A Kiss In The Dark (16 page)

“Like I said,” he continued, grinning at her, “you’re welcome to stay ’ere as long as you like. We’ve never ’ad a girl in the gang before.”

She offered him a tentative smile in return. He’d been so kind to her. He could have easily turned her away, kicked her back out into the filth of the streets and left her to her own devices. But he hadn’t. And he had listened to her troubles without passing judgment, even though they must have sounded small and rather petty compared to the hunger and poverty he and the other boys faced every day.

“What about you, Peter?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“You haven’t said much about yourself. Do you have a home? A family?”

His brow lowered and his expression suddenly closed up as he looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “This
is
my ’ome, and the Rag-Tags are my family. I don’t need anything or anyone else. Never ’ave.”

Obviously, his past wasn’t something he was willing to discuss with her, Emily mused, her gaze tracing his rigid profile. Unwilling to pry any further into an area that caused him pain, she changed the subject. “And how did you learn to …?”

“Pick pockets? When you’re alone on the streets, you learn pretty fast that’s the one sure way to survive. And if you’re ’ungry enough, you get good at it right quick.”

“And you ’re … good at it?”

He glanced up at her, his eyes looking shadowed in the dimness. “I’d say so,” he murmured, leaning in toward her. His very closeness affected her pulse in a strangely erratic fashion. “Wouldn’t you?”

He lifted a hand, and she was so entranced by his compelling gaze that it took her a moment to realize that something rested in his outstretched palm.

A lavender ribbon.
Her
lavender ribbon.

A startled squeak escaped her lips, and she immediately reached for the inside pocket of her cloak, where she had tucked the ribbon upon discovering earlier that she had somehow managed to lose the matching one during the melee last night. “How did you? … I didn’t feel a thing!”

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “That’s the most important part. You can’t just be quick. It takes light fingers and the brains to judge just the right time to make the lift, or you get nabbed. Most people don’t realize that picking pockets is an art.”

Emily took the ribbon from his hand and wrapped it around a finger as she contemplated his words. It was true, when she’d first learned the boys were thieves, she’d been appalled. But she had to admit that some small part of her was intrigued by it all. Dare she …?

“Do you think,” she began hesitantly, nibbling at her lower lip, “that you could teach me?”

“Teach you?”

“How to pick pockets.”

Peter seemed stunned. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t want to corrupt your lily white mind.”

“Lily white?” She let out a peal of laughter that had the other boys glancing in their direction. “I’m not quite as lily white as you think.” Lowering her lashes, she laid a hand on his arm in a beseeching gesture. “Please, Peter? If I’m going to stay here, I would like to earn my keep. I don’t want to be a burden.”

A slight flush colored the high ridges of his cheekbones as he stared down at her hand encircling his forearm. “You’re not a burden,” he said quietly.

“I thank you for saying that, but we both know I’m another mouth to feed, and who knows how long I’ll be here. You say it’s an art, and I can appreciate art as much as the next person. So show me.”

He studied her for a long moment, then gave an abrupt nod. “All right. It’s probably best to find something to keep you occupied until … well, I’ll take you out wiv me tomorrow morning. But we’ll ’ave to find you some different clothes. You and Nat are about the same size. ’E might ’ave something you can borrow.”

“You mean, dress as a boy?”

“Mmm. Do you ’ave a problem wiv that?”

Emily raised her chin at his challenging tone. “Not at all.”

“Good. Now, we’d best get to sleep. We’ll ’ave to be up early if we want to get a good start in the morning.”

Her stomach fluttered in response to his words. She was actually going to do this! She was going to learn to pick pockets! She knew she should be aghast at her brashness and scared to death at the tangle she found herself in, but all she felt was a keen sense of anticipation. Perhaps it was the allure of the forbidden, or the satisfaction it gave her to imagine Tristan’s reaction if he ever found out, but the thought of finally having an adventure all her own gave her a secret little thrill deep inside.

As she watched, Peter got to his feet and placed his hands on his hips, studying the group around the fire. “All right, boyos,” he called out in an authoritative voice. “Time for bed.”

There were a few groans, but no one protested too strenuously, and they all rose and began to head for their pallets.

Emily had just tucked her cloak about her and started to lie down when a small voice whispered in her ear. “Miss Angel, could you read me a story? Just one before we go to bed?”

She looked up to find Benji standing beside her, clutching a book to his chest and watching her with pleading eyes.

She glanced over at Peter, who gave a slight shrug as if to say it was entirely her decision. The little boy looked so hopeful that there was no way she could be heartless enough to deny him.

“Of course, Benji,” she said. “Bring your book and come sit with me.”

A joyful smile wreathed his face, and he immediately settled himself on the pallet next to her. Taking the book and opening to the first page, she barely noticed as Nat came forward with a candle to light the shadowed corner where she sat, and the other boys drifted over and found places on the floor around her. The filth of her surroundings, the shouts coming from the darkness beyond the boarded window, the seriousness of her situation all faded away as Benji nestled against her and she began to read.

N
ight had just started to lower its velvety curtain over the rooftops of the rookery when the Rotherby coach once again rumbled through the streets of Tothill Fields.

Ensconced in a shadowed corner of the carriage, Deirdre regarded her companion from under lowered lashes. Ever since they had left the McLean home earlier that afternoon, Tristan had been distant and brooding, and she supposed he had every right to be. After all, it wasn’t every day that one discovered one’s runaway sister was being pursued by a murderous madman.

It had taken every bit of Deirdre’s persuasive abilities to convince him that going to the law wasn’t a good idea. Only the possibility that it might end up putting Emily in more danger had finally dissuaded him, but it was apparent he wasn’t happy with the decision. And, though Deirdre had assured him she had an alternate plan, she was beginning to have doubts herself. Dodger Dan was fond of her in his own gruff way, but that was no guarantee that he would agree to lend them his aid.

Just in case, she planned on keeping their options open. They had spent the rest of the afternoon continuing to question the shopkeepers in the area, this time about Barnaby Flynt’s interest in finding a young, blond-haired girl with violet eyes. Not surprisingly, most had seemed reluctant to talk about it, and though several had been aware Flynt was offering a reward, none had seemed to know why he was looking for her in the first place.

With each negative response, Tristan had grown more and more withdrawn, and by the time they’d returned to Deirdre’s town house in order to steal a quick bite and freshen up, he had retreated into chilling silence. His mood had only deteriorated further when the servant Deirdre had dispatched to Berkeley Square in order to check in with the Ellington staff had returned with the message that there was still no word of Emily.

She glanced at him once again. Pale moonlight spilled through the window of the carriage, illuminating the rigid set of his features, and she felt her heart squeeze in sympathy.

He tried so hard to put up a wall, to hide his feelings behind a stone exterior, but she was beginning to realize exactly how misleading that façade was. At first glance, he might appear aloof, but underneath he was a man who could be tender and caring. She’d caught glimpses of that man when they’d visited with Lilah, and then again when he’d been so kind to little Gracie McLean. It made her wonder what it would take to bring that facet of his character out into the open more often.

Not that she’d given him much reason to show that side to her, she thought. Her face heated with shame as she recalled the way she had acted toward him earlier that morning. There had been no excuse for her behavior, but Tristan’s anger toward the people of the Fields had put her back up, and she had responded by becoming cool and snappish. Good heavens, she’d even threatened to knock him on his bloody bum, two words she hadn’t strung together since coming to live with Nigel!

“Where are we going?”

It was the first full sentence Tristan had spoken in several hours, and Deirdre was so startled that it took her a moment before she could reply. “Dodger Dan owns a … club of sorts here in Tothill. He used to be a boxer, and he likes to keep his hand in by arranging weekly matches between willing participants for the benefit of the wagering public.”

“You mean he takes bets.”

“For lack of a better word, yes.”

“Explain to me again how this
gentleman
can be of use to us?”

“Dan has several people in his employ who are extremely talented at ferreting out information when given the right incentive. If there is anyone who can find out why Flynt is after Emily, it will be one of Dan’s men.”

“And just how much will the ‘proper incentive’ cost me?”

Deirdre narrowed her eyes at Tristan’s sardonic tone. “I’m not certain, but surely any price is worth it if it will help you find your sister?”

It was a valid point, and he fell silent.

With an inward sigh, Deirdre turned to stare out the window as the coach drew closer to their destination. She was well aware that if Dan made up his mind not to help them, no amount of money would be enough to make him change it. In fact, he was quite likely to refuse. His very livelihood depended upon his avoiding Barnaby Flynt’s notice, and he would be tempting fate to set his own men to tracking the gang leader. She could only hope his long acquaintance with her would be a point in their favor.

At that moment, Cullen drew the carriage to a halt in front of a low, nondescript building sandwiched between a row of abandoned warehouses. He hopped down from the driver’s seat to open the door. As Tristan started to rise, Deirdre quickly laid a staying hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, but it might be best if you wait here.”

Looking incredulous, he lowered himself back into his seat. “I beg your pardon?”

“Dan tends to be rather distrustful of people he doesn’t know. If you go in with me, he might turn us away without even considering our request.”

“You are
not
going in there alone.”

She couldn’t restrain a slight shiver at his thunderous expression. “Of course not. Cullen shall accompany me. Dan has seen him before and will think nothing of his presence.” Accepting the coachman’s hand, she stepped down from the carriage before turning back to look at Tristan. “Please. I promise I won’t be long, and I’ll be quite safe with Cullen.”

Without giving him a chance to protest again, she whirled and started toward the building, feeling Tristan’s eyes boring into her back the whole way.

With a savage oath, Tristan vaulted from the carriage and shut the door with enough force to make the horses stir restively in their traces. Raking one hand back through his hair, he watched with narrowed eyes as Deirdre and Cullen disappeared into the club.

Damnation, but this was beyond belief! His sister was the one missing, yet he’d been relegated to waiting with the carriage like some lackey while Deirdre sought the help they needed. Rarely could he remember ever feeling this powerless.

Pivoting on his heel, he began to pace the pavement with angry strides, struggling to keep a rein on his growing temper. He’d already lost ground with Deirdre once today by lighting into Mouse. Moreover, he knew that his brooding silence since discovering that Barnaby Flynt was looking for Emily only served to make Deirdre more uncomfortable, but he couldn’t seem to help it. His fear for his sister was eating at him, slowly eroding all pretense at civility.