A Kiss In The Dark (6 page)

If
he could find her.

Shaking off thoughts of Lady Rotherby, he glanced at Archer once again. “Has there been any news of Emily?”

The butler shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my lord. Several of the staff are still out looking, but no one has reported back in the last hour.”

At his servant’s words, Tristan felt the fear and dread that he’d been fighting so hard to keep at bay start to creep up on him, choking him, but he swiftly pushed it back into the furthest reaches of his consciousness. Though the mere thought of his sister wandering unprotected through the streets of Tothill Fields—the very place that had robbed his family of so much—was enough to make his blood run cold, he had to keep his wits about him. Emily was counting on him and he couldn’t let her down. Not when he’d already let her down too many times as it was.

“Then I need to rejoin the search,” he said, setting aside his brandy glass and reaching up to reknot his loosened cravat as he headed for the door.

“But, my lord,” Archer protested, “you’ve been out most of the night. Surely you can spare an hour to rest? You look exhausted.”

“I can’t afford to rest, Archer. Emily is out there somewhere, possibly in great danger. Since Bow Street doesn’t seem to be taking me seriously, I’m all she has.”

Heaven help her. He certainly hadn’t been of much use to her up until now.

As he stepped back out into the entry hall, memories suddenly assailed him. Memories of the day his father had ordered him from the house for good. After weeks of bitter battles and harsh accusations, Tristan had been only too happy to oblige. Every day spent in familiar surroundings had been a constant reminder that his mother was no longer there. And all because of him.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain the recollection always brought him. If only he’d been aware of the sort of danger Lady Ellington’s charitable inclinations had placed her in, he never would have agreed to accompany her on that fateful day. Perhaps if he had refused, she might have been dissuaded from her mission. But at nineteen, he’d been young and foolish and had seen only another opportunity to thumb his nose at one of his father’s dictates. In the end, his rebelliousness had cost his mother her life.

And she was far from the only person he’d failed. Even after all these years, Tristan was still haunted by the image of Emily’s small face peering down at him from the upstairs window of the town house on the afternoon he’d departed, tears streaming down her cheeks and her eyes pleading with him not to go.

The sight had affected him profoundly, and for a moment he’d been tempted to go back inside, scoop her up, and take her with him. But no one had known better than he how impossible that would have been. Even if the earl had allowed it, the sort of vagabond lifestyle Tristan would be living would have been no kind of life for a six-year-old child.

So he’d ridden away without looking back. And Emily had been left alone and neglected.

As if reading his thoughts, Archer spoke up from the study doorway, drawing his attention. “You mustn’t blame yourself, my lord.”

“Who else is there to blame? My father obviously wasn’t in his right mind. Perhaps if I’d kept in touch more often instead of attempting to pretend my life here didn’t exist …” Tristan shook his head without bothering to finish the sentence. “No, Archer, it
is
my fault.”

He glanced about the entry hall, and as his gaze took in his once beloved surroundings, he could have sworn he heard an echo of his mother’s laughter.

“Everything is my fault,” he said bleakly, then turned and left the house.

The lady was an angel
.

At least, she resembled every picture of one Deirdre had ever seen. Dainty and delicate, she wore an expensive lavender silk pelisse and matching bonnet, her golden curls framing a heart-shaped face with skin the color of porcelain. She seemed to be waiting for someone, her anxious gaze darting back and forth as she stood on the street corner in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon
.

What was an angel doing in the middle of the rookery?

Suddenly, a heavy hand fell on Deirdre’s shoulder, and she glanced up to find Barnaby Flynt standing at her elbow, his menacing stare locked on the same woman she’d been watching
.

“’Er,” he rasped, his mouth curling into a grim smile. “She’s the one.”

Deirdre felt her heart slam painfully against her ribs. She hadn’t wanted to come on the job with Barnaby today in the first place, but he’d insisted, and now he was frightening her. She didn’t like the way he was studying the lady, with a hint of something more than the usual avaricious greed glinting in his eyes, and it led her to speak without thinking
.

“Oh, not ’er, Mr. Flynt. ’Ow about that gent? ’Is pockets look plenty fat and—”

A solid cuff on her ear brought her words to an immediate halt
.

“Shut your yap!” Barnaby spat at her, his scar livid against the mottled anger of his face. “I didn’t bring you along to tell me who I can rob and who I can’t. I said ’er, and that’s that.”

“But I—”

His thick fingers bit into her arm. “Don’t argue wiv me, or you’ll be earning your keep on your back in one of the flash ’ouses. Do you understand?”

Oh, she understood all right, and she bit her tongue against any further words, giving a single, abrupt nod in reply. As much as she hated the idea of stealing from the angel, she hated the idea of being forced to become a doxy even more. Barnaby held all the power here, and she would be crazy to let herself forget that, even for a moment
.

“Now, you go on over there and get ’er to follow you back ’ere.” Barnaby jerked his thumb in the direction of the dark alleyway behind them
.

“’Ow?”

“I don’t care ’ow. Just do it. Tell ’er your mum is sick. That’ll fetch ’er sure enough. And be quick about it. The boys and I will be waiting.”

Deirdre watched as Barnaby ducked back into the shadows, then she turned to face the lady. Taking a deep breath, she began to trudge reluctantly forward. Whether she liked it or not, it was thanks to Barnaby that she had a roof over her head and food in her belly. He had taken her in after her father had abandoned her, and he’d given her a home with the other pickpockets in his gang. She couldn’t afford to make him angry
.

Up close, the woman was even prettier than she’d been from a distance, and Deirdre felt small and grubby in her torn and dirt-stained lad’s clothing. A pair of misty violet eyes swung in her direction as she approached, and their unique coloring left her speechless for a moment
.

The angel’s voice, when she spoke, was as soft and gentle as a spring breeze. “Hello there.”

Deirdre struggled to push the words out through a suddenly constricted throat. “Please. Please, you must ’elp me, m’lady.”

“What is it, darling? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My mum is dreadful sick and no one will ’elp.” Reaching out, she grasped the lady’s hand and gave it a tug. “Please, come with me.”

Something in Deirdre’s expression must have convinced the woman, for her brow lowered in concern and she glanced back over her shoulder once before giving a decisive nod. “Of course I’ll help you. Show me where she is.”

Deirdre started to draw her toward the alley, but the closer they got to their destination, the more her mind screamed at her that this was wrong. She’d stolen from people before, of course, but something told her Barnaby had something more in mind for the angel. Especially if his “boys” were involved
.

As they stepped into the darkness of the alleyway, the lady hesitated, her expression nervous as she glanced down at Deirdre. “Where are you taking me, sweetheart? Is your mother back here?”

That did it. The uncertainty in her angel’s voice completely undid Deirdre. Letting go of the woman’s hand, she gave her a push toward the street and cried out, “Get out of ’ere! Run!”

But it was too late. Barnaby swooped down on them, brandishing his knife, and the lady screamed....

Deirdre sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding and the scream still ringing in her ears.

It was only after she’d assured herself that she was safe in her room and some of her terror had started to subside that she realized the cry that had awakened her had been her own.

Tossing aside her tangled blankets, she got to her feet and padded across the chamber to the window, flinging open the casements to allow the cool night air to caress her sweat-dampened skin. She hadn’t had the nightmare in quite a while, but there was no doubt in her mind what had triggered it tonight. Lord Ellington’s visit had stirred up memories best left buried. Of course, he wasn’t solely responsible. Hearing that Barnaby Flynt was back in the area hadn’t helped either.

At that moment, a soft tap at the door drew her attention, and she looked up as Mrs. Godfrey poked her head into the room.

“Are you all right, my lady? I heard you cry out.”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Godfrey. It was just a bad dream.”

The older woman’s face creased with concern. Entering the chamber, she came forward to join her mistress at the window. “It was your visitor, wasn’t it, my lady? He upset you. I could tell.”

“He didn’t upset me, precisely. Only reminded me of a time in my life that I would rather forget.”

“A time before you came here?”

Deirdre nodded.

The housekeeper studied her intently. “You know, my lady, you’ve come a long way since his lordship first brought you home.”

Indeed she had. She was no longer the grubby little street urchin she’d been at twelve years old, picking pockets and wondering where her next meal would come from. Nigel had changed her life.

The days after the incident in the alleyway had passed by in a blur of desperation for Deirdre. It had left her terrified and hiding in the shadows, certain Barnaby lurked around every corner, waiting to snatch her up and punish her for daring to defy him. She’d been too scared of being discovered to even filch so much as a crust of bread. But eventually the pangs in her stomach had become too severe to ignore, and she’d ventured back out onto the streets.

She was certain it had been fate that had led her to Nigel that day. A kindly-looking older gentleman with graying hair, he’d been perusing the titles outside of a Piccadilly bookstore when she’d attempted to snatch his wallet. She’d been a bit slower than usual, however, and the viscount had caught her with her hand in his pocket.

To her surprise, instead of having her hauled off to Newgate, Lord Rotherby had taken her home with him and provided her with a hot meal and a warm bed. She’d been suspicious at first, of course, especially when he’d offered her a permanent home. In her experience, people rarely did anyone a kindness without expecting something in return. But over time, she’d learned Nigel’s motivations were pure, and she’d slowly come to trust him.

“You were a blessing to him after losing his wife and daughter, my lady,” Mrs. Godfrey said, pulling her from her musings. “He told me often that having you in his home was like having his little girl back.”

Deirdre shook her head. “I don’t think he ever knew how grateful I was to him for everything he did for me.”

For seven years, the viscount had sheltered and cared for her, had taught her to walk, talk, and behave like a true lady. In many ways, he’d become the father she’d always dreamed of having as a child. With her own mother dead by the time she was three, and her father, Big John O’Shea, good for nothing but drinking and brawling, she’d never known the love of a real family.

But Nigel had given her the warmth and affection she’d been missing in her life. She’d settled into a sedate and comfortable existence with him, and their eventual marriage had only served to strengthen their bond. Of course, Deirdre had always been aware of the wild rumors that circulated about her amongst the
ton
, but she’d made up her mind long ago not to let them bother her. And for the most part, she’d been successful.

Until tonight. For some reason, Lord Ellington’s stinging assessment of her character truly hurt.

“Can I get you anything to help you rest, my lady?” Mrs. Godfrey inquired, drawing her attention. “Some warm milk or tea?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Godfrey. I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go ahead back to bed?”

“If you’re certain, my lady.”

“I am.”

The housekeeper gave a reluctant nod. “Very well.” With one last look at her mistress, she departed the room.

Closing the window, Deirdre wandered back over to her bed to sit on the edge. She had no doubt it would be a while before she would be able to sleep again. Now that she was awake, the events of the evening kept playing over and over in her head in a never-ending litany.

Had Lord Ellington found his sister yet?

She felt terrible for having refused him, even though she’d been certain there was no other choice at the time. She had to admit the thought of that poor girl alone in the rookery haunted her. A gently bred young lady of her station would never stand a chance against the sort of criminals that lurked there.

She shivered and knotted her fists in the silken material of her nightdress. How could she live with herself if anything happened to the child? But how could she agree, when every second spent in the earl’s presence was a threat to her identity? Not to mention the effect he had on her senses. She reacted to him in ways she’d never reacted to any other man.