Emmy was quite certain her heart was about give out. She snatched her hand back as Harland straightened and resisted the urge to thrust it behind her back. The skin on her wrist tingled.
Harland’s reaction was confusing. When he’d first turned around, he’d been smiling in welcome, but an instant later his expression had changed to one of cynical animosity. He was glaring at her now as if she’d committed some unpardonable sin. Which she had, of course, many times, but there was no way he could possibly know that.
A chill swept over her, immediately followed by a flash of heat. Her stomach turned over in panic. She’d forgotten the impact of him close-up. His eyes were remarkable, a steely, inky, fathomless blue. The precise color of the diamond she was going to steal.
The only other time she’d been this close to him had been the night they’d danced, and then the full effect of those eyes had been hidden behind his black half mask. Now, he was staring at her openly, as he had done last night, and the effect was truly unnerving. Did he focus such attention on everyone? Or was she, in particular, of interest? She sincerely hoped not.
Good lord, he was tall. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She had to tilt her neck to see his face. A strange mixture of danger and excitement swirled in her belly. How easy it would be for him to catch her around the waist with those huge hands and lift her up. Her mouth would be level with his—
No! She didn’t like tall men. He was the enemy.
“I heard a rumor that you work for Bow Street, Lord Melton,” Camille said easily. “I do hope you’re not here to investigate a crime?”
Emmy opened her eyes in a wide, innocently amused expression and found her voice. “One wonders where you will start.”
Harland’s brows rose. “What do you mean, Miss Danvers?”
“Why, only that I suspect a good ninety percent of everything around us, from the Rosetta Stone over there”—she waved toward the Egyptian room behind them—“to these marbles Lord Elgin ‘rescued’ from the Parthenon in Greece, have been pilfered from somewhere.”
“One could argue that they’re safe in here,” he said. “Being preserved for future generations.”
She gave him her widest smile. “Hmm. Is stealing something for a noble reason ever an acceptable excuse? Is stealing something that’s already been stolen truly a crime? They’re interesting moral questions.”
His eyes flashed grey-blue from under his lashes. “The general principle in criminal law, Miss Danvers, is that theft is theft, regardless of the status of the object itself. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“I quite agree. It is pleasant for people like me to be able to enjoy these items here in London, but it would be even better to see them in their original environment. They should be returned home, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He inclined his head in polite acknowledgment and turned to Camille. “And to answer your question, ma’am, no. I am not investigating a crime here. Mr. Franks has the security arrangements well in hand. But I do, on occasion, lend my services to Bow Street. As part owner of the Tricorn Club I have a number of useful connections. You may have read about an incident at Rundell and Bridge in which I have become involved?”
Camille fanned herself gently. “Ah, yes. The Times suggested it was the work of that notorious criminal the Nightjar.” She placed her hand at her throat, as if her pearls were in imminent danger of being snatched. “How dreadful! One hardly feels safe in one’s bed. Do you think you will catch him, Lord Melton? When so many others have failed?”
Harland’s smile was almost predatory. “Oh, I know I will, madame. I will chase him to the ends of the earth if need be. There will be no escape. Justice will be served.”
He sent Emmy another strange sideways glance, and she suppressed a shiver of foreboding. This man was a hunter. His languid exterior belied a steely inner determination; if he set his mind on something, he would be relentless in his pursuit. She turned away and feigned interest in a pair of statues flanking the door.
“You’re a fan of Italian sculpture, Miss Danvers?” he asked, moving so they stood side by side. He leaned forward to read the information card, and his cuff rode up his arm as he extended his hand.
Emmy’s mouth went dry as she glimpsed a scant inch of masculine wrist. Hairs, veins, sinews. It made her feel light-headed. Good lord, if this was how she reacted over the tiniest bit of skin, imagine what it would be to see him—
“These are by Buonarotti. Dying slaves, apparently,” he murmured.
She forced her attention back to the sculptures. Parts of the white marble had been left rough and unfinished; the figures seemed to be emerging from the rock as if they were coming to life before her eyes. The first slave’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, his arm raised above his head. The muscles in his torso rippled and bulged.
Emmy swallowed. Instead of tortured, the figure looked almost … aroused. Exhausted by a surfeit of loving. She lowered her gaze—and smothered a gasp at the realistic depiction of his private parts, which were unashamedly on display. Her cheeks warmed in mortification. She heard Harland make a constricted noise, almost a snort, above her head.
“Clearly there was a shortage of fig leaves in Rome during the sixteenth century,” he said mildly, but she could hear the laughter in his voice. “No wonder they don’t admit children below the age of ten in here. It’s a veritable den of iniquity. Mister Franks should post a warning for ladies of a nervous disposition.”
“Indeed, he should,” Camille said lightly. “He can’t want impressionable young debutantes fainting all over his museum. Come along, Emmy. I think we should go and look at something a little less … stimulating. Fossils, perhaps. Or rocks.”
Harland gave them a polite bow. “In that case, ladies, I shall leave you to your visit. Good day.”
Emmy bobbed a curtsey. As Harland walked away, the click of his boot heels echoing down the hall, she realized her knees were shaky. She took a deep, calming breath through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.
She and Camille mounted the stairs and made their way to the rocks and minerals section. She knew the way; she’d memorized the route.
The diamond, along with other examples of precious and semiprecious stones, was housed in a solid oak display cabinet. It would have been too heavy for two people to move, even if it hadn’t been bolted to the floor. Emmy leaned over so her nose almost touched the top of the display case. Her breath fogged up the glass as she spoke.
“Why was Harland here? It cannot be a coincidence. If he’s made the connection between the Rundell and Bridge diamond and this one”—she pressed her gloved finger onto the glass above the sparkling gem—“then we are in serious trouble. If he knows which jewels the Nightjar is stealing, then all he has to do is set a trap and—”
Camille bent to study a crystalline geode beside her. “I expect Bow Street is merely warning anyone who houses expensive jewels to be on alert.”
“I don’t like it,” Emmy said. “We should put it off for another week until interest dies down.”
“You know we can’t do that. The fact that Monsieur Danton has decided to show himself to us, or at least to Sally, is not a good sign. He could have continued to blackmail us perfectly well by letter. He could have collected the jewels without any of us ever seeing his face. I do not think we should disregard his command for urgency. I think he could prove an extremely unpleasant man.”
Emmy sighed, acknowledging that as the truth.
“Besides, everything is ready for tomorrow night,” Camille murmured soothingly. “Mister Franks has agreed to meet Sally at the White Lion at five o’clock. You know the floor plan by heart. The delivery’s all set up.” She patted her reticule. “And I have another delicious treat for Brutus, when we pass by the gardens. He’s such a sweetheart.”
“He weighs the same as me,” Emmy grumbled. “And he’s slobbery.”
Camille gave a wistful sigh. “Oh, darling. If I were twenty years younger, I’d come with you.”
“You’d probably be better than me.”
Her grandmother had nerves of steel. Nothing flustered her. She could stare people out of countenance at the drop of a hat. Whereas Emmy quite often veered between elation and terror, between resentment that such a career had been forced upon her, and resignation that stealing the jewels was, morally at least, the right thing to do.
If she were perfectly honest, she often experienced a thoroughly wicked rush of pleasure from robbery too. Instead of feeling guilty, she felt a confusing delight in the danger and excitement, at least once it was all over. It was the thrill of a job well done. The gleeful sense of getting away with it.
Perhaps she was more like her father than she’d thought.
Camille gazed down at the grey-blue gemstone between them, and her expression softened. “I remember this before it was cut down, you know. It used to be twice this size. The Sun King, Louis’s grandfather, used to wear it as a hat pin, but Louis had it set in a sash for the Order of the Golden Fleece. He wore it at all the ceremonial functions. Marie Antoinette used to tease him that he out-glittered the stars in the sky.” She sighed. “Ah, such happy days.”
Emmy straightened and squeezed her arm. “Come on. I’ve seen enough here. I need some food before I get into that ridiculous coffin.”