Alex frowned. It had taken Franks almost an entire day to discover the loss of the diamond. He’d been so engrossed in studying some new Egyptian sarcophagus that he hadn’t noticed it missing on his morning tour of the museum. Alex quelled a spurt of irritation as he and Seb listened to the man’s bumbling attempts to understand what had happened.
“Indeed, it was only at around four o’clock that a gentleman pointed out that it was missing and asked whether it was being cleaned.” Franks wrung his hands in obvious agitation. “I sent to inform you directly, Lord Melton.”
Alex nodded. “Thank you. But what happened to your guard dog? You assured me he was a veritable Cerberus.” He glared down at the animal in question, who was trotting amiably beside them. Brutus whimpered, as if he recognized the accusatory tone. He tucked his tail between his legs and dipped his muzzle in a perfect canine grovel.
Franks’s neck turned pink. “Ah, well, it seems the thief discovered Brutus’s fatal weakness. The clever devil bribed him with steak.”
Seb rolled his eyes. “Whoever would have thought of that?”
“Et tu, Brute?” Alex chided the dog, but neither of his companions appreciated the Shakespeare reference.
“There’s more, my lord.” Franks cleared his throat as they neared the minerals gallery. “It seems the crook has taken a personal interest in you.”
“In what way?”
They stopped in front of the cabinet. The glass was still intact. There was no evidence of forced entry, but the diamond was notably absent. A lone black feather lay in its place. Franks pointed to a folded ridge of card, propped up next to another specimen nearby.
“The thief not only took the diamond, they also replaced that particular label.”
Alex bent to read the note and his brows rose in affronted disbelief.
Specimen: Meltonium Harlandii. Locale: London and its environs. Defining characteristics: Inert. Dull in appearance. Particularly dense. No practical uses. Almost worthless.
“What kind of rock is that?” Alex asked very softly.
“A meteorite,” Franks supplied. “It is, in all probability, the oldest thing on this entire planet.”
Behind him, Alex heard Seb snort, then give up any pretense of trying to quash his laughter. “Oh, that’s priceless! Alex Harland: old and thick and not of this world!”
Alex reminded himself that Seb was one of his best friends. It would be bad form to knock his bloody teeth out. He glared at the handwritten note. It was not the same hand that had written the Nightjar’s previous message about the sugar. It was equally neat and educated, but more sloping. Slightly—dare he say it—more feminine?
Seb wasn’t finished. “Is this how the Nightjar sees us at Bow Street? Big, hulking lumps with no more intelligence than a misshapen rock? I believe we should be insulted, Alex. Or, you should be.”
Alex ground his teeth. One eyelid began to twitch. If he’d had any doubt about the identity of the Nightjar, this taunting little note quashed it. Emmeline Danvers’s cheeky face rose up before him, those lips curved in a teasing smile, those damnably alluring freckles peppering her nose, and his blood began to boil.
Franks unlocked the cabinet and handed the feather to Alex. Alex brought it to his nose and his stomach clenched in recognition. It smelled of her. His mystery woman. Emmeline Danvers. The Nightjar.
One and the same. Damn her.
Anyone who said women weren’t capable of such things was a fool. Women were capable of anything. He wasn’t yet precisely sure of how she’d managed it—although he’d bet the sudden appearance of that sarcophagus downstairs had something to do with it—but he was sure of one thing: she was his thief.
“One thing I’ve always wondered,” Seb said to the room in general. “How come ladies are always referred to as diamonds of the first water? Is that a gemological term?”
Franks nodded, glad of the distraction. “It is indeed. ‘First water’ denotes the highest quality. Diamonds are assessed by their translucence; the more like water, the better. It means they have a perfect cut, color, and clarity, and lack internal flaws.”
“We all have internal flaws,” Alex growled. “And external ones too.” He touched the scar at his temple, then turned on his heel and strode toward the entrance.
“Where are we going now?” Seb demanded cheerfully.
“To the Danvers residence. Good day, Mister Franks.”
Alex jogged down the stairs, out of the main entrance, gave directions to the driver, and jumped into the waiting carriage.
Seb scrambled in after him. “You really think it’s her?”
“Without a doubt. I even met her here yesterday when I was talking to Franks. That woman has some gall.”
Seb gave a crooked smile. “There’s something incredibly attractive about competence, don’t you think? I find it almost … arousing. In certain circumstances, of course.”
Alex shot him a disbelieving look. “You think we should admire her sangfroid?”
The little imp certainly had a cool head in a crisis. He had it himself, gained from his years in the Rifles, an ability to think clearly when bullets were whistling past his head. In a colleague, it was an excellent trait. In an adversary, it was irritating beyond measure.
Seb’s expression grew serious. “She might not have had a choice, you know. There may be extenuating circumstances.”
“Everyone always has a choice,” Alex said grimly. “She knows the difference between right and wrong.”
“Maybe her only option was choosing the lesser of two evils?”
“Stop playing devil’s advocate,” Alex growled. “You sound as if you’re on her side. She’s a bloody criminal.”
Seb shrugged. “I just think it’s odd that you’re so angry. You’ve never reacted like this with any of the other criminals we’ve been involved with.” His face took on a slyly innocent expression. “Maybe it’s because none of the other criminals had such perfect breasts.”
“You shouldn’t be noticing her breasts!”
Seb chuckled, delighted to have drawn a response. “You just seem, I don’t know, emotionally invested in this one. I’ve never seen you so animated. There’s more to this than upholding the law.”
“You know what they say: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer … especially if they’re female.”
“That should be the Harland family motto.” Seb chuckled. “Maybe we should get it carved above the fireplace at the Tricorn?”
Alex winced. Seb made it his business to know everything about everyone. His personal motto was “knowledge is power.” And for all his teasing, he’d hit the nail on the head. Emmeline Danvers’s involvement felt like a personal betrayal, the shattering of all his foolish dreams. He’d held a false image in his heart for all these years, fostered stupid longings that should have been quashed long ago. The image of purity, of innocence, of that laughing shimmering girl, had been an illusion.
“I will catch her. I always get my man.”
Seb spread his arms along the back of the seat with a grin. “See, that’s where you have a problem. Because in this case, your man is a woman. A very attractive woman.”
“Whether or not she’s attractive is neither here nor there. Justice will be served. Let’s not forget what happened the last time I gave a pretty woman the benefit of the doubt.”
Seb levelled him with a direct stare. “This is nothing like Spain, Alex. Not the same at all.”
It had been one of Alex’s blackest moments, an experience he’d never been able to forget. They’d been escorting a group of French prisoners of war through the mountains and had stopped near a small village. As usual, a group of locals had appeared, offering food and drink. A young Spanish woman carrying a basket of flowers had approached the group of bound prisoners, who were resting on the ground.
She was beautiful; her unbound hair was wild around her face, her eyes flashing brown. The fringed edge of her burnt-orange shawl fluttered as she walked. All heads turned to follow her progress.
Alex’s commanding officer had just motioned at her to move away from the men when she reached into her basket and pulled out a grenade.
The entire camp stilled. Alex had been on lookout; his rifle was already in his hands. Someone shouted an order to shoot, but he’d hesitated. He didn’t want to shoot a woman. He couldn’t believe she would carry out her threat.
The explosion, when it came seconds later, killed the woman and the two Frenchmen closest to her and wounded a dozen more. It transpired that her husband had been killed by the French the week before.
Alex closed his eyes. It still rankled. He’d been naïve, blinded by her attractive appearance, still clinging to the faint hope that the world wasn’t as brutal as he already knew it to be. His gut had warned him of danger, but he’d ignored his instincts and allowed emotion to override his training. Innocent men—even if they were technically the enemy—had died because of his weakness.
In hindsight, the situation had a certain dark irony. Back then, he’d still had full vision; he’d been blinded by hope and inexperience. Now, he was blinded in truth, at least partially, but never again would he be fooled by a pretty face. He’d learned his lesson.
“We can’t just walk in there and search the place,” Seb said, interrupting his brooding thoughts. “We need a warrant from Conant.”
“I know that.”
“Then why—?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said irritably. “I just want to take a look at her. In her home, the place she feels most secure. She’ll be confident there. Relaxed. She might let something slip that incriminates her.”
He couldn’t explain it logically, but he was convinced that if he just looked her in the eye he’d know. He’d see it in her face. The guilt. The amusement. The spark of challenge in her eyes.
“Besides, there are plenty of ways to get what we want without a search warrant. Sometimes all you have to do is ask nicely.”