly spoken, but it was enough to make Deirdre jump in her seat. Taking a deep breath, she fisted her hands in her lap and forced herself to meet his accusing gaze.

His expression was remote, dispassionate. No one looking at him would ever guess at the seething emotions that roiled just beneath the surface. But Deirdre knew. The muscle ticking in his jaw gave him away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he continued, his tone harsh.

“You can ask that after the way you acted toward Mouse this morning?” She gave a slight shrug, struggling to seem nonchalant. “Besides, that is all in the past and not something I like to bring up in everyday conversation.”

“You stole from people, Deirdre. I think I had a right to know that.”

“I survived, Tristan. The only way I knew how. I didn’t have parents to take care of me, so I had to look after myself. Please don’t presume to judge my actions. It was steal or starve, and I preferred not starving.”

“There are homes, workhouses—”

“Yes, and obviously you’ve never visited one of them or you wouldn’t even make such a suggestion. They are filthy, degrading places where you are treated with contempt and worked like an animal from dawn til dusk. Most people would rather die.” She shook her head. “I refuse to let you make me feel guilty, Tristan. I am sorry about your mother. Truly, I am. But I can’t change what I was. I can only make an effort to be a better person now and in the future.”

“You should have told me.”

“Perhaps. But what possible difference does it make now? It is because of my knowledge of this area that you came to me in the first place. Has that changed?”

He didn’t answer, merely turned away to stare out the window.

Drat! Did he have to be so close-minded? After the way he’d been with the McLeans this morning, she’d begun to believe he might be softening in his attitude toward the citizens of Tothill. She should have known better, and while a part of her sympathized with his reasons for feeling the way he did, another part of her longed to shake him until his teeth rattled at his sheer stubbornness.

How could she get through to him?

Then, like a bolt out of the blue, it came to her. Turning in her seat, she opened the partition that separated her from the driver’s box and carried on a hushed conversation with Cullen. Once she had issued her instructions to the coachman, she settled herself once again and glanced up to find Tristan studying her suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s been a slight change in destination.”

“And why is that?”

“You’ll find out when we arrive.” She avoided his gaze, smoothing her skirt with hands that trembled in spite of herself. She was well aware she would be taking a calculated risk by revealing anything further to him about her background, but if she hoped to regain some small amount of his trust, she had to make him understand. “There’s something I want to show you.”

The cottage was obviously abandoned, its windows broken and boarded and the small front yard overgrown with weeds. One wall had collapsed in upon itself long ago, and the soft scurrying of night animals could be heard from the darkness beyond its crumbling façade.

Tristan stood next to the carriage, surveying the scene in front of him with grim distaste. It made the humble abode of the McLean family seem like a castle in comparison.

He looked over at Deirdre. In the misty darkness, he couldn’t make out her expression, but her tension was evident in the rigid way she held herself. It seemed he had once again managed to put her on the defensive. That hadn’t been his intention, but as far as he was concerned he had every right to his anger. She hadn’t been honest with him. True, it had been by virtue of omission, but it amounted to the same thing. After hearing about his mother, she’d known how he felt about street thieves and pickpockets, and she had still deliberately neglected to mention her criminal past. It made him wonder what else she had failed to tell him.

He cast another glance in her direction. She stood as still as a statue, her features hidden by the hood of her cloak. Despite their earlier disagreements, he’d begun to believe that a real accord was starting to grow between them, a connection of sorts. Nevertheless, it was daunting to learn that she still didn’t trust him enough to confide her secrets after he’d told her about the most traumatic event of his life.

Shaking off his ruminations, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face her.

“Where are we?” he asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Why are we here?”

It was a moment before she replied, and when she did, it was scarcely more than a whisper. “I wanted you to see where I came from. I was born here.”

Tristan gaped in astonishment. Dear God, she’d lived in this hovel?

Before he could speak, she gathered her skirts in one hand and started up the path to the entrance. He gazed after her, then glanced back over his shoulder at Cullen, who had swung down from the driver’s box to soothe the restless horses. The coachman merely regarded him stonily before giving him his back.

So much for any insight from that quarter. Tristan straightened his shoulders and marched up the walkway, catching up to Deirdre just as she pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold into the shadows beyond.

The interior of the structure was even worse than the outside, if that were possible. A pale beam of moonlight spilled through the hole in the wall, barely illuminating their surroundings, and the stale smell of disuse pervaded the air. What furniture hadn’t been carried off long ago by scavengers lay broken and discarded, littered about the dirt floor.

“My mother died when I was three years old,” Deirdre began, her words soft, yet startling in the echoing expanse. “She became ill one winter and simply never got better. I don’t remember much about her. Only that she liked to sing to me. Lullabies, mostly. And I felt safe when I was with her.”

She paused for a moment, and her eyes glimmered with unshed tears in the dimness. “I’ve always considered it something of a miracle that I survived my early childhood. My father was a tyrant and a drunk who spent most of his time at the Jolly Roger and places like it, propping up the bar with his good-for-nothing friends. Many were the nights when I went to bed with an empty stomach because Da took what little money we had and spent it on drink.”