Over two hours later, as Peter trotted his horse along the road toward the home of Lord and Lady Tuttleston, he couldn’t help studying Emily out of the corner of his eye as she rode beside him.
She had been strangely silent since they had departed Knighthaven, quite different from the laughing, animated creature who had chatted with Lord Moreland at the breakfast table. In fact, he didn’t think she’d once met his eyes since they had all run into each other in the foyer and she had strolled off with the viscount in such a blithe fashion.
At the reminder of the haughty young lord, Peter felt his cheeks heat with temper once more and his hands tightened on the reins, causing his mount to do an impatient dance beneath him.
He drew in a deep, calming breath. He had to stop doing this. But no matter how often he tried to tell himself that Emily was no longer any of his business, it didn’t seem to diminish his need to know just exactly what was going on between her and the viscount.
The question was out before he could call it back. “Have you known Lord Moreland long?”
Emily started as if she had forgotten his presence and looked up, blinking at him in an almost owlish manner. Then, reaching up to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear, she fixed her eyes on the road ahead when she replied, as if she couldn’t bear to hold his gaze for too long. “I’ve known of him since I was a child. My father knew his father, Lord Brimley, very well, and our mothers were good friends. But Adam and I have only been personally acquainted for a couple of years now.”
Adam. She had known the man for only two years and she called him Adam, while Peter was “Mr. Quick.” Despite himself, that fact troubled him far more than it should.
“The two of you seem close.”
“I suppose we are. He has been a good friend to me.” She glanced down at her hands on the reins. “So many people can be kind to your face and then whisper about you behind your back. But Adam isn’t like that.”
Though her visage remained dispassionate, Peter could sense the hurt that lurked just beneath that impassive façade. Her family’s unconventional past, as well as their connection to Willow Park, had always been prime fodder for gossip, and obviously it bothered Emily more than she would ever admit.
A part of him didn’t want to know the answer, but something beyond his own volition seemed to be driving him. “And do you and Moreland have an…understanding?”
Emily paused for a second, appearing to be considering her answer as she nibbled on her lower lip, then shook her head. “I’m not certain.”
Not certain? What the bloody hell did that mean?
Emily noticed the bemused expression that crossed Peter’s face and couldn’t blame him. She was feeling a bit bemused herself. What manner of devil had tempted her to flirt so shamelessly with Adam? For some reason, watching the two men size each other up like potential foes had set off a spark of mischief inside her and she had acted before she’d thought.
But she had forgotten that for every action there was a consequence, and now the viscount was certain to have all sorts of false expectations regarding their relationship, expectations she had no intention of fulfilling. She felt her cheeks flush. Somehow she would have to think of a way to explain her behavior to Adam and hope he would understand.
But that would come later. Right now she had to concentrate on dealing with Peter.
And it was time to change the subject. “You know, you haven’t said much about your life in London.”
Peter seemed surprised at the abrupt shift in the conversation, but he didn’t bother to call her on it. He merely lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “That’s because there’s nothing much to say.”
“Nothing much to say?” Emily gaped at him. “Come now. Surely your life must be very exciting. Catching thieves and murderers and the like. Why, the boys at Willow Park think you’re practically a hero.”
When he said nothing in response, she pressed on, studying his profile intently. “Why a Bow Street Runner?”
“Why not?” Another shrug. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, I suppose.”
“The right place?”
“When I first returned to London, I managed to find a job on the docks, loading cargo onto ships. I had a room at one of the boardinghouses nearby, and I was just leaving for work one morning when I walked right into the middle of a scuffle between a Bow Street officer and a fugitive he was trying to apprehend. I lent a hand, and I suppose the officer felt I showed an aptitude for the job. He offered to see if he could get me on at Bow Street, and here I am.”
Emily suspected there was much more to the tale than that, but she didn’t prod him any further. “You were very young.”
“The youngest one in the office at the time. But they started me off as more of an errand boy, really. It wasn’t until I was a little older and I had proven myself that they let me start taking on my own assignments.”
“And is there anyone back in the city you have…an understanding with?”
She couldn’t have halted herself from asking the question if she’d tried, and she felt her heart skip a beat as those blue eyes swung in her direction, searing her with their intensity.
For a long moment, there was nothing but silence between them. Then his mouth curved in a slow, taunting grin. “I’m not certain.”
Emily gritted her teeth. Of course, the beast would throw her own answer back at her. Oh, well. It was not as if she truly cared to know.
Did she?
Peter’s smile suddenly faded and he looked away. “How much farther is it to the Tuttleston estate?”
“Not far. Less than a mile, I would expect.”
“Good. Perhaps we should pick up the pace a bit. I have much to do today.”
Before she could say a word, he had nudged his horse into a faster trot and pulled ahead of her.
Oh, of all the— No. She would not let her temper be roused by his abruptness. It was better when he was like this, for it helped her to keep their association on a businesslike footing, to remember that he was not the man she’d once believed him to be.
But as she prodded Artemis to catch up to him, she found herself missing the warmth of that all too brief smile.
Emily and Peter arrived at the Tuttleston home to be greeted with genuine warmth by the viscount and viscountess. Having no children of their own, Lord and Lady Tuttleston were especially fond of Emily, and her weekly visits had become a ritual they all looked forward to.
After she had introduced Peter and explained his reason for accompanying her, the viscountess led the way to the sitting room, where a maid was busy laying out a tray of tea and buttered scones.
“I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to play mother and pour the tea, my dear,” Lady Tuttleston told Emily as they all seated themselves and the servant departed. “My hands aren’t quite as steady as they used to be.”
Emily moved to comply with the woman’s request, feeling her heart clutch with sympathy. Lord and Lady Tuttleston were kind people who didn’t deserve the pain this theft had put them through. The necklace that had been stolen from them had been a much-prized family heirloom passed down through generations of Lord Tuttleston’s family. Though it would bring thousands of pounds on the market, it was worth far more to the Tuttlestons than its mere monetary value.
Viscount Tuttleston, a rotund, jovial little man with a shock of pure white hair and twinkling blue eyes, interlocked his fingers on the pudgy mound of his belly and studied Peter over the tops of his spectacles. “So, you’re a former Willow Park boy, eh?”
Emily couldn’t help but notice the way Peter stiffened in his seat, the careful blankness that crossed his features before he nodded his head in the affirmative. “Yes, my lord, I am.”
“A Bow Street Runner now, you say?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Good for you. One of their elite, too, I hear.” The elderly gentleman’s tone was approving. “That’s just what those children need to see. Someone like them who can rise above his past and make something of himself. It will give them something to strive for.”
“Oh, yes.” Lady Tuttleston gave an emphatic nod of agreement, her gray curls bouncing beneath the edge of her lace cap. “I can’t tell you how much I admire your brother and his wife, Emily, for their determination to see Willow Park flourish. All those poor, dear children…And such a noble and worthy cause. I often say so, don’t I, Henry?”
“Yes, indeed you do, my dear. And you’re quite right. It’s one of the reasons I make such a large donation to the home each year.” The viscount winked at Emily.
She barely contained a flinch. It was true. When her family had first returned to Little Haverton, the proper funds for rebuilding and establishing Willow Park hadn’t been easy to come by. The late earl had vastly depleted the Ellington coffers with his weakness for drinking and gambling, and it had taken several years for Tristan to recoup the wealth their father had lost. It had been people like the Tuttlestons, who had thrown their support behind the home and donated generously to the cause—-and continued to do so—-who had made it all possible and allowed Deirdre’s dream to come true.
Just another reason for Emily to feel guilty.
She was grateful when Peter changed the subject. “My lord, my lady, as much as I hate to bring up a painful topic, I do need to ask you a few questions about the night of the theft.”
Lady Tuttleston set aside her cup of tea and turned to face him. “Of course. Although I doubt we’ll be of much help. And we’ve already told the constable everything we know.”
Emily, seated next to the viscountess on the brocade-upholstered love seat, watched as Peter gave the woman a smile. “I’m sure you have, my lady. But sometimes a fresh eye in these matters can be of help.”
“Yes, yes. Quite right.” Lord Tuttleston inclined his head in agreement. “Go right ahead, my lad.”
“Perhaps you could start by filling me in on your whereabouts on the evening the theft occurred.”
Lady Tuttleston pursed her lips. “Why, we were visiting Henry’s sister in Compton, a few miles away.” She leaned toward Emily in a confiding manner. “It was Wednesday evening, you know, and we always visit her on Wednesday evenings.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “So, this is a trip you make regularly?”
“Like clockwork for the last several years, ever since my sister’s husband passed on,” the viscount explained. “She gets lonely in that huge old house by herself, don’t you know, so Roberta and I usually give the servants Wednesday evening off, except for a mere skeleton staff, and make the trek to Compton.”
“So it’s possible the thief was aware the house would be practically empty on a Wednesday night, with few servants about to stumble upon him as he went about his business,” Peter mused, his forehead furrowing as he contemplated this bit of information. After a moment, he swung his gaze from the viscountess to Lord Tuttleston. “And who was the first to discover the theft?”
“That would be Lady Tuttleston.” The viscount gestured toward his wife. “As soon as we arrived home, she went upstairs to make ready for bed. The next thing I knew, she was screaming fit to wake the dead. Made my old heart skip a few beats, I can tell you that.”
Lady Tuttleston’s usually merry brown eyes suddenly swam with tears. “I saw the open window almost the moment I entered my bedchamber, and I knew I hadn’t left it that way. It frightened me, and it didn’t take me long to notice that the lid to the jewelry box that sat on my vanity was open, as well.”
She sniffled, and Emily felt her throat constrict as she covered the elderly lady’s hand with her own.
“I knew the necklace was gone as soon as I looked inside,” the viscountess continued sorrowfully. “I blame myself. I should have let Henry put it in the safe long ago, but I so loved to wear it.”
The viscount leaned forward in his seat and pressed a handkerchief into his wife’s hands. “There, there, dear. You mustn’t take on so. It isn’t your fault.”
“It is! Oh, Henry, your great-grandmother’s necklace!”
As the tears slipped free and spilled down Lady Tuttleston’s wrinkled cheeks, Emily felt helpless to do anything for the woman but pat her hand in a comforting manner.
After a moment of silence, Peter spoke again in a soft, soothing tone. “Lady Tuttleston, was anything else taken?”
The viscountess shook her head. “A few baubles, but nothing of as much worth to us as the necklace. It’s been in Henry’s family for several generations, you see.”
“And the authorities are certain the thief gained entry through the window?”
The viscount looked uncharacteristically grim as he watched his wife weep. “That’s what the constable seems to believe. The vile devil apparently scaled the tree outside our bedchamber and picked the lock.”
“Would you mind showing me this tree?” Peter asked, getting to his feet.
Lord Tuttleston started to rise, but Emily waved him back into his seat. “Please, my lord. Don’t trouble yourself. I know where it is, and I’ll be happy to show Mr. Quick the way.”
The viscount gave a grateful sigh. “Thank you, Emily, my dear.”
As Emily stood, Peter stopped for a moment in front of the viscountess and caught her hand in his, bowing low over it before pressing a kiss to the gnarled knuckles. “I thank you and your husband for indulging me today, my lady. And I promise you, I intend to bring this thief to justice. Your necklace will be found and returned to you. You have my word on that.”
He brushed past Emily on his way to the sitting room door, and she cast one last glance back at the elderly couple as the viscount moved to sit next to his wife, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders.
Would they ever be able to forgive her?
Would anyone?
She turned and left the room.
“I still don’t understand how actually seeing the tree is going to help you,” Emily said for the second time in as many minutes as she led the way around the corner of the house. “The theft occurred weeks ago, so surely any evidence that might have been left behind would be long gone by now?”
Peter glanced at her rigid spine as she marched along in front of him. “Possibly. We shall see.”
“And you must know the constable and his men have been over every inch of these grounds. If there was something to find, I’m certain they would have discovered it.”
In Peter’s opinion, Constable Jenkins couldn’t have found his own nose in a dark room, even with a lantern and a mirror to aid him. He doubted any search the man had performed would have been very thorough, but he decided to keep that thought to himself. “Perhaps.”
“Could you be any more vague?” Emily tossed over her shoulder in an irritated tone.
“That depends.”
She stopped so abruptly he almost ran into her back, then she whirled to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. The action pulled the material of her lavender day dress taut across the mounds of her breasts, pressing the pale, rounded globes upward until they threatened to spill over the top of her normally modest, lace-edged neckline.
Peter’s mouth went dry.
“You know, Mr. Quick,” she told him, studying him from under lowered lashes. “I have the distinct impression that you’re making fun of me, and I don’t like it.”
“I would never make fun of you, Lady Emily,” he said, his tone solemn. “I would never take my life in my hands in such a fashion.”
She examined him for a long moment, then gave a sniff and started to turn back around. As she did so, however, her foot appeared to catch on something and she stumbled forward, a startled cry escaping her lips.
Reacting without thought, Peter reached out and caught her about the waist, hauling her to him in an attempt to steady her.
And knew immediately he’d made a mistake.
At the sensation of all those lush curves pressed up against him, he felt the breath seize in his chest and a surge of lust lick along his nerve endings. His hold on her tightened without his volition, and for just a second he was tempted to lay her down in a nearby patch of sunlight, peel off that gown, and cover her sweet body with his own.
Their gazes locked, and Peter could have sworn he saw an answering flare of desire in the depths of Emily’s eyes before she quickly dropped a veil over them and lifted her chin with haughty aplomb.
“You can let me go now, Mr. Quick. I’m quite all right.”
“Yes. Of course.” He knew he should. He wanted to. But for some reason his hands were slow in receiving the message.
When he finally succeeded in convincing his fingers to loosen their grip, Emily wasted no time in putting some much-needed distance between them. Casting him one last wary look, she dusted off her skirts, spun, and continued on her way.
Peter fell in behind her, letting the breath he’d been holding finally gust out from between his teeth in an inaudible whistle. This woman’s effect on him was lethal!
Damnation, but what was it about Lady Emily Knight that made what had once passed between them so hard to forget?
It certainly wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. Since his return to London, he’d lived a far from celibate lifestyle, and he’d been involved with several women over the years. But while they had relieved the physical ache of his body, they’d never come close to touching his heart.
The only woman who had ever been capable of doing that was right here with him.
But he could never let her know it.
“You’ll never amount to anything, do you ’ear me? Never! I rue the day I ever gave birth to you.”
The familiar voice from his past reverberated in his head, the cruel viciousness of the words enough to make him flinch, even now. It served to remind him that all of the reasons he’d had for pushing Emily away four years ago were still there, and they weren’t going to go away. Nothing had changed.
Nothing.
“Here we are.”
He was pulled out of his musings to find that Emily had come to a halt in front of a large oak tree that stood a few feet away from the side of the manor. Several thick branches protruded from its trunk, perfect for climbing on, and an especially sturdy-looking one stopped just short of the windows on the upper story of the house.
Focus on the investigation, Quick, he told himself sternly. He had made a promise to Tristan and Deirdre, and now to Lord and Lady Tuttleston, that he would catch this thief, and he intended to keep it. And he couldn’t let his inconvenient feelings for Emily distract him.
With that thought uppermost in his mind, he stepped forward to examine the ground at the base of the tree.
Unfortunately, there was very little to be found. The carpet of grass that surrounded the oak would have concealed any footprints, and any inclement weather in the weeks since the theft would have washed away any other clues the intruder might have left behind.
Running a gloved hand over the rough bark of the trunk, he glanced upward toward the topmost branches, measuring the distance from the tree to the Tuttlestons’ bedchamber window. Yes, it could have been done. In this instance, it looked as if Constable Jenkins had been correct. The thief had used this tree to enter and exit the house. Unless he had scaled the side of the manor itself, which seemed improbable, there was no other way the window could have been reached.
“Well?”
Emily’s voice came from directly behind him, and he looked back at her over his shoulder to find her watching him with a strange expression, her violet eyes guarded.
“I shall most likely have to take a look at the bedchamber,” he informed her, turning back to his assessment of the tree, “and examine the window itself. If—”
At that moment, something high up in the tree caught his eye.
What the bloody hell…?
Without a second thought, Peter caught hold of one of the lower branches and swung himself up in one smooth motion. A gasp came from behind him at his unexpected action, but he ignored it as he planted his booted feet on the branch and pushed himself to a standing position.
The object fluttered just a few inches above his head, concealed by the leaves that stirred in the slight spring breeze. Dark in color, it would have been well hidden from anyone who hadn’t been studying the tree as closely as he had.
Reaching up, he wrapped his fingers about it and gave a tug. It was quite thoroughly caught, and it took several good yanks before it came free in his hand.
“What is it?” Emily called anxiously from the ground, shading her eyes with one hand to look up at him.
He dropped back down beside her and held his discovery out for her inspection.
It was a scrap of torn cloth.