Emily lay cradled in the circle of Peter’s arms, her head resting on his chest, listening to the comforting thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
She couldn’t believe that it had finally happened, that she and Peter had made love. And it had been perfect, everything she had always dreamed it would be. Their coming together had given her more pleasure than she could ever express in mere words. True, there had been a bit of pain at his initial penetration, but she had more or less expected that, and she had quickly gotten past it. He had carried her off to a never-before-imagined world of pure joy, lifting her to the very peak of ecstasy before they had both plunged over the edge together.
She wasn’t certain how much time had passed since then. They were still entwined on the floor, naked as the day they were born, and she seemed to exist in a state of drowsy contentment. Soon after their soul-stirring climax, Peter had slipped free and slid off her to lie at her side, gathering her close with one arm around her shoulders. They might have dozed for a short while, but she couldn’t be sure. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and she prayed it would remain that way.
Her heart gave a painful squeeze. No matter how much she wished it wasn’t so, she knew that sooner or later this blissful idyll would have to end. After she had handed over the stolen jewels to the authorities and told them about Jack, she would have to confess everything to Peter. If she didn’t wind up behind bars it would be a miracle. At the very least he would never speak to her again.
But she would always have the memory of this night to sustain her.
Dear God, but he’d looked so utterly splendid standing nude before her in all his masculine glory, she thought with a sigh. His long, rangy body was sculpted with lean muscle, his hips and thighs taut and strong, his chest bronzed and sleek. He’d been a golden god, the blond streaks in his tawny hair gleaming in the lamplight.
She smoothed her hand over his chest, but her caressing fingers paused for a moment when they encountered a raised area of flesh. She traced it gently, her forehead furrowing, then lifted her head to study the pale, puckered line that slashed across his lower abdomen. She hadn’t noticed it earlier in the dim lamplight, and she couldn’t help but be curious.
Her eyes flew to his face. He was watching her from under lowered lashes, his blue irises glittering.
“What’s this?” she asked
“It’s a scar.”
She smacked his shoulder in exasperation. “I can see that. Where did you get it? It looks like a knife wound.”
“It is.” Seeming uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, he shifted a bit, dislodging her hand. “Do you remember me telling you about the fugitive I helped to apprehend soon after I first arrived in London?”
She nodded.
“Well, I neglected to mention that he had a knife, one he was prepared to use on the Runner chasing him until I stepped into the middle of things.”
For Emily, the light dawned. Of course. He had gotten in between the knife and the Runner, more than likely preventing the man’s death. No wonder he’d been offered a job at Bow Street! Leave it to her knight in shining armor to save someone’s life without a thought to his own.
The mere possibility of what might have happened was enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck, and she glared at him. “Don’t ever do anything so foolish again. Do you hear me?”
He raised his eyebrows at her, a sardonic smile tilting one corner of his mouth, but she ignored him and settled back down at his side, resting her head on his chest once again. Truly, the man needed a keeper!
They didn’t say anything for quite some time, and Emily was just getting ready to drift off into sleep when Peter finally spoke again.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice floated to her as if from a great distance, and she was feeling so lethargic that it took a minute for his words to register. When they did, she craned her neck, straining to see his face in the dimness. “What?”
“I said I’m sor—”
She pinched his arm. “Don’t you dare repeat it!” Raising herself to a sitting position, she pushed her tangled hair back behind her ears and glared down at him. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”
Looking affronted, he rubbed at the spot she’d injured. “How can I not be sorry, Em? My God, I took you on the floor!”
“And I loved every moment of it. So don’t you dare ruin this for me by saying you’re sorry.” Leaning forward, she stared into his eyes with a piercing intensity, hoping he could read the sincerity in her gaze. “It was the most wonderful experience of my life and I will never be sorry for it.”
Lifting a hand, he caressed the side of her face, his thumb tracing the seam of her lips tenderly. “You’re certain? I didn’t hurt you? I was rougher than I intended, but I wanted you so much…”
He looked so anxious that she felt her heart catch. Capturing his hand in hers, she bestowed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “I’m certain. In fact…” A mischievous smile canted her lips and she lifted herself up to straddle him in a swift motion that had him giving a gasp of surprise. As far as she was concerned, she intended to take advantage of every second they had together. “I want to do it again.”
His hands grasped her waist, and his cheeks flushed with renewed passion. She could feel his manhood already hardening and stiffening beneath her. But still he hesitated. “Again? Are you sure? So soon after the first time, you might be sore.”
She bent over him, her breasts brushing his chest, her teeth nibbling at his earlobe in a way that wrung a harsh groan from him. “I’m sure.”
“But what about your brother and his wife? And the staff? There’s no telling when they might return and walk in on us.”
“Then we’d best hurry, hadn’t we?”
Pushing herself upright, she shifted her hips and came down over his thickening manhood without a second’s pause, seating him to the hilt inside her.
They both held themselves still for a long, drawn-out moment. Emily had to admit she was more than a bit sore, but after giving herself a chance to adjust to his size and the feel of him inside her again, she began to move, rocking her hips languidly, rising and falling in counterpoint to his own slow, steady upward strokes. His eyes fell shut and his strong hands rose to cup her breasts where they dangled above him, his palms kneading and shaping the ripe mounds, his thumbs and forefingers rolling and flicking the distended tips, still slightly damp from his earlier ministrations.
She moaned, her soreness forgotten, and increased the pace, clutching at his shoulders. He filled her to overflowing, stretching her slick inner walls to accommodate the length and breadth of his pulsating shaft, going deeper with each thrust. To have him so deep inside of her, a part of her, was the sweetest thrill she’d ever known, and the friction began to build toward the ultimate crescendo, carrying her higher and higher. Finally, without any warning, she plunged off the precipice and felt herself shatter, flying apart into a thousand tiny pieces of trembling delight.
“Peter!” she cried out, flinging her head back, pressing her breasts farther into his hands, her nipples stabbing his palms.
At her cry, he grunted and pumped into her one last time before his own orgasm overcame him, his big body shuddering once, twice, then going still.
She slumped against him, panting for breath, her blond curls falling into his face. She was so weak, so tired, and all she wanted to do was fall into a peaceful slumber here in his arms. But there was something she had to say first. Something she had to make sure he understood.
“I love you, Peter,” she murmured as her eyes drifted closed, her lips buried in his neck. She didn’t know if he’d heard her or not, and she lacked the energy to even lift her head to find out. “I’ll always love you.”
Rolling off him, she curled into his side and instantly fell asleep.
Peter stirred from his light doze and cracked his eyes, squinting around at the dimly lit environs. He was overcome by a momentary puzzlement as to how he’d happened to fall asleep on the parlor floor, until the soft, warm weight burrowed against his side shifted and emitted a small sigh that brought it all rushing back.
He’d made love to Emily.
Twice.
Reaching up with his free hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath. Dear God, it had been all he’d ever imagined it could be. And Emily had been a revelation.
He felt a slight smile curve the corner of his mouth in spite of himself as he recalled the way she’d ridden him to completion that second time, her supple body poised and taut, her head thrown back, her passionate moans echoing in his ears. His innocent angel had become a wanton, wringing the most powerful climax from him he could ever remember having.
But she had deserved better than a cold floor and a quick, clandestine coupling for her first time. She should have had a soft mattress and satin sheets. Her initiation into the world of erotic pleasure should have been slow and leisurely, lasting all night long.
And it should have been with her husband, something he could never aspire to be.
But she had said she loved him.
Easing his arm out from underneath her head, he rose up on his elbow to gaze down at her, looking so peaceful in slumber. He was well aware that, in the end, their feelings for each other didn’t matter. They were too far apart in station, and society would never let them forget that. Regardless of what she thought, there could never be anything further between them. For her own good, he had to let her go.
Yes, their lovemaking had been a mistake. But somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. Emily had given him a night he would never forget.
Unable to help himself, he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She tasted like warm, sweet honey, and for a second he was tempted to take the kiss deeper. But he resisted. This had to end. Now.
With a feeling of regret, he pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to retrieve his shirt and breeches. He still had work to do this night, and there was no more time to waste.
He had a thief to catch.
As he stepped into his pants, he cast a glance at the clock in the corner and was gratified to note that it wasn’t as late as he’d surmised. It had barely gone ten. There was still every chance that he could make it back to the gamekeeper’s cottage and commence with his investigation even before Jack returned from his evening at the Hawk’s Eye.
Peter slipped into his shirt and quickly buttoned it, then sent Emily an indulgent look. He supposed he’d better wake her before he left. He doubted she would want one of the staff to return—or God forbid, Tristan and Deirdre—to find her sleeping naked on the parlor floor.
He started toward her, scooping up her shirt and pants as he went, shaking his head. He had to wonder how she’d even gotten hold of such clothing. If her brother ever found out she had a pair of men’s breeches, much less wore them in public…
At that moment, something about the material he held struck him as familiar and he halted in the middle of the parlor, staring down at the pair of pants in his hands. He held them up so he could examine them more closely, and as he did, a light clicked on in his brain, filling him with stunned recognition.
No! It couldn’t be!
Fumbling for his pocket, he shoved his hand in and withdrew the small scrap of fabric that he had discovered at the Tuttleston estate. It was the same color, the same material, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Surely there were many pairs of men’s trousers that were made from the same sort of cloth?
But as he turned the breeches over, holding them up to the light of a nearby lamp, its glow illuminated a gaping hole high up on the right leg.
And when he compared the scrap to it, it matched exactly.
At first, his mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing. When it finally registered, a burning, agonizing pain stole over him, gripping his chest and tightening with every ragged breath.
There had to be another explanation, another reason a torn scrap from Emily’s pants had wound up in the tree outside of Lady Tuttleston’s bedroom window. But if there was, he didn’t know what it could be.
His sassy, stubborn angel was the Oxfordshire Thief.
Emily’s eyes fluttered open to find Peter sitting on the floor next to her, his back against the love seat and his arms resting on his upraised knees. Fully dressed, he watched her with an unfathomable expression.
She yawned and stretched, unable to suppress a slight wince as the muscles in her body protested the movement. The floor was most certainly not conducive to sleeping comfortably. Pushing herself to a sitting position, unconcerned with her nudity, she sent Peter a small, seductive smile as memories of their lovemaking washed over her.
He didn’t smile back.
Puzzled, she reached up to push a stray curl back behind her ear and scrutinized him with curiosity. What on earth could be the matter? Had she done something wrong? Had she failed to please him somehow?
The thought had heat rushing into her cheeks. Surely that couldn’t be the case? Of course, she was far from experienced, but he had seemed more than satisfied to her. The joyous, blissful look on his face when he had climaxed beneath her that last time had said more than words could.
Perhaps he was feeling guilty. If so, she had to find a way to make him see that there was no reason for him to do so. She wasn’t sorry for any of it. Not for a moment. If two people loved each other, there was nothing wrong with expressing that love. They—
She froze, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment. He had never said that he loved her. She had told him more than once, but he had never given the words back to her. The reminder was enough to make her heart ache. He might want her, but Peter would never allow himself to love her again. As far as he was concerned, tonight had been about satisfying their cravings for each other, and love didn’t come into it. She had to remember that.
Feeling abruptly self-conscious, she drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, veiling her nakedness as best she could before venturing to speak in an almost timid voice. “Peter, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, he tossed her shirt to her, his face devoid of any emotion. “Here. Put this on.”
He rose and paced a short distance away, standing with his back to her as she shrugged into the shirt and buttoned it. It was long enough that it covered her to mid-thigh, and feeling not so diffident now that her nakedness was adequately concealed, she stood and crossed the room to lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Peter?”
At her touch, he whirled to face her, and his features were no longer unreadable. They were contorted with an anger he was trying hard to contain. His big body trembled with the force of it, and his eyes swirled with a plethora of feelings so potent that Emily gasped and took a stumbling step backward. Rage, confusion, disbelief, despair. But strongest of all was hurt. She could practically feel his pain, a tangible thing, vibrating in the air between them.
Desperate and quite suddenly afraid, she reached out and caught his arm. “Peter, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“Explain this.”
His voice was low, barely more than a harsh whisper, his gaze piercing her with a savage intensity. His stare was so compelling, so full of wrath, that it took a second for her to realize that he had thrust something at her for her inspection.
She glanced down, and what she saw was enough to send the blood rushing from her head and a frigid coldness sluicing through her veins.
In one hand, he held her breeches with the gaping tear lying faceup. In the other was the scrap of fabric he had discovered last week in the tree at the Tuttleston home.
Even an untrained eye could have seen that they were a perfect match.
Oh, God, he knew!
Placing one hand over her stomach to calm the slow roll of nausea that churned deep within, she took another step backward, uncertain what to say, what to do. Just a few more hours and this would have all been over. Why did he have to discover her deception now?
“Please tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means, Emily. Please tell me that there is some other explanation, that you haven’t been lying to me and deceiving me from the very beginning.” He paused for a moment, his jaw visibly tightening. “Tell me you aren’t the Oxfordshire Thief.”
How she wanted to deny it. But she couldn’t. After all they had shared tonight, she couldn’t be less than truthful now. “I can’t tell you that. Because I am the Oxfordshire Thief.”
Fighting tears, she watched as his eyes fell shut for a brief moment and he swallowed almost convulsively. When he spoke again, his words sounded constricted. “God, Em, why? None of this makes sense.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” He looked incredulous. “Do you think being sorry makes up for what you’ve done? You’ve robbed from people who trusted you, cared about you! Do you think they’ll accept a mere apology?”
His words were like blows, hitting Emily where she was most vulnerable. “I don’t know. I hope they will, once I tell them why.”
“You haven’t even told me why yet!”
“I will. I just…It’s difficult.”
“Difficult?”
“Yes.” In spite of herself, her tears finally slipped free and slid down her cheeks and she glanced away, biting her lip. “You’re so angry.”
“What did you expect, Em? Bloody congratulations? You’ve been nothing but dishonest since the day I arrived here. You pretended to help me, to aid my investigation, when all the while you were the one responsible.”
“I never meant to hurt anyone, and I had reasons—”
“Then tell me what they are! Make me understand!”
He was shouting now, and Emily flinched at the sheer volume. Dear God, she had known his anger would hurt, but never had she suspected just how much. How could she explain? “It’s a long story.” She indicated the love seat with one hand, casting him a beseeching look.
“I’ll tell you everything, but perhaps we should both sit down?”
Peter paused for an instant, then gave a single, abrupt nod.
He followed as she led the way across the room. But instead of seating himself next to her on the love seat, he leaned against the empty fireplace and crossed his arms. When she raised an inquiring brow at him, he shook his head.
“I’m fine here. Just go ahead. I’m listening, although I fail to see what you could possibly have to say that would excuse what you’ve done.”
Taking in his closed-off expression with a sense of despair, Emily had to restrain a wince at his tone. She would never be able to make him understand, but she had to try. “I’m not excusing myself. I was wrong and I have no qualms about admitting it. But I do want to explain why and how I stumbled into such a mess. I had planned on telling you all of it in the morning, but…” She trailed off.
Peter said nothing. He didn’t look as if he believed her, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. More than likely, he would never believe anything she said ever again.
Sucking in a gust of air, she twined her hands in her lap and prayed to the Lord above to give her the words to make things right. “It all began with Jack Barlow…”
She told him about Jack’s arrival in Little Haverton and what had transpired between them on the day the thief had first approached her. She left nothing out, telling him about Jack’s threats against her family, what he had discovered about the late Countess of Ellington, and his attempt to use the tale to blackmail her and get her to fall in with his plans.
“I know now I should have gone to the authorities right away,” she confessed. “Especially after he told me what he wanted me to do, but I was so scared, so confused. I panicked, and I wasn’t thinking very clearly. All I knew was that I couldn’t let Jack tell anyone what he knew.”
She paused and looked up at Peter, her chin quivering despite her determination to stay strong. “Because I had been alone for so long as a child, the thought of having my family torn apart was enough to terrify me. The scandal Jack’s story could have caused would have been enough to do just that. And he threatened Deirdre and the babe.” Her hands tightened their grip on each other. “It wasn’t until after I committed the first robbery at the Tuttlestons’ that I realized I’d made a mistake, but by then it was too late. I was already implicated in the crime. And it was like quicksand. I just seemed to fall in deeper and deeper. I tried to figure out a way to stop it all, to foil Jack’s scheme without jeopardizing my mother’s secret, but it was no use.”
“And you say Barlow had proof of your mother’s supposed affair?” Peter’s voice was curt, his face a granite mask, giving away nothing.
“Yes. Letters, written by my mother to her friend Lady Brimley, admitting to the affair and her possible pregnancy. I have no idea how he got them, but they’re in her handwriting.”
When Peter didn’t speak again, Emily continued, desperate to get through to him. “That’s why I was at the cottage tonight. To see if I could find the letters and retrieve the jewels. Without the letters, he has no proof of his claims, and I could turn him over to the law and return the stolen items to their owners without fear of what he might say to ruin my family.”
“You must realize even if you had managed to do all of that, the law wouldn’t have cared what reasons you had for being involved,” Peter prompted with a hint of impatience. “They more than likely would have taken you into custody, as well.”
“Yes, I was aware from the beginning what could happen. But I didn’t care about me. I cared about my brother and sister-in-law, my future niece or nephew. You, more than anyone, should know how much they mean to me. I couldn’t stand back and watch them be destroyed. Tristan would be devastated if he found out about Mother. He loved her so much. And I didn’t know how much of what Jack said was true. As far as I knew, it was quite possible that he could lose his title, his lands, everything. Maybe even Willow Park. All because of those terrible letters. I couldn’t take the chance.”
Peter pushed away from the fireplace and began to pace the area in front of the love seat. “I can’t help but wonder how you accomplished all of this. The breaking and entering? Lock-picking? I know I taught you a bit, but I called a halt to the lessons soon after we came to Little Haverton.”
“After you refused to teach me anything else, I begged the rest of the Rag-Tags to continue with the lessons. Miles worked with me on lock-picking.” Emily felt her face heat and she was certain it must be as red as a beet. “I got quite good at it.”
“Obviously. Remind me to wring Miles’s neck when we finish this conversation.” Peter came to a halt and scrubbed a hand over his face before turning back to her with a frown. “And I suppose you knew the combinations to the safes at both the Fulberry and Caulfield residences?”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving him. He held himself so stiffly, as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dear God, she had done this to him. “Penelope likes to talk, and she let it slip to me long ago that her husband had chosen the date of her birth as the combination to his safe. And Lord Caulfield keeps his written on a slip of paper in his desk drawer in his study, because he’s always forgetting it. All I had to do was locate the piece of paper.”
Silence stretched, and Emily began to fidget as Peter resumed his agitated strides, across the room and back. What would he say? What would he do?
“Damnation, Emily!”
His sudden outburst had her jumping in her seat, and she looked up to find him towering over her, his eyes blazing down at her.
“Why didn’t you come to me? I might have been able to figure out a way to resolve all of this long ago, without revealing your mother’s secret.”
Unsure how to answer him, she lifted one shoulder helplessly. “I…I didn’t know what you would do.”
For just an instant, Emily could clearly read the anguish in his gaze, then a curtain dropped down over his features, guarding his innermost thoughts from her. “I see. I should have known. You didn’t trust me.”
“It not that!” she protested. “It’s just…Ever since you came to live at Willow Park you’ve tried so hard to always do what was right, no matter the consequences. I suppose it was your way of making up for your past. And you’re a Runner, for heaven’s sake! I was afraid if I told you, you would feel as if you had to turn me in, regardless of what might be revealed in the process.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
Peter’s tone as he repeated the statement was cold, emotionless. He turned away from her, and Emily shot to her feet, hating that she was causing him such pain, but not knowing quite how to make it up to him. She should have trusted him, should have realized he would never do anything to hurt her family. She knew that now. Now that it was too late.
“Peter, please listen to me. I swear, I was going to tell you in the morning. All of it. But I wanted a chance to make things right first. I wanted to hand the stolen items over to the law and make sure Jack was behind bars.” She clasped her hands in front of her to still the trembling of her fingers, willing him to believe her. “I wanted to be able to tell you I’d done the right thing in the end.”
He came to a stop in front of the fireplace again, running both hands through his hair before he spoke without turning to face her. “Did you get the letters?”
She eyed his back anxiously. “Yes. They’re in the pocket of my breeches.”
“And the jewels?”
“Miles and Jenna have them.”
Peter glanced back over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth curled in a wry grimace. “So Jenna and Miles were in on this all along?”
“Don’t blame them. They were just trying to help me, to keep me from getting into trouble. Miles wanted to tell you everything from the beginning.”
“Smart man.” There was another long silence, then Peter pivoted to meet her worried eyes. “Jack has been tormenting Benji as well.”
Stunned at the revelation, Emily felt herself go cold all over. “What?”
“Barlow approached him several weeks ago and told Benji he had information about his past, information he would only reveal if Benji did as he said.”
Aware of an alarming weakness in her knees, Emily sank down into a nearby chair, clutching at the cushioned armrests for support. “Do you think he really knows anything? About Benji’s past, I mean?”
“I doubt it, but the boy believes he might. Apparently, not knowing anything about his background or where he comes from has been bothering Benji much more than any of us ever realized.”
“No wonder he’s been acting so strange lately.”
“Well, this is all about to end. Right now. Jack Barlow will be sorry he ever thought to step foot in Little Haverton.”
At Peter’s angry, resolute words, Emily looked up to see him marching for the parlor door. Lunging to her feet, she reached out and caught his arm as he went by, fear for him setting her heart pounding. “Where are you going?”
“After Jack, of course. It’s about time someone put a stop to his schemes once and for all, and I’m just the man to do it.”
“Peter, you can’t! He could be armed! Go to Constable Jenkins—”
“The time for bringing in the local authorities is past, Emily. Jack and I have a reckoning that is long overdue, and I can assure you that I’m more than capable of handling myself. I have a vested interest in making sure my family is safe.” He leveled her with a scorching glare. “Whether some people believe that fact or not.”
He shook her loose and left the room.
Emily started to follow, but realizing she was wearing nothing except a thin shirt, she hurried back to the love seat to retrieve her breeches and hastily stepped into them before rushing out into the foyer, lacing them up as she went.
She caught up with Peter just as he reached the front entrance.
“Peter, wait.”
Before she could say anything else, however, there was a sudden loud pounding on the door, and Peter flung it open to find Miles and Jenna hovering on the top step, their expressions concerned.
Jenna pushed past the stable hand into the entry hall without even seeming to notice Peter and hurried toward Emily. “We ’id the jewels. We didn’t know what else to do wiv them, and we were worried about you. Are you all right? Does Peter know? Did ’e…” She trailed off as her eyes followed Emily’s to where Peter stood next to the door, arms crossed as he glowered at her. “Oh, bloody ’ell.”
“Bloody hell, indeed,” he intoned sarcastically. “And to answer your question, yes, I do know.”
Miles nodded in satisfaction. “It’s about time.”
Peter turned to the stable hand. “I was just about to leave to go after Barlow. Do you want to accompany me?”
“No need to even ask, guv. I’d never turn down a chance to scrap wiv that bastard. ’E usually ’angs around the ’Awk’s Eye for a couple of hours, so if we leave now, we should get there just as ’e’s arriving back at the cottage.”
“Let’s go then.”
Emily stepped forward and clutched at Peter’s sleeve. “I’m going, too.”
Peter’s face darkened and he reached out to grip her arms, giving her a shake that had her teeth rattling. “Oh no you are not. You are staying right here with Jenna, or so help me…” He halted, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing in a slightly calmer tone. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. I don’t need you getting in the middle of things. For once, just trust me.”
With that, he stalked from the house with Miles at his heels.
The door slammed behind them, and for a long moment neither woman spoke. Then Jenna planted her hands on her hips and sent Emily a knowing look. “You aren’t staying ’ere, are you?”
“Of course not.” Emily whirled and scurried back to the parlor, where she quickly slipped her feet into the riding boots she had discarded earlier. “Peter just doesn’t understand. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but this is all my fault. It’s my responsibility to take care of it, not his.”
“I some’ow doubt Peter will see it that way.”
“I can’t help that. Jack is dangerous, and I refuse to stand by and watch Peter get hurt because I made a mess of things.” Emily glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.”
“Of course I’m coming. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” Jenna paused for a second, studying Emily’s flushed face and state of dishabille with growing interest. “What ’appened between the two of you, anyway?”
Emily was certain her cheeks must have reddened even more at the question. “Just never you mind.”
The two women hurried back out to the foyer, intent on their mission. But when Emily swung open the door to find Lord Moreland on the other side, hand raised to knock, it was an unexpected—and unwelcome—surprise.
The viscount seemed just as shocked, and he stood taking in Emily’s appearance for a moment with wide eyes before letting his hand fall and shaking his head in obvious consternation. “Emily, what on earth…?”
Drat and blast, she didn’t have time for this! Every second that passed was a second wasted. She had to get to Peter! “Adam, it’s after eleven o’clock. What are you doing here at this time of night?”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded contrite, but something about the way his stare passed over her made her feel a trifle uneasy. “I’m afraid I found myself too anxious to await your answer to my proposal any longer. I was hoping to catch you awake, but…it seems you’re on the way out?”
He didn’t wait for her to invite him in, but stepped over the threshold and swept his hat off his blond head, an eyebrow arched in inquiry. “Where are you off to so late? And dressed in such a manner? You look like a stable boy.”
Emily exchanged glances with Jenna, who gave an unhelpful shrug. What should she do? Perhaps it might be a good idea to confide in Adam. He was her friend, after all, and if he went with them he might be able to help Peter in some way.
Of course, there was only so much she could tell him. She doubted that now was the time to admit that she was the one who had stolen his mother’s brooch and caused his father’s violent relapse. That confession might be better left for later.
She made a split-second decision.
“Adam, you have to come with us! Mr. Quick is on his way to apprehend the Oxfordshire Thief and we must go after him!”
Lord Moreland froze. “He has figured out who the scoundrel is?”
“Yes.” She would have to tread carefully. She wouldn’t tell any outright lies, but she couldn’t be entirely truthful. “A man named Jack Barlow is responsible. He’s been hiding in an abandoned cottage on my brother’s estate, and Mr. Quick is on his way there now to confront him.”
The viscount seemed to go pale, but Emily had only a moment to wonder at his reaction before she marched past him for the door, trailed by Jenna. “Hurry. We have to help Peter.”
“I’m sorry, Emily.”
At the strange note in Adam’s voice, Emily whirled back to face him just in time to see him reach into an inner pocket of his coat and withdraw a small, lethal-looking pistol. He leveled it on her and Jenna with eyes that were suddenly cold with menace. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that.”