As Knighthaven came into view in the distance, Peter felt an overwhelming tide of relief wash over him. The ride from the gamekeeper’s cottage had seemed to take twice as long as it should have. And all because of the infuriating bundle of femininity who rode before him.
Emily.
With her flowery fragrance filling his nostrils and her sweetly curved backside nestled against his manhood, it had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from giving in to his body’s lustful urges. Not to mention the effort it was taking to keep from wrapping his hands around that creamy throat and throttling her.
What the bloody hell had she been doing in the clearing?
Never before could he recall feeling such a welter of confusing emotions. Anger, worry, fear. Good God, anything could have happened to her wandering around in the forest after dark! And he didn’t for a moment believe she’d followed him, especially on foot. He was far too experienced not to have detected her presence if she’d been anywhere near. He supposed she could have been meeting Lord Moreland, despite her previous protests that she wouldn’t do such a thing. After all, the abandoned cottage was an ideal trysting place, but somehow that scenario didn’t quite ring true, either.
So what possible explanation could she have?
Well, regardless of her reasons, her intrusion had forced him to put off his confrontation with Jack Barlow. The thought of the former street thief anywhere near Emily made his blood boil.
At that moment, they trotted into Knighthaven’s stable yard, and Peter pulled Champion to a halt. Without waiting for his assistance, Emily slid down from the saddle and started across the yard toward the house practically at a run, and he frowned at her retreating back.
Oh, no, my dear. You won’t be avoiding me that easily.
Climbing down from his mount’s back, Peter handed over the reins to the young groom who hurried forward, and went after Emily, catching up to her just as she rounded the corner of the house. She gave a visible start as he caught her arm, but said nothing, merely offered him a haughty glare.
He sent her one in return. He would not allow her to make him feel guilty. She was the one in the wrong, and he was certain her brother would be the first to agree.
Tightening his hold on her elbow, he led her up the front steps of Knighthaven and in through the front door. When the Ellington butler didn’t immediately appear in the foyer at their entrance, he raised a brow at Emily in inquiry.
“Where is Langley?”
She pulled her arm from his grasp and moved a few steps away from him, meeting his gaze with violet eyes that snapped and crackled with irritation. “Deirdre gave him and the other house servants the evening off. They more than likely won’t be back until late.”
“Ah.” Good. He had no desire for anyone to hear him giving Emily the scolding she deserved for her folly. He waved a hand at the parlor door. “Shall we?”
She sniffed, pivoted, and swept ahead of him into the room, and Peter followed, shaking his head.
She wasn’t about to make this easy for him.
Once inside the chamber, Emily threw herself down on the love seat and crossed her arms in a defensive manner, her lowered lashes shielding her emotions from him. Peter remained in the doorway, surveying her mutinous expression.
How much should he tell her? he wondered, struggling to keep his own countenance cool and unruffled. She couldn’t possibly have any idea of how close she’d been to coming face-to-face with Jack Barlow.
Peter had been on his way to the cottage after leaving Willow Park when he’d become aware of the sound of horse’s hooves pounding toward him along the woodland trail. Something had prompted him to pull Champion off the path and into the bushes, and just in time, for Jack himself had come into view, galloping by on his way toward the edge of the woods and the main road.
Without a second thought, Peter had fallen in behind him, following discreetly as Jack had headed into town. Once in the village, the man had tethered his mount to a post outside a tavern called the Hawk’s Eye and made his way inside. Leaving his own horse in the alley behind the tavern, Peter had slipped in through a rear door and watched from the shadows as Jack had ordered a pint of ale and settled into a chair at a table in the far corner of the room.
When the thief had reached out to pull a passing bar-maid onto his lap with a leer, Peter had shaken his head. It hadn’t looked as if Jack planned on going anywhere for a while. He supposed he could have confronted the man right at that moment, but it more than likely wouldn’t have been a good idea in a tavern full of drunken fools just looking for an excuse to take part in a brawl. And he had no intention of going to Constable Jenkins. Not yet, anyway. He doubted the addled nitwit would have listened to a word he said.
Which had left going back to the cottage and waiting for Jack to return. It had seemed the best option at the time. That way, he would have the element of surprise on his side, not to mention he would have a chance to search the area to see if he could discover what the man had been up to. If his suspicions were correct and Barlow was the Oxfordshire Thief, perhaps he would come across the evidence needed to implicate the bastard.
So he had returned to the clearing, full of determined resolve and ready to tear the place apart to find the answers he sought. But his shock had known no bounds when he had rounded the corner of the cottage, only to run smack into Emily.
Anger had swiftly overcome him. Anger—and fear.
“If you’re going to yell at me, I do wish you’d quit hovering in the doorway and get it over with.”
Emily’s words drew his gaze to hers, and he took a step into the room, pushing the door partially closed behind him before crossing the chamber to stand beside her. “You don’t think you deserve to be yelled at?”
“I think you’re not my keeper, and you have no right to lecture me as though you were.”
Peter’s temper sparked. “Damn it, Emily, someone has to rein you in if you’re going to continue to behave in such a foolish manner. Do you give no thought to your own safety?”
“I can assure you that my safety was never in question. I know how to look after myself, and no one in Little Haverton would dare to accost me. Aside from you, that is.”
“I’ll dare much more than that if you don’t tell me what the bloody hell you were doing at the gamekeeper’s cottage at this time of night!”
Emily opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Peter held up a hand. “And do not try to convince me that you were following me. I didn’t believe that tale the first time around, and I’m not likely to change my mind now. However, you might try giving me the truth.”
She was quiet for a long moment, then shook her head and turned away. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
Emily shrugged and rose to her feet to pace across the room, coming to a halt in front of the French doors and standing with her back to him, her spine rigid. “What does it matter? The result is the same, in either case. I can’t tell you.”
The light from a lamp on a nearby side table shone on her, throwing her shadow onto the wall and outlining her rounded form. The men’s breeches she wore hugged the heart-shaped curve of her derriere and the mouthwatering length of her legs, and the thin white lawn of her shirt did little to hide the fact that there was a female figure under the material.
Peter’s breath seized in his throat.
Unaware of his distraction, Emily whirled and placed one hand on her hip, lowering her brow as she frowned at him. “And just what were you doing there?”
It was a struggle to even focus on what she was saying, much less form a reply, and his inability to switch off the emotions she aroused in him only served to increase his anger. “Don’t try to turn this around. I’m a Bow Street Runner conducting an investigation, and what I was doing there is none of your concern. I’m the one asking the questions here and I expect some answers.”
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, refusing to reply.
That did it! Enough was enough!
Closing the distance between them with long, furious strides, he came to a halt next to her and seized her by the elbows, giving her a firm shake. “Bloody hell, why do you have to be so damned obstinate? What is so important to you that you insist on running about the countryside after dark, dressed in clothes that would be a temptation to any red-blooded man who happened to stumble across you?”
A stunned look passed over her face, and she glanced down at her outfit. “A temptation? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You wouldn’t think it so ridiculous if you had run across some stranger out there in the woods who refused to take no for an answer.”
Emily’s scornful snort pushed Peter right over the edge.
With a harshly grated expletive, he wrapped his arms about her waist, fitted her against him, and seized her lips with his own.
The moment Peter’s mouth touched hers, Emily knew she was in trouble.
Every bit of her righteous indignation sailed right out the window, and suddenly all she was aware of was the feel of his arms about her, his warm, spicy scent surrounding her. Desire rose up, and instead of pushing him away, she lifted her hands to tangle her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. So close that not an inch of space was left between them.
In response, that hard, hot male part of him sprang to instant life, nudging her belly, and she moved against him in a sinuous, provocative manner, spreading her legs just enough so that his erection nestled in the damp apex of her thighs. Even through the material of her breeches, she could feel the scorching heat of him. It was like two pieces of a puzzle coming together, and nothing had ever felt so right.
He groaned, stabbing his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.
Dear God, she was so tired of fighting this, Emily thought dimly. Tired of keeping her distance. Of trying to pretend that she didn’t have feelings for him. She couldn’t go on this way.
She loved him, and she didn’t want to deny it any longer. Forget all the obstacles that lay between them, the fact that he would hate her once he discovered her deceptions. Perhaps it was selfish, but if she could only have this one night with him, she intended to take what pleasure she could from it.
She wanted Peter to make love to her.
Her decision made, she slid her hands up his chest and went to work on the buttons of his shirt, slipping the topmost one from its hole with swift efficiency.
But as she moved on to the next one, Peter seemed to abruptly go still. The next thing she knew, he had pulled his lips from hers and reached up to grasp her wrists, halting her progress.
“Emily, stop.”
His voice was hoarse, and she peered up at him from under lowered lashes, taking in the slight flush that stained his cheekbones, the passion simmering in the depths of his eyes. “Why? Don’t you want me?”
“Of course I do. More than my next breath. But I shouldn’t have started this. We can’t let this happen.”
“Why can’t we? I know you believe that we could never have a life together, and perhaps you’re right. Perhaps society would turn their backs on us and ostracize us and we would be miserable. But I’m not asking you to wed me.” She rose on her toes, briefly nuzzling the wedge of bronzed skin she had exposed just below his collarbone, and felt his big body shudder in reaction. “I’m asking you to make love to me. To give me this one night. I’ll never ask anything more of you.”
“I can’t dishonor you in such a way, Em. Your future husband—”
“There will be no future husband. I like my life the way it is. Why would I sacrifice my independence by tying myself to a man I feel nothing for?”
His face unreadable, Peter stared down at her, a muscle flexing in his jaw, and his grip on her wrists tightened. “What about Moreland?”
“What about him?” She met his gaze, hoping he could read the sincerity in her expression. She refused to allow him to deprive them of this one chance to experience the joy she knew they could bring each other. “I’ve said this before and apparently you didn’t believe me. So listen and believe me now. I don’t love Adam. He is a good friend, and I admit I considered his proposal for all of two seconds, but I could never marry a man I don’t love.”
She took a deep breath, attempting to calm her wildly racing heart, before freeing the words she’d been longing to say since this morning. “I love you.”
Peter tensed, and for a long, drawn-out moment he was silent. Then, just as Emily was beginning to think she’d made an error in revealing her true feelings, a low, almost animalistic sound escaped him, and he dropped her wrists to cup her face in his hands.
And once again, his mouth came down on hers.
Peter was lost. Lost in the scent, the taste, the very essence of Emily. He couldn’t believe she wanted him to make love to her. His head knew it would be a mistake, but he couldn’t seem to convince his heart of that fact. She felt so good in his arms, as if she belonged there.
And perhaps she did.
But he didn’t have time for this. He had to return to the cottage to confront Jack, to find out for certain if the man was the thief he’d been looking for. And he had to consider Tristan and Deirdre. If they were to come home and discover him with Emily…
Giving it one last valiant effort, he tore his mouth from hers and stared down into her eyes. “Are you sure, Em?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything,” she murmured, wrapping her arms about his neck. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her violet eyes unfocused and full of longing. “I want you, Peter. Please.”
He couldn’t. He had a duty to perform. He had to—
Her mouth brushed the underside of his jaw, her tongue feathering against the pulse that beat there, and he finally lost all control. Bloody hell, but he couldn’t fight both her and his own feelings, as well! He wanted her, needed her too badly. He had for much too long.
Jack Barlow could wait.
Peter swept Emily up in his arms and bore her to the soft rug in front of the fireplace, following her down as he took her lips with his once more, plunging his tongue deep into the moist, sweet cavern of her mouth. He forgot the wall between them, the fact that they could never have a life together. He forgot everything except her.
His hands went to the front of her shirt and started to work on the buttons, undoing them with deft speed before pushing the material aside and sliding it down and off her arms. Underneath, to his delighted surprise, there was nothing but creamy skin. The sight of her pale, pink-tipped breasts was enough to set his mouth to watering.
In the meantime, Emily’s hands had been busy as well. He was so caught up in the enchanting picture she presented that he didn’t even realize she had unfastened the rest of his buttons until she peeled the edges of his shirt back, baring his wide chest and shoulders for her delectation. Her lips skimmed over his flesh, her tongue swirling over his pectorals in a bold, unexpected exploration that racked his body with shudders of need. Her fingers followed in the wake of her mouth, and as she flicked her thumbs over the flat discs of his male nipples, a guttural cry escaped him.
“Bloody ’ell, you’re going to be the death of me, you are,” he rasped, burying his face against her temple and winding one hand in the loosened strands of her blond hair, uncaring for once that he had slipped back into the Cockney dialect of his youth.
She emitted an almost feline purr and rubbed against him, her nails digging into his back. “Touch me, Peter.”
“Where do you want me to touch you, darling?” He felt a devilish smile curl his mouth as he let his free hand travel downward, pausing just above the crest of her right breast, hovering in a teasing manner. “Right ’ere?”
“Yes! Oh, yes, Peter! Please!” Emily didn’t wait for him to comply, but arched up off the rug, pressing the rounded globe into his palm. When his callused fingers came into contact with her silken flesh, any rationality he might have still possessed vanished. Molding the ripe orb to the shape of his hand, thumbing the hardened nipple, he savored her low moan as he leaned down and captured the tip of her other breast in his mouth, suckling with a savage intensity, nipping at it gently before soothing it with his tongue.
Emily’s head fell back and she let loose a trembling cry that made his heart jump. Her hands locked in his hair, holding him to her as he treated both breasts to his loving attentions. She wanted him. His angel truly wanted him!
Unable to wait another second, Peter released her and got to his feet long enough to shed his breeches. Tossing them onto the nearby love seat, he took a moment to relish the picture she made lying on the carpet before him. She looked so beautiful in the lamplight. With her golden hair spread out about her head like a halo, she resembled the angel he’d always thought of her as. Her violet eyes were dreamy, her lids heavy and slumberous-looking, and her skin gleamed like porcelain.
He froze for a moment. He knew he didn’t have the right to be touching her this way, making love to her, no matter what she said. It wasn’t too late to call a halt.
But as if sensing his hesitation, Emily raised her arms to him in a supplicating manner, looking so win-some and adorable that he was lost once again.
There would be no turning back. Not now.
He came back down over her, naked and thoroughly aroused, his maleness coming to rest against the center of her desire. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip before wrapping her arms around him and rocking against him, sending his senses reeling. They kissed again and their tongues entwined in an imitation of the ultimate act of intimacy.
They were both too anxious to have each other to go slowly. Emily began to tear at the lacings of her breeches, but when she fumbled, Peter gently pushed her hands aside and loosened them himself before peeling them down her shapely legs and discarding them. Fascinated by the triangle of flaxen curls nestled between her thighs, he sifted his fingers through them. Then, a little bit at a time, he inserted the very tip of his forefinger into her narrow feminine opening.
She sucked in a breath, her eyes going wide once again, and he soothed her in a low croon. “It’s all right, angel. I promise. I just need to make sure you’re prepared for me, that I won’t ’urt you.” He had no doubt that she was an innocent, and if he was going to take her, he wanted to make sure she was ready, that there would be as little pain as possible and as much pleasure.
She was more than ready. Her channel was slick with her juices in anticipation of his claiming. Filled with arrogant male satisfaction, he slipped another finger inside to join the first one, subtly widening the moist passage for his intrusion. His thumb brushed the small nub of her clitoris and she gave a shrill cry, bucking against him, her legs coming together to squeeze his hand almost spasmodically.
“Shhh.” Removing his fingers, he reared up and fit himself against her, pushing the very tip of his shaft just inside her vaginal entrance. It was like gliding into warm satin, and he longed to slide the rest of the way home, but he forced himself to pause, to look down into her eyes. “Are you certain, Emily? There’s no going back after this, and I don’t want you to regret it.”
She reached out and caught his hands, lacing her fingers through his and meeting his gaze with a seriousness that stole his breath. “I could never regret anything that passes between us, but most especially not this. I want you.”
“Then take me, angel. Take all of me. And take me wiv you to ’eaven.”
He thrust deep.
The moment was so right that Peter felt his whole body sing with the knowledge that she was finally his. They fit together almost perfectly, and as he set up a slow rhythm, Emily seemed to get past her initial discomfort at their joining and began to move in counterpoint to him. She let go of his hands and clutched at his taut hips, pulling him more closely to her. Her cheeks grew flushed and her head began to roll from side to side, small sounds of pleasure humming in her throat.
Peter could feel his own climax building. It was happening too fast, he knew, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d wanted this for far too long, and he was lucky he hadn’t lost it the moment he’d entered her. Her deliciously peaked nipples were a torment, brushing against his chest in a tantalizing contact as he pounded into her, and the tight walls of her sheath milked him with each thrust. He had wanted so badly to be gentle, but it seemed impossible now. Their passion was driving them, and it wouldn’t allow either of them to slow down.
His teeth clenched. God, he was coming, and he didn’t want to leave her behind. “Emily, angel—”
Before he could even finish the sentence, he felt her orgasm rip through her with the force of a tidal wave. She threw back her head and screamed her ecstasy, shuddering all over, her fingers digging into his hips.
Her climax triggered his and he exploded inside her with a hoarse shout of his own, spilling his seed deep within her womb.
He collapsed against her, drained, exhausted, and damp with perspiration, feeling as if he truly had been to heaven and back.