A Kiss In The Dark (8 page)

Lord Ellington’s countenance reflected his shock, but she wasn’t about to go into the details. He didn’t need to know that the appendage had been cut out long ago by Barnaby Flynt when Cullen, once one of his reluctant minions, had dared to speak out against the gang leader’s cruelty. Deirdre had found him a year ago, wandering the streets of the Fields, and a friendship had developed between them, strengthened by their common hatred of Flynt. Amazed by the big man’s ability to make himself understood without words, she’d realized his potential when no one else had. She’d given him a home and a job, and in return he’d given her his utter devotion and loyalty.

Aware that now wasn’t the time for reminiscing, however, she brushed aside the memories and crossed the foyer to retrieve her cloak from its hook. “I suppose we’d best be on our way.”

Ellington gave a mocking bow. “Of course, my lady.”

Deirdre frowned at him, then glanced at her coachman. “Cullen, why don’t you go ahead and bring the carriage around front? We’ll be there in a moment.”

She waited until the servant had departed before turning back to face the earl, studying him from under lowered lashes. “It occurs to me, my lord, that I really should know your first name.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because if you’re to be my servant, I can’t go around calling you Lord Ellington, now, can I?” She shrugged with deliberate carelessness. “I suppose I could make one up, like Edwin or Frances. But my personal favorite is—”

“Tristan.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Tristan.”

Tristan. It suited him, she thought. It brought to mind images of the noble knight she’d once pictured him to be all those years ago, fighting against overwhelming odds to save his mother’s life. She supposed that was part of her fascination with him. Ever since that day, he’d lived in her mind as a perfect prince, the sort of storybook hero she’d always dreamed of as a little girl but had known was never meant for the likes of her.

She could only hope she hadn’t made a mistake by agreeing to allow him to accompany her. And not just for the obvious reason. After the incident back at his town house, when she’d been practically struck speechless just by touching his arm, she couldn’t help but be wary of the hunger this man stirred in her.

“Are you going to return the favor?”

His question brought her out of her musings and drew her attention back to him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems only fair that if you know my first name, I should know yours, as well.”

“Really, I don’t see why—”

“Come now, Lady Rotherby.” In a few long strides, he’d crossed the foyer to stand beside her, so close she felt dwarfed by his nearness. Bending down, he met her eyes for a long, drawn-out moment, his lips just a breath away from hers. “What can it hurt?”

She felt her head spin. “Deirdre,” she whispered. “My name is Deirdre.”

As a slow, triumphant smile spread over his face, she gave an inner shiver. Heaven help her, but this man was truly a threat to her peace of mind, and she could only hope that her decision to help him wouldn’t prove to be fatal.

E
mily awoke to a pair of inquisitive brown eyes staring down at her from a few inches away.

With a cry, she sat up and scooted back on the pallet she’d been sleeping on, her heart thumping wildly as memories from the evening before seeped back into her consciousness. She slowly calmed, however, as she realized that the eyes belonged to a cherub-faced little boy with blond curls and a shy smile.

“Are you an angel?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

Emily didn’t know what to say. Drawing the threadbare blanket up to her chin, she glanced around at her surroundings. Last night, when Quick had brought her back here after escaping from Toby and his boys, it had been too dark for her to make out much. But now, in the light that streamed in through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, she could see all too well.

The room was large and drafty, with moldering walls and rickety furniture that had seen better days. The floor was lined with pallets like the one she’d been sleeping on, and at the other end of the chamber a group of young boys huddled around a small fire burning in a crumbling hearth.

As she watched, one of them, a lad of about twelve, turned and looked over his shoulder. Seeing that she was awake, he sent a glare at the little boy standing next to her and started toward them.

“Bloody ’ell, Benji! Peter said to leave ’er alone and not to wake ’er! Boy, you’re in for it now!”

Benji’s lower lip stuck out mutinously. “Didn’t wake ’er. I was only watching ’er. She woke up on ’er own.”

The older boy glanced at Emily, his face reddening. “Sorry, miss.”

Emily attempted a smile, though she wasn’t certain how successful it was. “That’s all right. He really wasn’t bothering me. I was just startled, that’s all.” She gave the room another cursory inspection. “Where am I?”

“In the ’ideout of the Rag-Tag Bunch.”

“The Rag-Tag Bunch? But where is that?”

“Why, Tot’ill Fields, of course.”

Emily was stunned. Tothill Fields? Good heavens! She’d heard horror stories about the Fields.

Turning back to the lad next to her, she looked up at him quizzically. “Where are your parents? Will they be angry with your brother for letting me stay here?”

He snorted and rocked back on his heels. “Peter ain’t me brother. And we ain’t got any parents.”

“No parents?” Emily gaped. “Who looks after you?”

The little boy named Benji plopped down on the pallet next to her and began to bounce up and down. “Peter does.”

“Peter?”

“Quick, miss,” the older boy informed her. “The one who brought you back ’ere. I’m Nat. And you’ve met Benji.”

Ah. So Quick’s first name was Peter. She glanced around her once again, searching for some sign of him.

As if reading her thoughts, Nat spoke up. “’E ain’t ’ere now, miss. ’E went out to see if ’e could find out which way the wind is blowing. But ’e’ll be back soon enough.”

At that moment, the sound of a door opening behind them drew their attention, and Emily turned in time to see a stocky, dark-haired boy of about her age step into the room from outside, a bag slung over one shoulder.

Nat frowned at the newcomer. “Where ’ave you been?”

“None of your business, brat.”

“Peter’s been looking for you.”

“So?” The young man shut the door and lowered his pack to the ground, scowling at Nat. “I told you before. Peter ain’t me boss, even if the rest of you let ’im tell you what to do and ’ow to do it.”

Suddenly, he swung his gaze in Emily’s direction, and she felt the breath leave her body in a rush as she found herself pinned in place by a pair of frosty gray eyes that studied her with a calculating interest. His thin, cruel-looking mouth curved into a chilling smile that sent a shiver up her spine. “What ’ave we ’ere?”

He stalked toward her. Coming to a halt only inches away, he began to circle her in a predatory fashion, his gaze surveying her from head to toe. “Since when did we start letting girls in the gang?”

“Leave ’er alone, Jack,” Nat said sharply.

“Who’s going to make me? You?”

For a long moment, no one said a word. Emily was certain the pounding of her heart must have been audible in the sudden stillness as the boys who were grouped around the fireplace became aware of what was going on and turned to watch.

Then, from out of nowhere, a voice spoke up with quiet authority. “’E won’t ’ave to, Jack. I will.”

Emily’s pulse gave a leap, and all eyes in the room went to the alley doorway, where Peter stood, arms crossed as he took in the scene in front of him. Another lad a few years younger hovered at his elbow, straining to see over his shoulder.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two older boys eyed each other; Jack with belligerence, Peter with a calm steadiness that belied the tension of the moment. Emily bit her lip and stared up at them both anxiously.

Then Peter spoke again, his words possessing the impact of a whip crack. “Leave ’er alone, Jack. Now.”

With a growl, the dark-haired boy finally complied, sending a fulminating glare around the room at large. Emily couldn’t restrain a sigh of relief as he backed away, putting some much-needed distance between them.

Taking a step into the room, Peter nudged the bag on the floor with his foot, raising a brow at Jack. “What’s this?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. We promised Lady R—”

“
You
promised Lady R. I didn’t agree to anything.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You know the rules, Jack.”

Instead of answering, Jack bared his teeth in a snarl and hefted the bag back to his shoulder before moving off to the far corner of the room.

With his retreat, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate, and the other boys went back to their previous activities.

Peter approached Emily, his expression concerned. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and offered him a tentative smile. “Yes. Thank you. And I need to thank you for last night, as well. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

He shrugged, then turned to Nat. “Nat, those sausages Lady R brought us smell like they’re almost done. Why don’t you fetch one for our guest? She’s likely starving.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Emily realized just how hungry she was, and her stomach rumbled in response. She watched as Nat gave a crisp salute and headed toward the group around the fireplace.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Peter leaned back against the wall and studied her shrewdly, his intense blue eyes making her feel oddly vulnerable. “You’ve stirred up a ’ornet’s nest, miss, and no mistake. Flynt’s got ’is men out searching the streets for you.”

Emily shivered as images of Barnaby Flynt’s cruel face flashed across her mind’s eye. That man was truly evil, and the thought of him finding her filled her with terror.

The freckle-faced boy who had entered with Peter grinned at her. “Don’t worry, miss. Flynt’ll never find our ’ideout.” It was said with a great deal of confidence, and Emily could only pray he was right.

“You know, miss,” Peter said, pulling her attention back to him, “you never did tell me why Flynt is so ’ot to find you in the first place.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Benji hopped up from the pallet and reached out to grasp Peter’s sleeve, giving it an insistent tug. “Is she an angel, Peter?” he whispered, sounding almost reverent.

The freckled boy snorted. “Course she ain’t! She’s just a girl.”

“But she looks like the picture in my book. If she isn’t an angel, who is she?”

Peter cocked his head in a considering manner. “That’s a good question, Benji. I can’t say. She ’asn’t introduced ’erself yet.”

Emily felt a blush heat her cheeks. He was right. To be truthful, she hadn’t told him much of anything. “Emily. My name is Emily.”

“Well, Miss Emily.” Peter held out a hand to her, his mouth curving in a lazy grin. “Would you care to ’company us to breakfast?”

Despite the gravity of her situation, the fear and uncertainty that had dictated her actions since last night, Emily couldn’t restrain a giggle as she took his hand, allowing him to assist her to her feet. “I’d be delighted.”

He led her over to a plank table in the center of the room, where the boys had already started to gather. Seating herself, she gave Nat a grateful look as he set a chipped plate of steaming sausage before her.

Peter quickly introduced the other lads, and Emily nodded to each one in turn. Aside from Nat and little Benji, there was Miles, the freckle-faced boy who had accompanied Peter, and so many others she knew she’d never remember them all.

One boy, Davey, sported several nasty bruises on the side of his face that made Emily gasp in dismay. Seeing her reaction, Peter inclined his head in the boy’s direction. “Our Davey ’ad a run-in wiv the same lads you met last night.”

Emily’s heart flew into her throat. Toby and his boys? Good Lord, they were twice the size of Davey and they’d ganged up on him? How horrible!

His eyes holding hers, Peter gave her a warm smile. “You don’t ’ave to be afraid. You’re safe ’ere. But I’d like to know why they’re after you.”