Harland didn’t return for what felt like hours. Emmy could hear a clock ticking somewhere in the bedroom but couldn’t see it. She shuffled her chair around in tiny increments to face the door. Several times she heard heavy footsteps outside—presumably the Tricorn’s mountainous manservant, but nobody came in.
Her grumbling stomach reminded her she’d had no breakfast, and hunger did nothing to improve her temper. A procession of dire thoughts chased one another around her head. Not knowing what was going to happen to her was maddening. Finally, the door clicked open and Harland strode in, bringing a gust of pine-scented air with him. The grim set of his features did not suggest good news.
Her pulse spiked in alarm. “What is it? What has happened? Is it Luc?”
Instead of answering her immediately, he crouched behind her chair and untied her hands. They fell to her sides like lead weights, and she shook her wrists to restore the circulation.
He took the seat behind the desk. “Your brother is well. I went to Bow Street and had him released.”
“And?” Emmy prompted, certain from his expression that there was more.
“While I was there, I met my colleague, Sebastien Wolff. He’d just returned from Gravesend.”
Emmy sent him a mystified look. “Why had he gone there?”
“To check up on the one jewel you hadn’t got around to stealing. The Ruspoli sapphire.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You know where it is?”
“We had a little help from the French head of la Securité, Vidocq.”
“I’m impressed. I hadn’t even begun to trace it. Who has it?”
His brows lowered. “It was owned by a disgraced Italian diplomat by the name of Franco Andretti. Unfortunately, Seb arrived just in time to visit a crime scene. Andretti was murdered last night.”
All the breath left Emmy’s lungs. “What?”
“The killer left a black feather at the scene.”
She choked back a gasp of horror. “It was made to look like the Nightjar’s crime?”
It was one thing to be thought a jewel thief, quite another to be suspected of murder. Danton. It must have been him. He’d threatened violence, but she hadn’t imagined he meant anything as serious as murder. The madman would clearly stop at nothing to gain the jewels. That he’d implicated the Nightjar in such a heinous crime was a clear warning. Her family would be next if she did not do what he asked.
Oh, God. How could she retrieve the cache her father had hidden if she was imprisoned here, or locked in the cells at Bow Street?
Emmy suddenly couldn’t breathe, no matter how quickly she inhaled. She bent forward and pressed her forehead to her knees in an effort not to faint. Harland’s hand settled on the small of her back and rubbed up and down her spine in a comforting gesture so effective, she almost whimpered in gratitude.
“Take deep breaths,” he commanded. “Slowly.”
The dizziness eased and she sat back up. Harland returned to his position on the other side of the desk.
“Did the killer take the sapphire?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“Yes. The safe was open, but empty. The thief forced Andretti to open it, then shot him in cold blood.”
“So now the Nightjar is wanted for murder.” Her lips felt numb. She could barely get the words out.
Harland nodded.
“Surely a judge will realize that this is the work of an imitator?” She could hear the desperate edge to her own voice. “The Nightjar’s never even broken a window before. It’s out of character.” A knot of impotent fury balled in her chest. Danton had sullied her father’s memory, his legacy.
Harland’s slate-blue gaze burned her from the inside out. “I doubt a judge will bother to sift through the evidence. The presence of a black feather is damning. The thefts alone would be enough to send the Nightjar to the gallows. This just adds weight to the inevitable sentence.”
He didn’t need to say what that sentence would be. Death. Emmy leaned forward and reached across the desk toward him. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. “Let me write to my family. I need to warn them. Please.”
His eyes narrowed on her face. “You think Danton did this, don’t you?”
“Who else could it be?”
Alex studied her from across the desk. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, the freckles on her nose more prominent than usual. Her lips, however, were bright pink, either from where she’d gnawed at them in worry, or from their passionate encounter last night. His body flushed in memory.
The look in her eyes was so fearful, so hopeless, it made his chest ache. He fisted his hands against the temptation to leap over there, drag her against his chest, and tell her that everything would be all right. He was no white knight. He couldn’t promise her anything.
Her throat worked as she tried to speak.
“Help me,” she said finally. Her eyes sparkled with a new determination. “Danton will contact me soon to see if I’ve managed to steal the real ruby.” She glanced over at the jewel in question, still sitting on the side table next to her perfume bottle. “If he discovers I’ve been arrested, he’ll hurt my family. Let me return home—just until he contacts me. I’ll arrange to meet him with the ruby, and you can lay a trap for him.”
Her eyes met his, and Alex experienced that now-familiar jolt. He couldn’t help but admire the way she faced her problems head-on without flinching. She was like some poor, brave aristocrat proudly mounting the steps to the guillotine. Damned, but still defiant.
“I won’t try to escape,” she said, anticipating his next comment. “I’m quite prepared to be tried for the Nightjar’s thefts, but I refuse to be punished for a murder I’ve had no hand in. Danton must be stopped. Catch him, and you’ll have both your murderer and the jewels. You’ll be a hero.”
The curl of her lips made it clear he was anything but heroic if he returned the gems to the Prince Regent.
Alex was about to answer her when a commotion in the hall caught his attention. An agitated female voice merged with Mickey’s much deeper tones in animated altercation. He opened the door just in time to see a beautiful, buxom woman duck under Mickey’s restraining arm and sprint up the stairs toward him, advancing like an avenging fury.
“Alexander ’Arland?” she demanded, and just her way of shouting his name was enough to indicate she came from the East End. “What’ve you done wiv Emmy, you scoundrel? I know she’s ’ere!”
“Sally!”
Emmy flashed past him through the doorway. Alex made a grab for her collar, but she was too quick. She launched herself into the arms of the disheveled stranger with a strangled cry of delight. The two women hugged, then separated, both of them talking at once.
“Sally! What are you doing here?”
“Em! Thank God! I didn’t know what else to do.”
“What do you mean?” Emmy clearly noticed the other woman’s disarray; Sally’s hair was loose around her shoulders and she hadn’t bothered putting on either a bonnet or gloves. Alex noted, quite dispassionately, that she had a magnificent cleavage.
“What’s happened?” Emmy demanded.
“Another letter,” the woman said darkly. She shot a warning glance over Emmy’s shoulder at Alex, who sent her a sarcastic nod in return.
“No need for discretion, Miss Hawkins,” he said silkily, deciding this must be Emmy’s housekeeper and co-conspirator, Sally Hawkins. How the woman had managed to disguise those feminine curves under the guise of a window cleaner was a mystery. “Miss Danvers and I have no secrets between us.” He enjoyed the way Emmy’s ears turned pink at his unsubtle insinuation. “What does Monsieur Danton have to say?”
Sally shot Emmy an accusatory glance, as if disappointed that she’d caved in and told him, then reached inside her ample bosom and withdrew a folded note. Her chest swelled in misery, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears.
“He’s got Luc!”