London
"I want to hire you.”
Caught off guard by the surprising statement, Peter Quick blinked, then raised an eyebrow at the man seated across from him. A man who had been like a father to him for the past eight years of his life. “I beg your pardon?”
Tristan Knight, the Earl of Ellington, set aside the snifter of brandy he’d been nursing for the last hour and rose, unfolding his broad frame from the depths of the armchair closest to the hearth. Turning his back to the room, he braced a hand on the mantelpiece and stared into the flames for a long, silent moment before finally continuing, his tone gruff.
“Something must be done. This is the third robbery in less than a month, and the local constabulary is no closer to catching the thief than they were in the beginning.” He glanced over his shoulder, the concern plain to see in his expression. “I’m afraid we have need of your expertise.”
Propping his elbows on his knees, Peter leaned forward and studied the earl closely. He’d suspected something was afoot when his unexpected guest had arrived on the doorstep of his Fleet Street flat earlier that evening, and he’d known what it was the minute the subject of the Oxfordshire Thief had been broached. But he’d thought Tristan only wanted the benefit of his advice. Never would he have imagined that the man might actually want to engage his services as a Bow Street Runner.
“You say this most recent theft occurred during a dinner party?” he prompted.
“Yes. Several thousand pounds’ worth of jewelry was stolen. And the scoundrel managed to do it with at least twenty guests just down the hall in Lord and Lady Fulberry’s dining room. Ever since the first robbery at the Tuttleston estate, he’s grown bolder and bolder, and the longer the authorities go without coming up with a viable suspect, the more they’re pointing fingers.” The earl’s mouth tightened. “I don’t like the direction they’re pointing them in.”
For Peter, the light suddenly dawned. “The Park?”
Tristan gave a sharp inclination of his head.
Willow Park. It had been the only real home Peter had ever known as a boy, a place where he’d felt safe and accepted for the first time in his life. After years on the street as the leader of a band of young pickpockets known as the Rag-Tag Bunch, it had been a warm haven from the miserable existence he’d known in the rookeries of London. And now it offered the same protection to other children. Children for whom stealing and scrapping for a living had been the only way to survive.
“We have several older boys who have come to us only recently,” the earl was saying, moving away from the fireplace and crossing the tiny parlor to stand before Peter. “No one has come right out and accused them of anything, of course, but the insinuation is there, all the same.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “It’s starting to upset Deirdre, and I don’t have to tell you how much I dislike seeing Deirdre upset.”
Peter nodded. “Especially now, I would expect.”
“Yes. Especially now.”
It was no secret that the Earl of Ellington was madly in love with his beautiful wife. He’d always been protective of her, but after suffering several miscarriages in the past eight years, the countess was currently in the final month of a rather difficult pregnancy, and Tristan was being ferocious in his care of her.
“Of course, it doesn’t help that one of the boys they suspect is Benji.”
“What?” Stunned by Tristan’s words, Peter jerked his head up to meet the earl’s gaze, unable to hide his astonishment. “That’s bloody ridiculous! Benji would never be responsible for something like this.”
“You and I both know that, but the law doesn’t.” The earl expelled a gust of air and reached up to rake his fingers through his ebony hair in a familiar gesture. “The truth is, Benji has been…different lately. Quiet, withdrawn. Deirdre’s worried about him, and I don’t mind admitting that I am, too.”
Benji had been the youngest member of the Rag-Tag Bunch, a sprightly, charming lad who had grown into a young man of integrity and intelligence. His early love of reading had led to a love of academics, and with the proper schooling and the continued support of the earl and countess, the fourteen-year-old seemed well on his way to a bright future, despite his impoverished beginnings.
However, it had been quite some time since he’d seen the boy, Peter had to acknowledge with an inner pang of guilt. His last visit to Willow Park had been well over a year ago. And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t had a letter from Benji—who was usually an avid correspondent—in weeks. Could the youth he’d thought he’d known so well, who had been like a younger brother to him, have changed so much?
Lunging to his feet, he began to pace in front of the sofa he’d been sitting on, his strides long and furious. “I refuse to believe it. He’s not capable of it.”
“I agree, and I needn’t tell you that Deirdre won’t even hear of the possibility.” The earl crossed his arms, watching Peter with those unnerving violet eyes that had always seemed to see so much. “But you can understand why we need your help. The situation is swiftly becoming desperate.”
Taking a step forward, he laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder, bringing his pacing to a halt. “Come home,” he said softly.
Home. To Oxfordshire. To Willow Park and the Ellington estate, Knighthaven. To the very person he’d been so diligently avoiding for the last four years.
Home to Emily.
Forcefully shaking off his thoughts before they could wander any further in a dangerous direction, Peter turned back to the earl. “I don’t know. I doubt the local authorities would appreciate my interference in their investigation.”
“I should think they would be grateful for your assistance. Little Haverton isn’t London. The law there isn’t used to taking charge of cases like this. Petty thievery, certainly, but something on this scale…No, if it’s left up to them they’ll never catch the bloody bounder.”
Peter had to concede that Tristan had a point. From what he could remember of law enforcement in the tiny village of Little Haverton, they were ill-equipped to deal with a professional thief of this caliber. Still…
He met the earl’s gaze squarely. “Perhaps it would be best if you went to another Runner with this. With my ties to those involved—”
But Tristan was already shaking his head. “You’re the only one I can trust to look after the interests of Benji and the other boys, to make sure they’re not hounded for something they didn’t do.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward in a slight smile. “We need the best Bow Street has to offer, and from what I hear, that would be you.”
The obvious pride in the earl’s voice filled Peter with a fierce sense of accomplishment. That was all he’d ever wanted. To make Tristan and Deirdre proud of him. To prove to them that he was worthy of the confidence they’d shown in him over the years.
Even if he didn’t always believe it himself.
“I’ve heard tales of the escaped murderer you managed to track all the way to the Scottish border last year,” Tristan told him, clapping him on the back. “And half of England knows about that robbery ring you uncovered in Brighton. The boys at Willow Park seem to talk about nothing but your exploits. They all want to be Runners someday.”
He paused for a moment, then bowed his head, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. “But I must confess that your talents as an investigator aren’t the only reason I want you to come home.”
Peter’s brow lowered. “Oh?”
“It’s been years since you’ve been to Oxfordshire for anything more than a brief visit. You know how Deirdre worries, and the children ask about you all the time. We all miss you.”
And what about Emily? Did she miss him?
The thought sprang into Peter’s head before he could quell it, and he once again found himself pushing it away. He’d lost the right to ask that question long ago.
With an effort, he struggled to focus on what Tristan was saying. “I know you’ve been busy, and Deirdre and I are glad you’ve managed to make a successful life for yourself. But don’t forget you have a family who cares for you a great deal. A family who would like to see you every now and again.”
Family. Peter felt another sharp jab of guilt. It was because of Lord and Lady Ellington that he even knew the meaning of the word. He owed them both so much, and he hated the thought of them—not to mention Benji and the other children at Willow Park—being subjected to the suspicious conjectures of the citizens of Little Haverton. If there was a way he could help by bringing this thief to justice, shouldn’t he be willing to do so? Perhaps he could even get to the bottom of what was troubling Benji.
“You know there’s always a place for you at Knighthaven.” Tristan clapped him one last time on the back, then turned away to retrieve his brandy from the table next to the armchair. “And I’m certain Emily will be delighted to have her old friend in residence again.”
Peter froze, glad that the earl had his back turned and couldn’t see the sudden tension that must show on his face. He was immediately flung back in time to a fragrant, moonlit garden. To the taste of soft, sweet lips moving under his own and the feel of silken gold curls wrapped around his fingers.
Barely stifling a groan, he whirled and stalked to the window, staring down at the darkened street below. Bloody hell! He couldn’t believe that the memories were still so easily called forth, even after all this time.
“You know…” Tristan’s voice at his shoulder jolted him from his brooding reverie. “I never asked you why you made such an abrupt departure from Oxfordshire, and I won’t ask you now. I’m certain you had your reasons. But if the authorities manage to lay the blame for these thefts on one of the boys, they’ll take advantage of the opportunity to close Willow Park for good.” His face darkened. “Not only would that devastate the children, it would tear Deirdre apart, as well. I refuse to stand by and watch that happen.”
Peter’s hands clenched into fists on the window ledge. How could he turn his back on the earl’s request after everything the man and his wife had done for him?
He couldn’t, and that was all there was to it. After all, Benji and the rest of the children needed him, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t have the time. He had just finished wrapping up his last case this morning, and there was nothing else pressing that warranted his attention right away.
As for Emily…well, he simply couldn’t allow the earl’s younger sister to factor into his decision in any way.
Shaking off the sudden image of a pair of smoky violet eyes staring up at him, ripe with sensual promise, he turned from the window to face Tristan, his face a mask of resolve. “Very well. Give me a day or two to sort things out at Bow Street and then I’ll join you for the trip back to Knighthaven.”