This is the second book in the Knight family saga
that began with A Kiss in the Dark. As it opens, Lady
Emily Knight is all grown up now and someone is
blackmailing her to steal from her neighbors. Emily can't
let her family be destroyed but people are starting to
believe the thief is some of the boys at Willow Park - the
boys home that Emily's brother and
sister-in-law sponsor.
Peter Quick is the bastard son of a prostitute who has no
idea who his father is. He was raised on the streets
of London and was the leader of the 'Rag Tag Bunch' when he
met Tristan, Earl of Ellington. Tristan is the closest
thing to a father Peter has ever known. Tristan travels
to London to ask Peter, now a Bow Street Runner, to return
to Knighthaven and uncover the thief. Tristan
wants Peter to prove that the boys at Willow Park are not
the culprits.
Peter is reluctant to return to Knighthaven but he can't
forget everything that Tristan and Deidre have done for
him. Peter knows that making sure Willow Park in not
closed is more important than the reason he doesn't want
to return; almost becoming Emily's lover and leaving her
with no explanations.
When Peter and Emily run into each other, literately,
after four years you can feel the sexual tension.
These two unrequited lovers finally realizing that the
differences in their stations cannot overpower their
undeniable feelings for each other makes this a wonderfully
romantic story. As far as the blackmail and mystery of
why, you will be able to figure out who and why long
before the story ends. But the romance keeps you reading.
Even though this is the second book in this series Ms.
Logan has done a wonderful job explaining who each person
is. You can read this book as a stand alone but you won't
want to.
It takes a thief to catch a thief...and one kiss to
steal a heart.
For one brief moment, Lady Emily Knight knew what heaven
was when she shared a soul-searing kiss with Peter. But a
penniless youth schooled in the London streets cannot love
a beautiful heiress -- so he vanished, leaving Emily
heartbroken . . .
Now a formidable Bow Street Runner, Peter returns to hunt
down an elusive thief who's been preying on the
Oxfordshire wealthy -- even though his mission must
inevitably reunite him with the sensuous beauty who haunts
his dreams and whose taste still lingers on his lips.
But as tantalizing embraces enflame their passion once
more, will Emily's knowledge of the thief's true identity
transform desire into distrust and impassioned lovers into
dangerous adversaries?
Excerpt
The interior of the cottage was cold and dark, and Peter
had to pause for a moment in the doorway to give his eyes
a chance to adjust to the dimness. A sudden flare of light
from the far corner drew his attention, and as he saw
Emily straighten away from the tumbledown fireplace, he
was surprised to realize that she’d managed to start a
small fire.
As she stood silhouetted by its glow, she had never looked
more like an angel. It took his breath away. Her long
blond curls had come loose from their pins and fell about
her shoulders in a damp mass of molten gold, and her
sodden yellow gown clung to her ripe curves like a second
skin, outlining her full breasts, slender waist, and
rounded hips to perfection.
His mouth went dry. Perhaps not an angel. More like a
seductive nymph sent to tempt him, despite all of his good
intentions.
Taking note of him lingering on the threshold, she sent
him a wry smile that he could see even in the half-
light. “I could be wrong, but I doubt that you’ll get very
dry if you intend to remain out there in the storm.”
He gave a start. She must think him mad to be standing
here gaping at her like a complete lack-wit. Struggling to
subdue his seething emotions, he came the rest of the way
inside and closed the heavy wooden door behind him against
the torrents of rain.
She came toward him, her head tilted as she examined him
with veiled eyes. “Are the horses settled?”
Unable to speak, he nodded and turned his attention to
their surroundings, faintly illuminated by the glow of the
flames. The room was large and drafty with a hard-packed
dirt floor and a low-beamed ceiling. It was also empty.
There wasn’t a lick of furniture in the place except for a
rickety wooden stool set before the fire.
He jerked his head in that direction, needing a way to
escape her disturbing proximity. “Why don’t you go warm
yourself by the flames? You need to let your clothes dry
out or you’ll be catching a fever, and your brother will
never forgive me.”
She studied him for a long, drawn out moment, and just
when he thought she wasn’t going to comply, she shrugged
and moved away, seating herself on the stool before the
hearth.
With an inner sigh of relief, Peter hunched down on the
dirt floor and started to unpack his saddlebag.
The first thing he withdrew was his pistol.
Hearing a slight gasp, he looked up to find Emily watching
him with eyes as wide as saucers in her pale face. She was
staring at the weapon, her expression apprehensive.
What? Did she think he was going to shoot her?
When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper. “You know,
I…” She stumbled to a halt and licked her lips, the action
unknowingly sensuous, then tried again. “I’ve always been
aware in some corner of my mind that your job involves a
certain amount of danger, but I don’t think I ever let
myself truly consider just how dangerous it must be.”
He ignored the jolt the sight of that pink tongue sweeping
across her lips caused him and hefted the pistol in his
hand, holding it up so the firelight flickered off the
cold metal of the barrel. “Yes, well, luckily I’ve rarely
been forced to use this.” He shot her a censuring
look. “Thank God I didn’t have it with me last night.”
She froze for an infinitesimal second, then her chin went
up at a haughty angle and she looked away, staring into
the orange flames next to her.
Would he never learn to keep his mouth shut? It seemed he
always knew the right thing to say to put her back up. One
minute they could be having a perfectly cordial
conversation, and the next they were at each other’s
throats.
Smothering the frustration that boiled within him, Peter
yanked a blanket from his bag and held it out toward
Emily. “Here. You need to get out of that dress.”
Her head jerked back in his direction with such force that
her wet curls bounced on her shoulders. “I beg your
pardon?”
One corner of his mouth quirked upward in amusement in
spite of himself. “You’re still shivering. You need to
take off the gown and wrap yourself in this.”
She hesitated, then stood and came forward to accept the
blanket, eyeing him with a certain amount of
distrust. “You won’t look?”
“You know, I am capable of being a gentleman if the
situation calls for it.” And the last thing he needed was
to see that luscious figure unclothed. “I promise I won’t
look.”
To emphasize his point, he turned his back and busied
himself emptying the rest of his pack, trying to ignore
the sound of material rustling behind him. He could almost
visualize the creamy skin that would be revealed as she
peeled the muslin gown down over her body, the way the
firelight would illuminate all her secret curves and
hollows, gilding her with an ethereal glow...
Peter had to stifle a groan.
“I’m done.” The voice came from behind him.
He turned to find her standing less than a foot away, the
blanket hugged about her, making her look small and
helpless, like a child.
But she was no child.
Clearing his throat, he indicated the saddlebag with a
jerk of his head. “Are you hungry? I have a half a loaf of
bread with me that I snitched from the kitchen at
Knighthaven if you are. It isn’t much and it’s most likely
a bit stale, but--”
“No, thank you.” As he watched her, one side of the
blanket slid down, and he caught sight of a pale shoulder
barely covered by the lacy strap of her chemise before
Emily tugged the covering back up. “What about you? Don’t
you have another blanket?”
He forced his gaze away from her and tried not to pray for
the blanket to slip again—-just a little bit farther this
time. “No. But I don’t need one. I’ll be fine.”
She nodded, then moved to drape her gown over the stool
next to the fire to dry. Her movements were graceful and
delicate, drawing his eyes back to her against his will.
The light from the flames shone right through the blanket,
outlining her shape, hypnotizing him.
Bloody hell, he should just hand her the pistol and let
her put him out of his misery!
“You know, my reputation would be quite thoroughly
compromised if anyone were to find us like this together.”
Her comment pulled his gaze to her face, but he couldn’t
quite read her expression in the dimness.
“I don’t think you need to worry about anyone stumbling
across us here. And I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”
Seeking to distract himself, he yanked off a hunk of bread
and took a bite as he stuck the rest of the loaf back in
his saddlebag. “Hopefully, we won’t be here for long.”
There came a small swish of sound, and he looked back up
to find that she had crossed the room and stood once again
at his side, staring down at him from under lowered lashes.
The silence lengthened, and just when he had started to
believe she wasn’t going to say anything, she spoke in a
voice that was hardly more than a whisper. “Why, Peter?”
Something in the way she said it sent a chill up his
spine. “Why what?”
“Why did you leave Little Haverton the way you did four
years ago?” She paused, then tightened her hold on her
blanket and took another step toward him, her eyes blazing
with resolution, as if she had no intention of being
dissuaded from gaining an answer. “Why did you leave me?”
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