Sally thrust the crumpled letter at Emmy, who scanned it as quickly as she could. Luc, it appeared, had been released from Bow Street and almost immediately apprehended by Danton.
“I asked one of the sweeper boys,” Sally said. “He saw Luc get into a carriage at the end of the street but didn’t think anything of it. There weren’t no markings or crests on it.”
Emmy closed her eyes as the threatening note swam before her. Luc was Danton’s hostage.
She let Harland take the paper from her nerveless fingers.
Oh, God. She hadn’t thought things could get worse than her own arrest. But now Danton was demanding all of the jewels her father had collected, within twenty-four hours, or Luc’s life would be forfeit.
If you doubt my claim, he’d written. Take note of the example set by Signore Andretti. Such is the fate of those who defy me.
Emmy shivered. Was that oblique reference enough to prove Danton had killed the Italian? Surely it was enough to convince Harland to help her?
“Does Camille know?” she asked.
Sally shook her head. “Not yet. She was still in her room. I came straight here. What should we do?” Her tears threatened to overflow, and she dashed them away with an impatient hand. “That bastard. If he hurts Luc, I’ll—”
She didn’t seem able to find a harsh enough expletive to finish that sentence. Emmy caught her elbow and tugged her into Harland’s rooms, and the two of them dropped into the wing chairs that flanked the fire.
Sally looked around her with wide eyes, doubtless noticing the telltale rumple of sheets through the open door to the bedchamber and drawing her own—entirely correct—conclusions as to why Emmy hadn’t returned last night. She sent Emmy a telling look, but thankfully forbore to comment.
Harland stepped into the room and turned his penetrating gaze on Sally. “How long ago was this letter delivered?”
“About an hour.”
“By messenger?”
“Yes. One of them errand boys. There’s no way to trace it back to the source. We tried that before. None of ’em know where ’e lives.”
“Miss Danvers is currently helping Bow Street with its inquiries.”
Emmy gave an inelegant snort at his linguistic circumnavigation—helping with their inquiries, indeed.
He ignored her. “Miss Hawkins, you should return to Waverley Gardens and await further instruction. You may tell the countess what has happened at your discretion.”
Emmy opened her mouth to object to him giving such summary commands concerning her family, but he sent her a quelling glare.
“Miss Danvers and I,” he continued, “are going to discuss the location of the Nightjar’s ill-gotten gains.”
Sally sent Emmy another desperate look, and Emmy lifted her shoulders in a what can I do? shrug. In a choice between the Nightjar’s jewels and her brother’s life, there really wasn’t a decision to make. Luc was more important than any patriotic whim. She’d loved her father dearly, but he was dead, whereas Luc—she sincerely hoped—was still alive and well.
She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that cooperating with Bow Street would in any way lessen her eventual sentence, but she would do anything to save her brother. She sent Sally what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “He’s right. Please go and sit with Camille. Tell her I have everything under control.”
Sally nodded, apparently convinced by that outright lie. “All right. But you be careful, Em, you hear me.” She sent another meaningful glance toward Harland and stood, shaking out her skirts. “Don’t do anyfink I wouldn’t do.”
Emmy refrained from saying that didn’t rule out much at all.
“Mickey will be delighted to escort you home, Miss Hawkins.” Harland indicated the door with an expansive sweep of his arm, as if Sally were a duchess, and she bustled back into the passageway with a mollified sniff. “And Mickey,” he added to the hovering manservant, “tell Sam to saddle up Bey.”
As soon as the rustle of Sally’s skirts and the thump of Mickey’s boots had receded, he turned back to Emmy with a steely look in his eye. “Enough skirmishing. Where are the rest of the jewels?”
Emmy gave a disgruntled sniff. “Very well. They’re buried in the grounds of a ruined abbey. In Rutland.”
“Rutland?” he said aghast. “Near Lincolnshire? Dear God. Why there? I thought they would be here, in London.”
She shook her head, rather enjoying his irritation. “My grandfather had a hunting lodge out there. You can’t just go and dig the place up, though. Only Luc and I know the exact location of the cache.” She sent him a sweet, triumphant smile. “If you want all the jewels, you’re going to have to take me with you.”
His eyes narrowed in displeasure. “How do I know you’re not leading me on a wild goose chase? That you won’t try to escape en route?”
“Apart from the fact that I give you my word?” she countered. “At least credit me with not wanting Luc to be hurt. I’m as keen to get those jewels to Danton as you are.”
That logic seemed to satisfy him. “How far is it?”
Emmy suppressed a smile. “About ninety miles. It’s near Stamford, straight up the Great North Road.”
“Can we get there and back by this time tomorrow?”
“I believe so. It takes about six hours, with a change of horses.”
“Can you ride?”
Emmy shook her head. “Not for that distance. I usually take the mail coach.”
He gave a put-upon sigh and glanced at the clock on the mantel. “If we leave now, we should get there before dark. I’ll have Sam ready the carriage for you.”
“But not for you?”
He shook his head with a grimace of distaste. “I’ll ride.”
Emmy told herself the dip in her spirits was not disappointment. Was his grimace because he couldn’t stand the thought of being in her presence, or simply because he hated to be confined inside when he could ride? Why did she even care?
He crossed to the side table, picked up the ruby, and made a point of placing it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Stay here. I’ll see about some food for you.”
Emmy wrinkled her nose at his departing back, but it was hard to stay annoyed when he was being so considerate. She hadn’t thought he’d care whether she’d eaten or not.
She was clearly still his captive, but she’d spoken the truth when she’d promised not to escape. With Harland’s assistance, she could return to London with the jewels far quicker than if she’d been on her own, with the added benefit of his protection there and back.
As long as she delivered the gems to Danton by the deadline and saved Luc, she didn’t care what happened to them after that.
Emmy shook her head. She’d have the dubious pleasure-pain of Harland’s company until tomorrow. She must be a glutton for punishment. Even now, when she ought to resent him, she couldn’t find it in herself to do so.
A few minutes later a brown-haired serving girl brought in a steaming tray of food, and Emmy almost groaned in delight. Coffee with cream and sugar. Bacon and eggs. Toast and jam. Harland was proving to be a very agreeable jailer. She’d just finished the last slice of toast when Mickey arrived with a carpet bag she instantly recognized as her own.
“Miss ’Awkins sent this over for yer,” he mumbled. “’Is lordship said you got fifteen minutes to dress and meet ’im downstairs.”
“Thank you, Mickey.” Emmy smiled and watched the giant’s ears turn pink in embarrassment.
She opened the bag and almost laughed. Sally had sent two of Emmy’s most stylish dresses, along with a host of other necessary items. She donned a scandalously sheer chemise, stays, and silk stockings, then pulled the pale blue day dress over her head. At least it was cotton, and not some impractical featherweight gauze, but the tiny puff sleeves were hardly enough to keep an inch of her arms warm and the row of little bows along the neckline was pure frivolity.
Thankfully, Sally had included a matching spencer to wear over the top, in a dark blue velvet with military-inspired gold braid frogging down the front. It buttoned snugly over Emmy’s bosom. She tugged a brush through her hair and secured it in a simple twist at the base of her neck with the pins provided.
As a final flourish, she crossed to the sideboard, reclaimed her bottle of perfume, and defiantly applied the last few drops to her wrists and neck. The familiar scent calmed her. She donned a pair of cream leather gloves and picked up the small drawstring reticule Sally had provided, which contained a handkerchief, a small circular mirror, a folding mother-of-pearl pocket knife, and a few coins.
A pistol might have made her feel a little more in control, Emmy reflected, but they’d never kept any firearms in the house, and she had no idea how to use one. Harland was used to serious weapons, rifles and muskets; he’d probably laugh himself silly if she threatened him with a muff pistol.
When she opened the door, it was to find Mickey waiting to escort her down to the mews. Harland was already out there, in a woolen greatcoat and riding boots, holding the reins of a bay stallion. Her heart quickened when she saw him, waiting with one foot propped up on a spoke of the carriage wheel and conversing with a groom who was seated behind a handsome pair of matched greys.
He took her hand to help her into the carriage. Her skin tingled as his fingers squeezed hers, despite her gloves. Would she ever cease to be so acutely aware of him?
He sent her a baleful glare, his lashes a dark tangle against his blue-steel eyes. “Don’t even think about trying to escape. If you run, I will chase you to the ends of the earth. Never doubt it.”
Emmy suppressed a shiver. She was a fool to find such a declaration thrilling, but her heart was suddenly pounding with desire. The stupid organ clearly couldn’t distinguish between a threat and a promise.
With a sigh, she sat back against the comfortable leather squabs and tugged a travel rug over her knees. The next few hours might be her last taste of freedom. She would make the most of every moment.