“I beg your pardon?”
Stunned and more than a little overwhelmed, Emily gazed at Adam with her mouth agape, certain she must have misheard him.
“Come now, Emily, surely it can’t come as that much of a shock.” The viscount gave a wry chuckle, but the humor didn’t quite reach his hazel eyes. They were narrowed, watchful, as he stood before her, both of her hands captured in his. “You must know how I feel about you. I’ve been trying to propose to you for weeks now.”
It seemed her ears were in proper working order after all. Adam had asked her to marry him. She supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised. She’d suspected that things were leading in this direction, but she hadn’t guessed that he would choose a moment like this to ask her to be his bride, when his family was in the midst of so much chaos.
For some reason, his attitude hit her as being just a trifle insensitive.
The proposal had seemed to come out of the blue. After leading her to his study, Adam had spent a moment out in the hallway, speaking with his butler, before joining Emily. Then, seating her in an overstuffed chair in front of his desk, he had caught her off guard by clasping her hands in a firm grip and asking her quite seriously to marry him.
Perhaps sensing her disquiet, he leveled her with an earnest look. “I may have been a bit abrupt, and for that I apologize. But I’ve decided the time for subtlety is past. Every time I’ve tried to ease into asking you to become my wife, something has happened to interrupt me. It seemed better to just come out and say it. Do you forgive me?”
“Of course. But—” She paused and licked her dry lips before continuing. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
She avoided his disconcerting stare and let her gaze trail around the room. It was only now, as she sought to distract herself, that she noticed something she should have noticed upon first entering. Many of the pieces of furniture she could remember from previous visits were conspicuously absent, and there were several bare spaces on the wall where she was certain expensive paintings had once hung.
Lord Brimley’s comments regarding his son’s creditors suddenly seemed to make sense. Was Adam’s gambling more of a problem than she’d believed? Was it bad enough that he’d had to start selling off their household possessions?
There was no way she could broach the subject without offending the viscount, so she resisted the impulse to question him and instead returned to the matter at hand.
“I’m afraid I can’t just say yes, Adam,” she ventured. “There is much to consider, and I can’t help but feel this isn’t the right time.”
Lord Moreland’s face flushed a deep red and he dropped her hands, crossing his arms in an almost defensive posture. “What is there to consider? And when would be the right time?”
“Adam, your father has just suffered an attack and is bedridden upstairs after coming face-to-face with the thief who stole your mother’s prized possession! I should think you would have more pressing matters to concern yourself with.”
Pivoting, he strode across the room to stand before the window, staring out at the sunny day beyond the glass. His back was stiff, his shoulders held rigidly, and just when she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to speak again, he exhaled a breath of air and looked back at her over his shoulder. “You’re right, of course. But you must understand how anxious I am about this. I’ve thought of little else for the past several weeks, and with Father in such poor health…well, to be honest, I could use someone to lean on.”
Emily felt her heart give a tug of sympathy and she got to her feet, moving to stand next to him. “Adam, you know I will always be here for you. We’re friends, after all, and that is what friends do for each other. And I will be glad to aid you and your father in any way I can.”
He reached up to lay a hand on her cheek. His touch was so unexpected—and unnerving—that Emily had to fight the urge to put some distance between them. “I appreciate that, Emily. I truly do. And I know my father does, as well. He’s always been fond of you, you know, and he’d be delighted to see us wed.”
A shard of guilt pierced her as she recalled the marquis’s pale face, the labored heave of his breathing. This was all her fault. And having the elderly man mistake her for her mother, hearing him talk about Victoria’s friendship with his deceased wife, had made her feel twice as ashamed. She couldn’t believe she’d been callous enough to continue to try to prod information from him even after he’d obviously had enough, but his mention of her mother’s letters had made her wonder if perhaps some tie to the late Lady Ellington’s past still existed. If so, then there might be a chance to prove whether or not Jack Barlow’s claims were true.
But no. There could be no excuse for badgering someone in such a state, no matter her reasons. All she had succeeded in doing was arousing Peter’s curiosity and tiring a poor old man.
The least Adam deserved from her was to be let down gently.
“Please, Emily,” the viscount was saying, coming a step closer to her. “You must see how important this is to me. I’ve put off my usual departure to London for the Season, wanting to get this sorted out before I go.” His palm fell away from her cheek and he reached for her hand once again. “As a matter of fact, I was hoping to persuade you and your family to come with me, so we can announce our betrothal. I care for you a great deal, and as we’ve been friends for so long, I feel that we would suit rather well. Surely you must agree?”
For the sake of the friendship she’d shared with Adam in the past, she forced herself to reply as cautiously as possible. “I don’t know. Marriage is a rather large step and—”
“It appears I’m interrupting something important again.”
The voice brought Emily’s head jerking in the direction of the door to find Peter lounging in the entranceway, arms crossed, his countenance cool and unreadable.
She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life.
It was apparently a sentiment Lord Moreland didn’t share. A scowl marred his handsome face as he glowered at Peter. “Are you already finished questioning the staff, Mr. Quick? I didn’t expect you to be done so soon.”
Peter shrugged, his perceptive gaze skimming over Emily’s features in a way that led her to believe that every one of her confusing emotions must show on her face. “There wasn’t much they could add to the story, I’m afraid. None of them saw the thief. It seems by the time they came upon Lord Brimley collapsed in the hallway, the man was long gone.”
Emily tugged her hand free from Adam’s grasp and sidled a step or two away from him, not realizing she’d been holding her breath until clean, fresh air raced into her lungs with her sharp inhalation.
“And you’ve examined Lady Brimley’s chamber?” she asked. Though she was relieved by Peter’s timely arrival, her interest in his answer wasn’t feigned. She truly wished to know what he had discovered.
After all, keeping her double identity a secret could depend upon it.
“Thoroughly. The dust had been disturbed in a few places, as if in a hasty search. And the window was left open. There is no trellis or tree to climb, but some bushes close to the side of the house look as if something large was dragged through them recently. It appears our thief jumped to make his escape.”
And had the bruises to prove it. Emily had to restrain the urge to rub her aching posterior.
“Well, I suppose that means our work is done here,” she said brightly, starting toward Peter and the door. “We should most likely be off now. I know you had several things you needed to do with regard to the investigation, Mr. Quick, and I—”
“Emily, wait.”
Drat and blast! She should have known Adam wouldn’t let her escape that easily.
She stopped and turned with great reluctance, watching as the viscount approached her. As if sensing her trepidation, Peter moved up behind her, and she found herself grateful for his solid, warm presence looming at her back.
It was only Adam. She shouldn’t feel this threatened.
But she did.
Nearing her side, the viscount caught her elbow in a firm grip and stared into her eyes, as if willing her to concede. “I hope you will promise me you will at least consider what I have proposed. I think we would make an excellent match, and if you will give it some thought, I’m sure you will agree.”
Had Peter just growled in her ear? It wouldn’t surprise her. She would have to be blind not to know that he didn’t care for Lord Moreland, and the antipathy appeared to be mutual. Eager to flee Adam’s unsettling presence and wanting to get Peter away before the two men came to blows, she gave a hasty nod. “Very well. I promise I will think about it.”
With that, she pulled her arm free, whirled, and left the room with Peter at her heels.
But she couldn’t help wondering as she made her escape what Adam would think if he knew he had just proposed marriage to the very woman who had stolen his mother’s brooch and caused his father’s attack.
Once in the carriage and on their way back to Knighthaven, Peter found himself unable to keep from studying Emily, trying to discern what she was feeling from the look on her face. But her expression was closed, leaving her eyes strangely blank as she stared off into space.
Lord Moreland had proposed to her.
Peter clenched his jaw against the anger that flared through him whenever he imagined her as the wife of the condescending viscount. Though he knew he would never be able to have Emily for his own, he still had a vested interest in her future happiness, and he found it hard to believe she could ever be happy with Moreland.
Not to mention the fact that the mere thought of the man touching, kissing, caressing her the way he himself had done was enough to madden him beyond reason.
“Well, Mr. Quick. Do you have any theories?”
So caught up was he in the troubling vision of Emily being made love to by Lord Moreland that it took Peter a moment to realize she was addressing him. Jerking himself from his disturbing thoughts, he faced her, hoping his countenance betrayed none of his roiling emotions. “I beg your pardon?”
“Theories, Mr. Quick. I was interested in whether you had any new ones regarding the Oxfordshire Thief now that you’ve spoken with Lord Brimley and had a chance to look over the scene of the crime.”
As a matter of fact, he did. “Only one, I’m afraid. Is the marquis a frequent contributor to Willow Park?”
“I believe so. At least, he has been in the past. Why?”
“It occurred to me as I was examining Lady Brimley’s old bedchamber that each of the victims of the thief has made some sort of monetary donation to the upkeep of the Park at one time or another. It’s the only thing that ties the cases together that I’ve been able to pinpoint.”
Emily’s face whitened. “Oh, my God, that’s true! I never even made the connection, but you’re right.” She appeared stunned by the revelation.
“It wouldn’t be too out of line to assume that the culprit is someone who is associated with either Willow Park or your family and holds a grudge. Can you think of anyone who fits that description?”
A frown marred her brow and she avoided his gaze. “It isn’t a secret that most of Little Haverton would like to see Willow Park closed. But I can’t think of anyone who could hate us so much that they would do such a thing, go to such lengths.” She sighed and bowed her head. “Do you still plan on visiting the local pawnbrokers?”
Peter nodded. Something in her demeanor troubled him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. “While I’m doing that, you might try questioning your brother to see if he can think of anyone who has a personal vendetta against him or the Park.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
She didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic, and he found himself perusing her visage, searching for some sign of what she might be hiding.
Was she bothered by what he had told her about the thief and the connection to Willow Park? Or was she thinking about Lord Moreland?
The possibility pricked at him, and he couldn’t have called the words back that spilled from his lips if he had tried.
“You deserve better than Moreland, you know.”
Obviously surprised by the change in subject, Emily’s head flew up, her lashes fluttering as she focused on him with an intensity that pierced him. “Excuse me?”
He’d come this far. There was no use backing down now. He took a deep breath and plunged onward. “Lord Moreland. He proposed to you, I assume?”
“If it’s any business of yours, yes, he did.”
“He isn’t good enough for you, Em. You deserve someone who will love you and set you free to be yourself. Moreland would smother you inside of a week.”
“And you’re so concerned for my welfare and what sort of man I deserve? I’m certain I can’t see why you should care.” Her tone was haughty, leaving him in no doubt that she didn’t appreciate his observation.
“I will always be concerned for your welfare, Emily. I will always care.”
At that, some of the starch seemed to seep out of her. “I thank you for your concern. But I haven’t exactly told him yes. I only said I would think about it.”
Which meant she was considering it. Bloody hell.
Reaching out, Peter caught Emily by her elbow and pulled her toward him until only an inch of space separated them. “Do you love him?”
Her eyes widened and locked with his for a small eternity. Her hands fluttered up to rest against his chest, the warmth of her palms scorching him, even through the material of his shirt. “What?” she choked out.
“It’s a simple question. Do. You. Love. Him.”
Her chin went up at a mutinous angle and she tightened her mouth into a thin line, refusing to answer.
It was all the provocation Peter’s temper needed. With a stifled curse, he hauled her onto his lap and kissed her with savage need.
Just that quickly, he was lost. Her taste, her scent, the feel of her in his embrace was enough to scatter his senses to the four winds.
She went still against him, and when a startled gasp escaped her, he immediately took advantage of it and plunged his tongue into her mouth, savoring her moist warmth and honeyed flavor with a fierce groan. After a second or two of hesitation, she slid her arms upward to wrap around his neck and returned his ardor, her tongue touching his at first timidly, then boldly.
Desire washed over him like a tidal wave, and unable to help himself, Peter lifted his hand to cup a plump breast, his thumb running over the beaded nipple through the fabric of her bodice. At the same time, his other hand moved to the hem of her gown, pushing the material upward, inch by inch, until his palm brushed against the silken flesh of her inner thigh.
The feel of that soft skin was enough to send him over the edge. “Emily,” he breathed, tearing his lips from hers to skim them down the slope of her throat. “I want you so much…”
Her only reply was a quavering moan.
Encouraged, his fingers shifted the slightest bit, just barely grazing against the damp nest of curls that guarded the feminine heart of her. And like a dash of cold water, his action seemed to freeze her in place. Abruptly, the hands that had been urging him on were attempting to shove him away.
“Stop, Peter! Please!”
Her sudden panic penetrated his amorous fog, and he raised his head with great reluctance, his hold on her loosening.
Jerking free, Emily flung herself back into her seat, and scooted as far from him as she could get without jumping from the moving carriage. Eyes large and turbulent with emotion, she crossed her arms in a defensive posture and took a deep breath before speaking in a trembling voice.
“We have to stop doing this. You were the one who decided four years ago that we were better off apart. Have you changed your mind?”
Yes! With all of his heart, Peter wanted to shout that he had changed his mind, that he would die before he allowed her to wed Moreland. But he couldn’t.
His past stood like an insurmountable wall between them.
When he failed to reply, something dark and shadowed passed over her features and she shook her head. “Right. Well, then, it might be best if you keep your hands to yourself from now on. Don’t touch me. Don’t kiss me. Just…don’t.”
Peter felt his stomach lurch and he retreated to his own corner of the coach, taking a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. She was right. He knew that. But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to continue to look out for her best interests.
Full of resolve, he sent her a veiled glance as the carriage rolled to a halt in front of Knighthaven. If he had his way, a wedding between her and the viscount would never take place. By damn, he hadn’t given her up so she could tie herself to someone who would never love or respect her the way she deserved. And he refused to stand by and watch her ruin her life by marrying a jackass like Moreland!