“He’s back,” Sally said ominously.
Emmy glanced up from her solitary breakfast and her heart started to pound at the thought of seeing Harland again. “Who’s back?” she croaked.
Sally sent her a dire look. “Danton, that’s who. He’s down in the hall, cooling his heels.”
Emmy’s spirits plummeted and dread replaced anticipation. “Where’s Luc?”
“Out for his usual walk around the park.”
Emmy cursed. Hellfire. She didn’t want to have to deal with Danton on her own, but Camille was still upstairs asleep, and she didn’t want to rouse her.
“Show him up. And leave the door open.”
When Danton entered, Emmy studied the man who’d made her life a misery for almost a full year.
Sally had described him well. He was of average height and of stocky build, perhaps a decade older than Emmy herself, and his features had a childish, petulant cast to them. He reminded her of a baby about to have a tantrum, except for the calculating gleam in his eyes. There was nothing innocent in his gaze. His eyes roamed over her face and figure, lingering lasciviously at her bosom and lips as if he had the right to examine her. As if he owned her.
Emmy felt a chill sweep over her skin when he smiled. This was a man who knew the cost of everything and the value of nothing. And he clearly relished his role of puppet master, making her family dance to his tune.
“Miss Danvers. We meet at last.” He inclined his head. When Emmy sank back into her seat, he settled himself in the chair opposite her, making himself at home with a familiarity that made her bristle.
“I have been all curiosity to meet the thief who took up the Nightjar’s mantle.”
Emmy nodded stiffly.
He picked up a butter knife and toyed with it between his fingers. “I will admit to a certain hesitancy when I heard a female would take his place, but I own I have been delighted by your success. You have, I believe, recovered the Regent’s diamond and the French blue?”
Emmy nodded again. She didn’t trust her tongue. It would be foolish to antagonize this man, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t make her lose her temper. What gave him the right to force her to do things? And how dare he suggest that as a woman she was somehow less capable of doing the job than a man?
She was glad Luc wasn’t here. He might have been goaded into doing something foolish. Like trying to stab him with that butter knife.
Her cool silence didn’t seem to affect Danton. He raised his brows and helped himself to a bread roll. “And what about the ruby?”
Emmy found her voice. “I have that too. I retrieved it last night.”
If Danton had come to collect the jewels, she might as well hand all three of them over to him. No need to give him another reason to call. “I’ll go and get them now.”
She rose and hurried out of the room, leaving Sally to keep an eye on him from the hallway. She retrieved the two diamonds from inside one of her shoes and collected the ruby from her bedside table.
When she placed the three gems in front of Danton, his delighted smile made her want to slap his face. She’d sweated blood and tears to get those jewels. Faced danger and possible arrest. It wasn’t fair that he simply got to take them away. Selling them had never been part of her father’s vision. Giving them to Danton simply so he could sell them for profit felt like a betrayal of the cruelest sort. Her stomach cramped in misery.
She watched, biting the inside of her cheek, as Danton examined first the Rundell & Bridge diamond and then the smoky blue from the museum. Rainbow shards scattered over the white tablecloth as he held them up to the morning sunlight, and the jewels fragmented the pale beam like a prism.
But when he picked up the ruby, he sucked in a breath. His features hardened and his mouth turned down in displeasure. “Is this your idea of a joke, Miss Danvers? What do you mean by giving me this?”
Emmy frowned. “You asked for Lady Carrington’s ruby. That’s it.”
His eyes flashed in temper. “This is no ruby. Look at it! It’s paste. Worthless!” He threw the stone across the table toward her.
Emmy stared at him, dumbfounded. She hadn’t taken a good look at the jewel last night; it had been dark, and she’d been too distracted by what had happened between herself and Harland. Was it possible she’d been tricked?
Surely not.
Danton’s voice, filled with fury, broke into her thoughts like a dreadful echo. “Do you think to trick me, girl? Do you take me for a fool?”
Emmy leapt to her feet and snatched up the stone from where he’d tossed it. “No! Of course not. I—I—”
She couldn’t explain it. Now she looked at the stone in the daylight, it was painfully obvious it was colored glass. It was a fine paste copy, one of the highest quality, but she’d seen enough of the real thing to know what to look for. She squinted at the surface of the jewel and with a sinking heart identified the tiny white spots that indicated gas bubbles, the fine lines of surface-reaching fractures, neither of which were found in true rubies.
As if she needed further confirmation, she ran the edge of her knife across it and watched as the blade left a telltale scratch on the surface. True ruby was hard, second only to diamond. It should not have yielded to the scratch.
Damn. Damn. Damn!
When had the ruby been exchanged for glass? Where was the true ruby?
Danton rose to his feet. He gathered the two diamonds and tucked them in his inside coat pocket. His face was mottled red with anger.
“You will get me the real ruby as soon as possible, Miss Danvers, or your family will pay the price. I do not make threats lightly.”
Emmy didn’t bother answering him. When he sauntered out of the room, she collapsed back into her chair and stared at the fraudulent stone in front of her, her mind a barrage of questions. Someone had swapped the ruby. But who? And when?
She took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. The Carringtons, either one of them, could have replaced the stone. Lord Carrington could have done it before he presented the necklace to his wife, but it was unlikely. Too many people had seen Lady Carrington wearing the necklace in public—and had a chance to inspect it at close range—for it to have been paste. The eagle-eyed ladies of the ton would have gossiped and speculated about it for weeks.
Lady Carrington could have done it herself. She could have pawned the original and had a paste replacement made if she needed funds and didn’t want to tell her husband. Emmy bit her lip. Or perhaps another thief had beaten her to it? Plenty of people had access to Lady Carrington’s bedroom, if rumor were true.
But none of those explanations took into account the evil genius that was Alexander Harland. He was by far the most likely culprit.
Damn him! He had the real ruby safe somewhere, she was certain. That’s what he’d been doing at the Carringtons’ that day—arranging for its replacement. No wonder he hadn’t set anyone to catch her in the act; he hadn’t needed to. He’d been perfectly content to let her steal something that was almost worthless.
Bastard. She’d known he’d been taunting her with his double-layered words. He’d enjoyed playing with her, watching her sweat. She quashed a wave of reluctant admiration for such a sneaky maneuver. It was precisely the kind of thing she would have done.
Had he been trying to find the fake ruby on her person when he’d kissed her in the conservatory? Had he been feigning desire while she’d been practically swooning in his arms, panting with eagerness?
Emmy took a calming sip of tea. No. She might not have had much experience with men, but his desire hadn’t been feigned. She’d felt the rigid evidence of it pressed against her stomach, heard it in the desperate, throaty groans he’d made against her skin.
So, where did that leave them?
Whatever Harland’s reasons for kissing her, the fact remained that he obviously knew she was the Nightjar. He’d correctly surmised she would steal the ruby. He was probably on his way here right this very moment, to arrest her, with a search warrant.
Emmy stared into the deep red facets of the fake gem and a strange calm slid over her. Where was Luc? The two of them had discussed what they would do if she were ever caught, but it had always been in general, abstract terms. Camille had wanted to avoid all discussion of the subject, thinking it tempted fate to even say the words out loud.
Emmy had always said she’d take the blame. What was the point in all of them being punished? She’d made Luc swear that if she were exposed as the Nightjar, he would take Camille and Sally to France or Spain, anywhere to escape English justice. But that had been years ago. Camille was strong-willed, certainly, but she was over seventy years old. The rigors of travel would exhaust her.
Emmy stood. She wasn’t caught yet. There was still time for them all to leave the country. It would be a wrench, certainly, to leave behind the only life she’d ever known, and running away from a problem had never been her style. But better life as an exile than sentenced to death or transported halfway across the world on a prison hulk.
Decision made, she hastened to the door of the parlor and shouted out orders, even as she started down the stairs.
“Sally! I’m going to the park to get Luc. Wake Camille. Tell her we need to leave. Pack all her jewelry and a couple of dresses and—”
The crash of the door knocker silenced her tirade. Emmy skidded to a halt on the polished marble tiles.
Too late! A sense of fatalistic acceptance washed over her, and she straightened her spine. Very well. The game might be up, but she would accept the consequences of her actions with grace and poise. Her hand barely shook as she unlatched the door and braced herself to meet Harland’s penetrating gaze.
The youth who stood on the doorstep was not the man she expected.
“Letter for you, miss. From Bow Street.”
Emmy accepted it with a frown as the lad tipped his cap at her and scampered off. She ripped open the seal, scanned the contents, and let out a howl of furious disbelief.
Luc had been arrested on suspicion of being the Nightjar. He was being held for questioning at Bow Street regarding the recent break-in at the British Museum. She glared at the arrogant slash of ink at the bottom of the message. It simply read “Harland.”
Double, triple damn.
By the time Camille came downstairs, Emmy had decided what to do. Harland’s arrest of Luc—presumably while her brother took his customary early-morning stroll around Mount Street Gardens—was clearly designed to provoke her.
She’d initially thought of marching straight over to Bow Street, demanding to see Luc, and then haranguing Harland with a furious diatribe about harassing innocent citizens on the basis of insufficient evidence.
But Harland knew he had the wrong man. Luc’s physical disability ruled him out as the active participant in any of the Nightjar’s recent crimes. He clearly wasn’t the one who’d been leaping between balconies, hiding in barrels, and stowing away in musty sarcophagi. No. Harland, the duplicitous swine, had correctly surmised that threatening her family was a far more effective weapon against her than threatening her own person.
Emmy drummed her fingers on the table. He must have known he planned to arrest Luc when he was kissing her senseless last night, the rotten scoundrel. He probably expected her to race over there, beg for her brother’s release, and give herself up to his tender mercies with a full confession.
Not a chance. The game wasn’t over yet.
The best way to prove Luc’s innocence would be to have the Nightjar commit another crime while he was still incarcerated. Harland couldn’t possibly pursue a conviction then. But what could she steal? Excluding the ruby—which she highly suspected was in Harland’s possession—the only other jewel that remained from Danton’s list was the Ruspoli sapphire. But she and Luc hadn’t even confirmed its location, let alone started to plan for its removal.
Emmy bit her lip. Harland’s persecution of her brother had made this personal.
So she would retaliate in kind.
There was no way of knowing how long Bow Street would hold Luc, so she had to work fast. She still had the key she’d stolen from the Tricorn’s doorman. Tonight, she would break into the club, find a way into Harland’s private domain, and taunt him by leaving a black feather on his pillow. That would prove not only Luc’s innocence, but also provide the arrogant Lord Melton with humbling evidence of his own vulnerability.
Emmy smiled, delighted with the plan. When Camille entered the room, yawning politely behind her hand, Emmy decided not to tell her about Danton’s visit, Luc’s arrest, or her own decision. Camille would only worry about all of them.
Sally could go to Bow Street later and reassure Luc that Emmy had things well in hand.
Emmy only hoped it would be true.