Emily descended the stairs early the next morning, filled with a renewed sense of purpose.
She had spent most of the night contemplating her new plan of attack, and the more she thought about it, the more she had come to believe it was the best option. If she was going to be forced into spending time with Peter, then she might as well use the opportunity to turn things to her own advantage.
Peter could not be allowed to discover her role as the Oxfordshire Thief. Not yet. Not until she, Jenna, and Miles had had a chance to ascertain once and for all if the piece of information her tormentor was holding over her head was the truth, or another lie. Once they had accomplished that, Emily had every intention of making certain that the Tuttlestons, the Fulberrys, and anyone else who had suffered at the thief’s hands received their stolen property back, and that the villain who had caused all this pain was punished.
And then she would gladly accept the consequences of her own actions, whatever they may be.
In the meantime, she would have to get past the anger she still felt toward Peter and play the gracious companion. There could be no more tantrums, no more outbursts or accusations. She would be civil if it killed her!
A recollection of the way he had so gently explored her ankle yesterday morning rushed through her, making her shiver, and she pushed it away. It wasn’t so easy, however, to rid herself of the memory of those blue eyes looking down on her on the terrace last night, full of a heated awareness and something else, something that had her heart skipping a beat in response.
Emily closed her eyes, giving her head a hard shake to dislodge her disconcerting thoughts. She couldn’t afford to let herself think about Peter this way. Not now.
Not ever again.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the faint murmur of male voices drifted to her from the parlor, and she glanced in that direction. One of the voices seemed unfamiliar, and she couldn’t help feeling a faint twinge of curiosity.
She hailed the butler as he entered the foyer. “Langley? Has the constable arrived?”
“Yes, my lady. He is with Lord Ellington and Master Peter in the parlor. I believe they are discussing the particulars of the thefts.”
Emily bit her lip. Should she join them? She was dying to hear what the constable had uncovered in his investigation, but somehow she doubted the gentlemen would appreciate her presence.
Before she could come to a decision, there was a sharp rap at the front door, and Langley opened the heavy oak portal to admit Adam, Lord Moreland.
Adam Carver, Viscount Moreland, was the son of their neighbor, the Marquis of Brimley. Tall and handsome with thick, wavy blond hair and deep-set hazel eyes, the young lord had been a frequent visitor to Knighthaven since he’d returned from Oxford almost two years ago. Emily considered him a good friend, for he had always treated her with respect and had never seemed to judge her for her fierce need to be independent, as the rest of Little Haverton did.
However, in the past few months she’d noticed a slight change in Adam’s attitude toward her. He’d become even more attentive than usual, and she’d caught him watching her more than once with an assessing expression. It was a well-known fact that Lord Brimley, an elderly gentleman of failing health, had been pressuring his son for some time now to choose a wife, and Emily was very much afraid that the viscount had settled on her as a likely candidate.
For some reason, the idea filled her with a sense of panic she couldn’t explain. As fond as she was of Adam, she found she had no desire to wed him.
But then, she had no desire to wed anyone. Her heart had been far too trampled for her to ever trust a man that much again.
A smile tilted up the corners of Adam’s chiseled mouth as he caught sight of Emily hovering at the bottom of the stairs.
“There you are.” Handing off his gloves and hat to Langley, he strode forward, catching her hands in his. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“Oh?” Emily returned his smile, for as much as his measured looks and hints at a marriage between them had plucked at her anxiety lately, she truly was glad to see him. Adam had always been good at taking her mind off her troubles, and right now that was just what she needed.
“I thought I’d come by and see if you would be interested in going for a ride in the phaeton with me. It’s a perfect day to head down to the lake and perhaps have a picnic, and I know how much you enjoy that. We could stop by Brimley Hall on the way and have the cook pack us something if you’d like.”
“I’m sorry, Adam, but I’m afraid I already have plans. I promised Lord and Lady Tuttleston I would pay them a call this morning, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”
Something shifted in the viscount’s expression and the smile faded from his face. “Instead you would rather disappoint me?”
“Of course not. You know—”
But Adam interrupted her, crossing his arms across his broad chest with a frown. “You know, Emily, I’m beginning to become quite put out with you. Every time I’ve asked you to accompany me somewhere in the last few weeks, you’ve had some excuse why you cannot do so. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me.”
Emily felt a sharp jab at his words. It was true. She had been avoiding him. But before she could think of a way to convince him otherwise and soothe his wounded ego, the door to the parlor suddenly flew open and Peter strode out into the foyer. He was followed by Lord Ellington and a thin stick of a man with straggly brown hair liberally streaked with gray and a bony face behind a pair of wire-framed spectacles.
Constable Jenkins.
“I appreciate your time, Constable, and the information,” Peter was saying as he led the way to the door. “And I can assure you if I turn up anything at all in the investigation, I’ll be certain to let you know.”
The older man sent him a hooded glance, his eyebrows lowered in a fierce scowl. “I still say with a little more time we could have the scoundrel behind bars without any help from Bow Street.”
“We do not doubt that, Constable Jenkins,” Tristan interceded smoothly. “But at this point, I believe that the more men we have on the case, the better. After all, it is for the good of Little Haverton.”
The constable sniffed. “If you ask me, you don’t need to look any farther than the Park. Those children are former vagabonds and street thieves, all of them, and if one of those boys isn’t responsible, I’ll eat my hat.”
Emily went cold all over with guilt. There it was again. The accusations against the children of Willow Park. She hated that her actions had turned the suspicious eyes of the law in their direction. They had enough problems getting past the time they had spent on the streets without having to deal with that, as well.
She watched as Peter’s eyes narrowed and he took a step in the constable’s direction, his manner menacing. “Do you have any proof of that, Jenkins?”
The man blinked and shifted his weight nervously. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Then it might be best if you don’t go accusing anyone until you have all the facts. After all, I was once one of those vagabonds you mention, and I might take offense.”
“Yes, well, er…As you say.”
Tristan stepped past the two men to open the door, his countenance as dour as Peter’s. “I’m certain you must have things you should be about, Constable. Don’t let us keep you any longer. And as Mr. Quick said, we will keep you updated about the case if you will do the same.”
“Of course, my lord. Good day to you. And to you, Mr. Quick.” Constable Jenkins bowed his head to each of them in turn, his face mottled with suppressed anger, then took his leave.
As Tristan closed the door behind him, Peter turned away with a disgusted shake of his head. Good riddance! The man had been nothing but sullen and hostile since he’d arrived, and he had provided them with the requested information regarding the Oxfordshire thefts only grudgingly. Just as he had suspected in the beginning, the local authorities were not going to prove to be a source of much support in his investigation, especially if they had made up their minds that one of the boys at Willow Park was responsible for the crimes.
At that moment, as he raised his head to speak to Tristan, he noticed Emily and a blond gentleman standing at the foot of the staircase, observing the proceedings in silence. Emily’s eyes were full of dismay, while her companion’s were rife with speculation.
Peter disliked the man on sight. Tall and elegant, he was the utter personification of an arrogant young lord, and there was something about the way he hovered over Emily in such a proprietary and possessive fashion that put Peter’s back up.
Tristan saw them at the same time and crossed the foyer with a smile of welcome, grasping the young man’s hand in a firm handshake. “Hello, Moreland. I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you standing there.”
“That’s quite all right, Lord Ellington. You were otherwise occupied.” The gentleman cast a glance back over his shoulder at Emily before turning to Peter. “Em, aren’t you going to introduce me to your…guest?”
“Of course.” Though she appeared somewhat reluctant, Emily came forward to perform the introductions. “Mr. Quick, this is our good friend, the Viscount Moreland. His father is our neighbor, the Marquis of Brimley. And Adam, allow me to make known to you Mr. Peter Quick, a former resident of Willow Park.”
“Ahhhh.”
Peter clenched his teeth at the knowing tone. He wasn’t certain what it was about the man’s reaction that grated on his nerves. It wasn’t as if he’d never run into that sort of attitude before. As a matter of fact, it was the usual response whenever someone realized he’d once lived in a home for former street children. But for some reason, Moreland’s superior demeanor made him long to rearrange those bloody perfect features with a display of pugilistic expertise.
“Mr. Quick is a Bow Street Runner.” Tristan stepped into the breach, the pride in his voice evident.
“A Runner, you say?” Moreland’s interest seemed to perk up. “So you’re the one the boy Benji is always talking about.”
The viscount’s statement piqued Peter’s curiosity and he studied the other man closely. “You know Benji?”
“Of course. He’s a frequent visitor to Knighthaven. As am I.”
There was no mistaking the implication, or the subtle way the fellow shifted just a bit closer to Emily, almost as if staking a claim.
Peter’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. He should be gladdened by this development, he thought. After all, Moreland was just the sort of man he’d always wanted for her. A true gentleman. A viscount and the future Marquis of Brimley.
But then why did the mere idea of the two of them together make his temper soar?
“Lord Moreland! What a pleasant surprise.”
At the sound of the warm greeting, Peter looked up to see Lady Ellington making her way down the stairs, the mound of her belly preceding her like the prow of a ship. As she neared the bottom, she reached out to accept her husband’s outstretched hand and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss on his cheek before facing the viscount once again. “How nice to see you. It’s been too long since your last visit.”
“Yes. Yes, it has.” Lord Moreland looked at Emily, and Peter couldn’t help but note the way she colored and glanced down at the floor. A tension seemed to vibrate in the air between the two of them, a tension that had Peter wondering just what he, Tristan, and the constable could have possibly interrupted with their entrance earlier.
His jaw tautened as a sudden vision of Emily and Moreland passionately entwined crossed his mind’s eye, but he pushed it away with vehement force.
It’s no longer any of your concern, a warning voice sounded in his head. But he knew convincing himself of that was another matter entirely.
“And how is your father?” the countess asked, drawing the man’s attention away from Emily and back to her.
“Not well, I’m afraid. His health has deteriorated a great deal in recent weeks, and I must admit I’ve been concerned. His physician has given strict instructions that he is not to leave his bed.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Please pass on my good wishes to him.”
“I shall. Thank you, my lady.”
Deirdre looked up at her husband. “Has the constable been here already?”
Tristan grimaced. “Unfortunately.”
“Oh, dear. Was he uncooperative?”
“You might say that. He’s still convinced one of the children at Willow Park is responsible, and he made it very clear that any help we receive from him will be reluctant, at best.”
The countess turned troubled eyes on Peter. “I’m sorry, dear.”
He gave a nonchalant shrug, though he couldn’t deny he felt touched by her concern. “It’s nothing less than I expected, my lady.”
“Still, that’s no excuse at all for the man’s rudeness.” Deirdre glanced at Lord Moreland. “We have asked Mr. Quick to look into the case of the Oxfordshire Thief.”
The viscount’s hazel eyes narrowed a fraction and he met Peter’s gaze with an unreadable expression. “Really? How interesting.”
Peter didn’t bother to reply, merely returned the viscount’s stare with a steady one of his own.
No, he did not like this man at all.
“Well, let us turn to more pleasant matters, shall we?” Deirdre said brightly. “Lord Moreland, perhaps you would like to join us for breakfast?”
Peter felt a surge of relief when the man shook his head. “I thank you for the offer, my lady, but I had a bite to eat before I left Brimley Hall this morning.” He cast another hooded glance at Emily. “I truly only stopped by to see if Lady Emily would accompany me for a short ride, but as she appears to have other plans today, I suppose I should be on my way.”
Emily, who had been a quiet, unobtrusive presence in the background all this time, took an abrupt step forward and slid her arm through Moreland’s. “Please, Adam?” She glanced up at him from under lowered lashes, one corner of her lips turning up in an almost impish smile. “Won’t you change your mind? You just got done saying we haven’t had much of a chance to see each other lately. I would love to have you join us.”
The viscount contemplated her for a long moment, then seemed to come to some sort of decision, for he inclined his head in a nod and gave her a charming grin that encompassed the earl and countess, as well.
And completely disregarded Peter.
“Since you ask so nicely, I’d be delighted to stay for breakfast,” he replied, his gaze never wavering from Emily’s piquant face.
“How marvelous!” Deirdre beamed. “I’ll have a footman set an extra place at the table at once.”
As she led Tristan off in the direction of the dining room and Emily fell in behind, still clinging to Lord Moreland’s arm, Peter gritted his teeth and followed in their wake. Damnation! Emily was part of his past and he had accepted that long ago. It should no longer matter to him who she spent her time with, who she laughed and flirted with.
But it did. And as he saw her send the handsome viscount another brilliant smile, a small, undeniable flame of jealousy ignited in his heart.