Emily finished securing Jenna’s wrists to the arms of the chair she sat in with the tasseled cords from the parlor draperies, aware the whole while of Lord Moreland standing behind her, the barrel of his pistol pointed at the back of her head.
“Make sure they’re tight,” he instructed, his voice flat and chilling. “If she should escape, I’ll be forced to shoot her, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Emily obediently rechecked her friend’s bonds as Jenna glared up at him, her brown eyes brimming with hatred. “You bloody bastard! I always knew you were no good, lord or no! You just wait until—”
The viscount shoved a handkerchief into Emily’s hands. “And gag her. I refuse to listen to her prattle.”
With an apologetic look at Jenna, she obeyed, her mind awhirl with the implications of Adam’s actions. Somehow, he was involved in all of this, but she was stumped as to how.
And why.
She finally turned to face him, unable to restrain a wince at the utter lack of feeling he displayed. Dear God, she’d thought she’d known him so well. How could she have been so wrong? “I don’t understand any of this, Adam.”
He raised his eyebrows at her in a haughty, condescending manner. “Yes, I know. And I regret the necessity for such deceit on my part. But one does what one must to look after one’s best interests, wouldn’t you agree? After all, isn’t that what you’ve been doing by playing the part of the Oxfordshire Thief?”
“You knew about this all along, didn’t you?” she accused. “You were in on Jack’s plan.”
“Guilty, I’m afraid.”
Emily felt her heart lurch in her chest, the sense of betrayal staggering as the light suddenly dawned. “You were the one who gave Jack the letters my mother wrote!”
He inclined his head in a stiff nod.
“But why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“I fear I’ve managed to get myself into a spot of trouble at the gaming tables. The creditors are hounding my heels, and Father refuses to pay them off.” Moreland’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, a glint of true emotion flashed in his eyes, a spark of desperation. “I’ve done everything short of beg the man on bended knee, but he won’t listen to reason. I may have reacted rashly, but his stubbornness forced me to it.”
Still holding the pistol on her, he reached up with his free hand to rake his fingers through his hair, leaving the blond strands standing on end. “I thought to sell off a few of my mother’s possessions, so I slipped into her room one night and stumbled across her keepsake box. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered your mother’s letters, but I had no idea then that they could prove to be of use to me. At the time, I was only interested in those items that might be of monetary value.”
“Such as your mother’s brooch?” Emily prompted.
“Precisely. Unfortunately, my father brought a halt to the scheme. He caught me in Mother’s room and rang a peal about my head. He was outraged that I would even dare to consider selling off anything that had belonged to her. Never mind that his only son could wind up being thrown in debtor’s prison. So, I was forced to come up with another solution.”
“Marriage to me?”
Moreland lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’m not sure when it first occurred to me, but one day I realized that if you and I were to wed, it would solve all my problems. Your brother was sure to settle a sizable dowry on you, more than enough to cover my debts. With that in mind, I set out to woo you.” He frowned at her. “Of course, you had to make things difficult by refusing to cooperate. You started avoiding me, and I don’t mind admitting that I grew quite frustrated with you.”
Emily placed one hand against her midriff in an attempt to calm the churning in her belly. True, she had never planned on accepting his proposal, had never cared for him that way, but it hurt to know that he would have used her in such a fashion.
“I never would have married you,” she whispered, her voice shaking with barely suppressed anger. “Never.”
He laughed without mirth. “I don’t doubt that, my dear. It was your obstinacy that drove me to the local tavern one night to drown some of my sorrows in a pint or two of ale. I wound up drunk and pouring my story out to the man who sat next to me at the bar.” One corner of his mouth quirked in a wry grimace. “That man turned out to be Jack Barlow.”
Emily’s hands clenched into fists. So that was how such an unholy alliance had formed. “And?”
“And he admitted to me that he had a grudge against someone associated with you and your family, and that he was in Little Haverton trying to come up with a way to strike back at this person. He told me if I would help him with his revenge scheme, he could fix it so that sooner or later you would be guaranteed to accept my offer of marriage.”
“You believed him?”
“What can I say? I was far from sober at the time, and his plan sounded plausible. The only thing he lacked was a means to force you into doing his bidding.”
“So you thought of the letters.”
“Of course. I slipped back into Mother’s room and snatched a couple of them, two of the more incriminating ones, and handed them over to Barlow.”
Emily shook her head. She felt numb all over and part of her wanted to just sit down and cry, to let out all of her sorrow and anger. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t give Adam the satisfaction. “And to think I was actually fool enough to believe you were my friend.”
“You must understand, Emily.” The viscount met her gaze, his expression touched with the faintest hint of regret. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I was desperate. Barlow kept saying that eventually you’d come around, that you would turn to me for comfort. And when you did, I was supposed to offer to make all of your troubles go away—for a price.”
“Marriage?”
“Clever girl.” His brow lowered in a fierce frown. “But then your Mr. Quick showed up and ruined everything. I’m not blind. I could see the way you looked at him, and I knew the moment I met him that he would throw a wrench into our plans.”
Which must have been why he had stepped up the campaign to woo her and had become more aggressive in his pursuit so soon after Peter had arrived, Emily decided. The scoundrel had never truly cared for her at all!
Wrapping her arms about herself to ward off a chill, she glanced in the direction of the clock. It was after midnight. Surely Deirdre and Tristan should be home at any moment? If she could keep him talking, stall him just long enough…
“But what about the robbery at Brimley Hall?” she asked casually, praying that her face gave away none of her thoughts. “If you were involved in Jack’s plot from the beginning, why would you allow your own home to be robbed?”
“Ah. A stroke of genius on my part.” Moreland’s smile was arrogant and assured. “A ploy to divert suspicion from myself, just in case your Mr. Quick should happen to catch on to things and start looking in my direction. And, of course, my mother’s brooch was to have been my share of the spoils.” The smile faded and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Now, however, I’m afraid Mr. Quick has more than put paid to that plan. If he hasn’t arrested Barlow, then he’s more than likely chased the bastard out of town along with all of the jewels. So, as it happens, I’m afraid I’ll have to improvise.”
He jerked the gun at Emily. “Come along, my dear. As much as I hate to do this, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you with me.”
She took a step away from him, shaking her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh, but you are.” He reached out and snagged her wrist, jerking her toward him. “A bit of added insurance, you see, to make sure I get out of Little Haverton safely. Your Sir Galahad won’t try to stop me so long as your life is in my hands, now will he?”
“But…Jenna…” She sent a worried glance in the direction of her friend, who wriggled in her chair, watching them with frightened dark eyes.
“She’ll be fine. As soon as your brother and his wife arrive home, they’ll release her, but by that time we’ll be long gone. Now, hurry up. I want to be out of here before your Mr. Quick returns.”
“Too late, Moreland.”
The sound of the deep, calm voice sent a surge of relief through Emily, and she looked up to see Peter and Miles step in through the parlor door.
Adam quickly pulled her in front of him and pressed the pistol to her temple. “Why, it seems you’ve decided to join the party, Mr. Quick. Come ahead in. But please don’t make any sudden moves. I would hate for anyone to get hurt.”
Peter came forward, his hands raised, palms outward, to show he held no weapon. “Let her go, Moreland. You can’t hope to accomplish anything this way.”
“She’ll see that I make it out of town without a bullet in my back.” The viscount paused for a moment, and Emily could feel his breath on her neck, hot and damp. “Barlow?”
“Dead. We struggled and he fell on his knife, but not before he confessed to his crimes, and your part in them.”
“I’m not surprised. The little weasel was only out for himself in the end.” Moreland’s hold on Emily tightened, and she barely restrained a wince. “Now, as I’m not the simpleton you seem to believe I am, Mr. Quick, I would like you to remove the pistol I know you’re carrying and lay it on the floor in front of you, but slowly. Lady Emily wouldn’t be nearly as pretty with a hole in her lovely head.”
Without hesitation, Peter complied, withdrawing his weapon from the waistband of his breeches and placing it on the carpet before him.
“Good. Now, kick it over here.”
Once again, Peter did as asked.
The viscount relaxed his grip on Emily the slightest fraction. “Emily, dearest,” he said in her ear, “would you be so kind as to retrieve Mr. Quick’s weapon for me, please?”
She wanted to spit in his eye, but as that wasn’t an option, she leaned over and gingerly picked up the pistol, then craned her neck to look up at him, awaiting further instructions. His stare never wavered from Peter. “Now, open the window and throw it out.”
Adam kept his own weapon trained on her as she took the two steps necessary to swing open the nearest casement and toss the gun out into the night.
He instantly reclaimed her arm and drew her back to his side. “There. I feel much better now, Mr. Quick. Much more comfortable. Don’t you?” He gestured to Miles, who had remained in the doorway. “You. Stable boy. Go stand against the wall, where I can keep an eye on you.”
Tearing his concerned gaze away from Jenna, Miles glared at the viscount as he moved to follow orders.
“Now then, Mr. Quick.” Lord Moreland took a step forward, nudging Emily along in front of him, keeping his gun aimed at her head. “If you wouldn’t mind clearing a path to the door, Lady Emily and I will be going. And if you want her to remain alive and well, I’d suggest you not follow me.”
Peter didn’t budge. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest in a deceptively casual stance, his countenance almost dispassionate. But though he never looked at her, Emily knew him well enough to sense the fury that seethed just beneath the outwardly composed surface, the barely leashed energy he held in check. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Moreland. Do you really want to add kidnapping to your list of crimes?”
“Do you think it matters? I’ll wind up behind bars either way, and I’m not about to let that happen.”
“What if I told you I had recovered the stolen items and was willing to make a trade? The jewels for Lady Emily.”
Lord Moreland froze, his sudden stillness an indication of his shock. When he spoke, his voice was laced with suspicion. “And I’m supposed to believe that you, a Bow Street Runner, will just hand them over to me and let me go?”
Peter shrugged, but didn’t reply.
Emily could almost hear Adam’s mind working, ticking through the possibilities. “Where are they? I want to see them!”
Peter looked at Miles, who reached into his pocket and withdrew the drawstring bag they had found at the cottage earlier that evening. Careful to make no unexpected moves, the stable hand reached inside and withdrew Lady Brimley’s brooch, holding it up for the viscount’s inspection.
“Just think,” Peter said softly. “You’ll have the monetary means at your fingertips to go far away, to start a life somewhere else. Lady Emily would only be an encumbrance.”
“Ahhh.” Lord Moreland sounded well pleased, and Emily longed to kick him in the shin, to yell at Miles to run and take the jewels with him. But she did neither of those things. She had to trust in Peter, had to believe that he knew what he was doing. “Well, as I am the one with a weapon, I don’t imagine there is much you could do about it, Mr. Quick, should I decide I wanted the jewels and Lady Emily. And as it happens, that is exactly what I want. But I thank you for being so accommodating.”
The viscount turned his burning stare on Miles. “Lay the bag on the floor and back away, stable boy.”
The stable hand glanced at Peter, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, then returned the brooch to the bag and bent over to place it on the floor before returning to his spot by the wall.
“There. Now, I’ll just retrieve the spoils and we’ll be on our way.” Moreland’s fingers dug into Emily’s arm, and this time she couldn’t hold back a pained gasp.
Peter’s head flew up, his gaze meeting hers for the first time since he’d entered the room, and she saw all the anger, fear, and concern for her welfare that he’d been hiding since he’d arrived. His fists clenched at his sides in a visible effort to rein himself in.
Emily’s heart filled with warmth and love. No matter what happened, she had faith in Peter. He would rescue her. She had no doubt.
Praying he could read the sincerity in her expression, she gave him a shaky smile and mouthed the words I trust you.
His eyes blazed at her with a fierce light, and something passed between them in the second before Lord Moreland pushed her forward toward the bag of jewels.
And in that instant, Emily slammed her elbow into Adam’s gut and shoved at the hand holding the pistol as hard as she could.
The viscount cried out and clutched at his stomach, and his weapon went flying, hitting the floor and sliding across the carpet to disappear under the sideboard against the far wall.
And Peter exploded into action.
As the two men locked together in combat, Miles raced to untie Jenna and remove her from harm’s way, while Emily ran across the room and dropped to her knees in front of the sideboard. If she could just get her hands on that gun…
But when she shoved her arm under the piece of furniture, her fingers closed on empty air.
Drat and blast, where was it?
She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her, the fight continued in earnest. There was no denying it was a life-or-death struggle, and both men were battered and bloody, each one determined to come out the victor. Even from this distance, Emily could see that one corner of Peter’s lip was split and a nasty-looking bruise marred his cheekbone, while Lord Moreland sported a black eye that was already starting to swell.
As she watched, the viscount landed a particularly vicious blow that had Peter staggering backward, off balance, and she let out a cry of distress as he fell, landing on the carpet with a thud. Moreland took advantage of the opportunity to whirl around and withdraw a poker from the stand next to the fireplace. A glint of wildness blazed in the man’s hazel eyes as he lifted it above his head and faced Peter.
“I believe it’s time to say good-bye, Mr. Quick,” he intoned with silky menace.
Frantically, Emily felt beneath the sideboard once again, and this time her groping fingers closed over cold metal. With a feeling of triumph, she withdrew the pistol and turned.
“Peter!” she shouted, and without hesitation she slid the weapon across the carpet toward him as hard as she could, just as the viscount launched himself forward, brandishing the poker.
In a flash of movement that was much too quick for Emily to even follow with her eyes, Peter snagged the gun, raised it, and fired.
Moreland jerked to a stop, the poker clattering to the ground. A splotch of red appeared on the front of his immaculate suit jacket, just above his heart, and he stared down at it in stunned silence for a long, drawn-out moment before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the floor, where he lay perfectly still.
For a second, no one moved. Then Emily shakily got to her feet and rushed to Peter, flinging her arms around his neck.
Dropping the still smoking pistol, he drew her down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her in an unbreakable vise as he buried his face in her hair. She could feel his heart thumping at a frenetic pace beneath her ear.
“My hero,” she whispered against his chest, and though she tried to keep her voice light and teasing, it quavered ever so slightly.
“Oh, angel,” he choked out. “When I saw ’im ’olding that gun on you, I—” He stumbled to a halt, and she felt his body shudder. “God, I never want to go through anything like that again!”
Leaving Jenna standing near the parlor door, Miles had hurried forward to bend over Moreland’s body and had a hand pressed to the side of his neck to check for a pulse. Emily looked up, and she knew even before the stable hand shook his head that the viscount was dead.
She felt nothing. This man had once been her friend, and the only thing she felt at his death was a curious sort of numbness. Perhaps later, after the shock had worn off, she would grieve. But for now, all she wanted to do was to stay right here in Peter’s arms.
Forever, if he would allow it.
But it seemed forever was not to be. The sound of the front door slamming open out in the foyer suddenly echoed throughout the house. In the next instant, Lord Ellington appeared in the parlor doorway with Lilah and Cullen right behind him, a pale Deirdre cradled in his arms.
Alarmed at her sister-in-law’s pallor, Emily sat forward in Peter’s lap, stifling a gasp of dismay and concern. “Tristan, what is it?”
“Someone fetch the physician,” her brother croaked, his eyes wild and panicked. “She’s having the baby!”