Would she never learn to control herself?
Quietly fuming, Emily sat at the dining room table, barely aware of the gay chatter going on around her as she thought back on her earlier encounter with Peter.
She had behaved like a child, she thought, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Hadn’t she made up her mind that she wasn’t going to let him goad her this evening? That she was going to be on her best behavior and ignore his presence as if it were of no consequence?
She should have known there would be no ignoring Peter.
She studied him where he sat at the far end of the table, deep in discussion with Tristan and the McLeans. Something her brother said must have struck him as humorous, because he threw his head back and laughed, a husky, pleasant sound that sent tingles running over her skin in reaction.
Dear Lord, did he have to be so very handsome? With his tawny hair tumbling over his brow in charming disarray, he possessed a boyish appeal that was hard to resist. But the way the soft blue material of his coat hugged his broad shoulders and leanly muscled physique like a second skin left little doubt that he was all man.
Her hands clenched into fists. She had to quit letting him stir up her emotions like this. Every time she allowed him to ruffle her calm façade, she wound up looking like a fool. Already tonight he’d managed to provoke her into confronting him like an irate fishwife over his interaction with Benji.
At the thought of the boy she’d always been so close to, she turned her attention to where he sat, using the silver tines of his fork to toy with the uneaten food on his plate. Like Tristan and Deirdre, Emily was concerned by his withdrawn behavior, but she was certain that badgering him about it would serve no useful purpose other than to alienate him further. It had been her fear that Peter had been doing just that, coupled with her worry over her own circumstances, that had led to her lashing out in such a manner.
You have to stop this, she scolded herself. This is no way to convince the man that he no longer has the power to affect you!
But she couldn’t seem to help it.
“Tristan?” Deirdre suddenly spoke up from her seat next to Lilah, pulling Emily out of her ruminations. “You never did tell us about your trip to London. Was it as terrible as you expected?”
“Worse, actually. Crowded and filthy and stifling.” Tristan sent a smile in Emily’s direction. “Not that I wouldn’t like to see you find a husband, Em, but did I ever tell you how grateful I am to you for standing up to Aunt Rue and refusing a Season when she insisted on one for you?”
Emily squirmed in her seat as she felt Peter’s eyes settle on her with unnerving intensity. “Yes, I do believe you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”
Their father’s sister, Ruella Palmer, Marchioness of Overton, was a stern lady who had never approved of Tristan as a guardian for Emily, or his marriage to Deirdre. But over the years, the woman had relented in her attitude and had tried to draw the family, especially Emily, back into London society. She had seemed determined to make an excellent match for her niece and had even offered to sponsor her for her expected come-out when she’d turned eighteen. But Emily had been just as determined not to be paraded before the eligible gentlemen of the ton like some brood mare up for auction. Wanting only her happiness, her brother had refused to coerce or pressure her in any way, and the marchioness had finally thrown her hands up in defeat.
“And Archer and Mrs. Godfrey?” the countess asked, raising an inquiring brow at her husband. “How are they?”
“The same as always.” Tristan gave a reminiscent grin. “Each of them certain they are the one in charge and never hesitating to point it out to the other.”
Elderly Archer had been the butler at the Ellington abode in London for as long as Emily could remember, and Mrs. Godfrey had been Deirdre’s housekeeper when she’d first met Tristan. After the couple’s marriage, Mrs. Godfrey had come to stay at the Ellington town house, and a battle of wills between the two stubborn retainers had ensued. Normally, Emily would have found her brother’s tales of the servants’ frequent standoffs amusing, but not now. At this moment, she was all too aware of Peter watching her, his expression unreadable.
As the meal progressed and the conversation continued, Emily found her attention drawn over and over again to the quiet, brooding man seated down the table from her. And by the time the ladies rose and excused themselves, leaving the gentlemen to their after-dinner port and cigars, she could only be grateful for the chance to escape. Unable to help herself, she cast one swift glance back over her shoulder as she departed the dining room, only to find Peter staring after her, the flickering of the candlelight that played over his lean visage giving his profile a hawklike appearance.
She suppressed a shiver.
Once back in the parlor, Lady Ellington led Lilah and Rachel McLean over to a grouping of chairs in front of the fireplace, where they seated themselves and continued their laughing conversation. Instead of joining them, however, Emily found herself wandering over to stare out the French doors, her mind a maelstrom of chaotic thoughts.
When had everything become so very complicated?
Up until a month ago, her life had been quiet and fairly normal. She’d had her family and friends, as well as her work with the children of Willow Park. And if her existence in Little Haverton hadn’t been all that exciting, at least she’d been content. But then her past had returned with a vengeance to turn her carefully ordered world upside down.
Now, on top of all that, she had Peter to contend with. Hugging herself against a sudden chill, she turned away from the window, only to find her attention caught and held by a portrait that hung above the sideboard on the far side of the room. Slowly, she drifted in that direction, her stare never wavering from the lines of the delicate face that had been so lovingly rendered.
It was a picture of her mother, Victoria Knight, the late Lady Ellington. Though she’d been only six-years of age at the time of her mother’s murder, Emily could recall a laughing woman with violet eyes the same shade as her own and a gentle nature.
Much like Deirdre, the former countess had been a good Samaritan, using her spare time to minister to the needs of the poverty-stricken denizens of London’s rookeries. It had been her work with these people that had led to her murder at the hands of street thieves, and the tragedy of her passing still affected all those who had known her, even after sixteen years.
By all accounts, Victoria Knight had been a kind and generous person, loving and unselfish. A veritable saint.
Dear Lord, had anyone ever truly known her? Was it possible that that innocent face had hidden a not-so-innocent heart?
“Emily?”
The soft voice at her elbow caused her to start and whirl about to find herself looking up at a concerned Deirdre.
“Emily, you’ve been standing here for quite some time. Are you all right, dear?”
Emily forced a smile to her face and quickly looked away, hoping her sister-in-law couldn’t read the lie in her expression. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” She gestured toward the portrait. “I was just thinking about my mother, wishing I could have known her better. Sometimes she seems so…distant to me. At least Tristan was older when she died. His memories of her are more clear than mine will ever be.”
Deirdre joined her in studying the picture. “She was quite beautiful, wasn’t she?” She reached out to tuck her arm through Emily’s, drawing her close to her side. “According to your brother, she was just as beautiful on the inside. And she loved you both very much. You can take comfort in that.”
There was a long silence, then Deirdre spoke again, her manner almost tentative. “Emily, dear, I don’t want to pry, but I can’t help but notice the strain between you and Peter whenever you’re in each other’s company.”
Emily started to speak, but the countess forged onward, waving her free hand dismissively. “No. Please don’t make excuses. I don’t pretend to know what happened before he left for London that caused such a rift between the two of you, and I have no intention of asking, though it goes against my better judgment. However, I do want you to remember that he is here to help the people of Little Haverton, and if you could make some sort of effort, reach out to him just a little bit, then perhaps you could get past this initial…awkwardness.”
Emily swallowed, casting her gaze down at the carpet as her heart seemed to suddenly increase its pace. “I rather doubt that, Deirdre.”
The older woman turned and took a few steps away from the portrait, tugging Emily along with her. “Hadn’t you mentioned earlier today that you planned on visiting Lord and Lady Tuttleston at some point tomorrow?”
“Yes, I did, but—”
“Perhaps if you would allow Peter to accompany you? He does need to speak with them regarding the break-in at their house, and they might be more comfortable answering his questions in your presence. You know how fond they are of you. And you might consider lending him your assistance in other aspects of his investigation, as well. I’m certain he could use your help, what with your knowledge of Little Haverton.”
Emily stiffened. Deirdre wanted her to voluntarily spend time in Peter’s company? She couldn’t possibly know what she was asking. “That might not be such a good idea.”
“Emily, please?” Deirdre’s green eyes importuned her. “I hate to see you and Peter at odds when you used to be so close. Please, do this for your brother and me. We won’t ask you for anything else, I promise.”
Heavens, how could Emily possibly say no to such a heartfelt request? She took a fortifying breath. “Very well,” she heard herself say, praying she was able to keep the trepidation she felt from coming through in her voice. “I’ll speak to Peter about it when the opportunity presents itself. Perhaps after he’s seen the constable in the morning.”
“There’s no time like the present.” Deirdre inclined her head in the direction of the French doors. “He’s out on the terrace.”
Emily looked around, surprised to discover that she must have been so absorbed in her contemplation of her mother’s portrait that she hadn’t noticed when the gentlemen had rejoined them. Tristan, Cullen, and Angus McLean had seated themselves with the other ladies and were laughing at one of Lilah’s remarks, while Benji had returned to the chair next to the fireplace and the book he’d been reading earlier.
The French doors where she’d been standing just a short time ago stood open to the warm night air.
Emily swallowed nervously. The mere thought of approaching Peter, alone on the terrace, in the dark, was enough to have gooseflesh breaking out across the exposed skin of her arms. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time—”
Deirdre gave her a nudge toward the doors. “Go on. I’m sure he won’t mind. He’ll more than likely be grateful for your offer of help.”
Emily wasn’t so certain about that, but she started across the parlor with measured steps, mentally shoring up her courage. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, she tried to convince herself. After all, if she stuck close to Peter, accompanied him on his interviews, she could keep track of where he was in his investigation.
And make certain he didn’t get too close to the truth.
She shrugged off another pang of guilt. She would not allow herself to feel ashamed over doing what needed to be done in order to preserve her family.
Straightening her shoulders, she stepped out onto the terrace.
Peter leaned back against the stone balustrade with an exhalation of air, enjoying the light breeze that brushed against his face. This was more like it. Out here he felt better able to breathe. Inside the house had been stifling.
Not that he hadn’t been glad for the chance to catch up with the people who had made such a difference in his life. Lilah was as amusing as always, and it was nice to see the McLeans and Benji, despite the boy’s less than receptive mood.
And Emily…
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Even with the resentful glares she had thrown his way throughout dinner, that lovely profile had drawn his gaze, and his pulse had sped up every time those misty violet eyes met his.
He couldn’t deny he deserved her ire. Apparently he’d hurt her far more with his defection four years ago than he’d even suspected.
Turning, he gripped the railing with both hands, his hold tightening until his knuckles turned white. The smell of jasmine drifted to him from the garden beyond the terrace, teasing his senses with its exotic fragrance.
Out there, just past the expertly trimmed boxwood hedges, near the copse of elms that stood sentinel next to the central fountain, was the spot where he had once almost made love to Emily.
His mouth went dry with remembrance. He could still visualize the way she had looked that night, with her hair tousled about her shoulders and her lips swollen by his savage kisses. The sound of her breathy moans and soft sighs echoed in his head as if it had happened only yesterday.
“Love me, Peter my darling…”
“Peter?”
The voice floated to him like a continuation of his memories, and for a brief moment he thought he was still lost in the past.
“Peter? Are you there?”
It was louder this time, jerking him from his haze, and as he whirled to face the house, he saw Emily step out of the darkness and into the path of a stray moon-beam that spilled across the terrace.
This was no memory. She was all too real.
Immediately, he smoothed his features into a mask of cool composure and shoved his hands in his pockets, attempting to project a façade of casual nonchalance that he was far from feeling. This woman had already proven that she was all too adept at stealing past his defenses, and he couldn’t afford to let down his guard with her. Not even for an instant. “Lady Emily? What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you.” She moved toward him, her skirts making a hushed swishing sound on the stones beneath her feet. Coming to a halt not far away, she stared up at him with eyes that were opaque in the dimness, giving him no clue as to her thoughts. “I need to speak with you.”
“And here you gave me the impression earlier that you’d be quite happy if you never had to speak to me again.”
“Yes, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. My behavior this evening has been inexcusable, and I owe you an apology.”
To say he was shocked would have been an understatement, and he knew his astonishment must show on his face despite his best efforts to hide it. She was apologizing to him? “Will wonders never cease?”
Emily’s mouth tightened visibly at his reaction. “You needn’t look so incredulous. I do know how to admit when I’m in the wrong. Regardless of our…differences, I know you would never deliberately set out to hurt Benji, and I had no right to accuse you of it. It’s just—” She paused for a moment, glancing down at her hands clasped in front of her. “You were right this morning. Your presence here has made things a bit…awkward.”
“It was never my intention—”
She halted him with a shake of her head. “I’m aware of that. The fact remains, however, that we’ve been placed in a rather uncomfortable situation, and we need to learn to deal with it—and each other—in a civilized manner. To that end, I have decided to lend you my assistance in your investigation.”
What the bloody hell? “Your assistance?”
“Yes. I plan on visiting the Tuttlestons tomorrow, and I know you’ll need to interview them regarding the break-in. Deirdre thought they might be more comfortable if I was there when you questioned them, since I know them so well. And I might be able to ease your way with some of the other people you’ll need to speak with.”
It took a second for Peter to register what she was saying, for her words to finally come together to make some sort of sense in his mind. Emily help him? When they couldn’t even be in the same room for more than five minutes without striking sparks off each other?
“I don’t think that would be a good idea—” he began, but she cut him off before he could finish his protest, her tone firm.
“I do. This thief needs to be caught, and if I can help you in some way, then I would like to do so.”
She took another step in his direction, and her scent wafted to him on the night air, a hint of roses that sent his blood racing through his veins in response. “Unless…” She drew the word out slowly, her prim expression changing to one of speculation as she looked up at him from under lowered lashes. “You can think of a reason why I shouldn’t?”
He had to give her credit, Peter thought, studying her through narrowed eyes. She certainly didn’t lack for audacity. But then, she never had. “It could be dangerous.”
“Nonsense. I’m not suggesting that I be there when you track the man down. Only that I be present to help smooth things over when you’re speaking to the witnesses and victims. You know how the citizens of Little Haverton can be, especially the local aristocracy.” She tilted her head, the moonlight spilling across the fragile purity of her angelic features, giving her skin an alabaster glow. “And surely you can protect me in the unlikely circumstance that something should happen?”
Peter’s hands tightened into fists in his pockets. As much as the thought of working with her troubled him, he knew she had a point about the people of Little Haverton. They more than likely would feel more comfortable answering his questions if she was at his side.
But just how was he supposed to be able to maintain his distance if she was constantly in his company, helping him with his investigation?
As if sensing his reluctance to agree, she reached out to lay a small hand on his arm. Though the touch was light and fleeting, it branded him as thoroughly as if she’d pressed a hot iron against his flesh. “Come now, Mr. Quick. We’re both adults. Surely for Deirdre’s sake we can manage to maintain a modicum of civility toward each other, at least long enough to see this through.” A slight smile curved her rosy lips, teasing and almost seductive. “Of course, if you don’t think you can handle working with me…”
That did it. Emily’s coy manner and challenging words finally succeeded in bringing Peter’s temper to the fore.
In an unexpected movement that had her eyes going wide in surprise, Peter closed the distance that remained between them and leaned over until his face was mere inches from hers. “I’m certain that I’m perfectly capable of handling any…difficulties which may arise,” he assured her in a silken purr. “The question is, my lady, are you?”
He felt her stiffen, the material of her skirts brushing up against his breeches in a tantalizing fashion. He was so close he could see the rapid flutter of her pulse in the side of her throat, could feel the soft caress of her breath against his lips. If he lowered his head just the slightest fraction, he could discover for himself if she still tasted just as sweet as he recalled…
Emily blinked and jerked backward as if stung, breaking the spell, and Peter let her go. For a moment he’d gotten far too caught up for comfort in the sensual tension that arced between them.
Neither of them said a word for what seemed like a small eternity. Then Emily lifted her chin and spoke with a firm resolve. “I can handle anything you can, Mr. Quick.”
He managed a careless shrug in response. “If you say so.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. We’ll both head out tomorrow morning to see the Tuttlestons as soon as you finish with the constable.” With a toss of her golden curls, she spun on her heel and marched away, sending him one last veiled glance over her shoulder before disappearing back through the French doors.
So much for staying out of each other’s way.