To Catch an Earl--A Bow Street Bachelors Novel

by Kate Bateman

  Emmy sneaked a glance at him beyond the carriage window. His jaw this morning was faintly darkened with beard shadow. He looked more disreputable, like a highwayman or a pirate—a fitting mate for a jewel thief.

  The carriage bounced through a rut, and the box of jewels slid across the floor and bumped painfully into her ankle. Alex had placed it next to her with a significant look, as if she were being honored by his trust. Emmy snorted. Where did he think she was going to go with it? She couldn’t very well leap out of a moving carriage and start running across the fields. He’d ride her down in no time.

  Alex had told her not to worry about the meeting with Danton, but it was impossible. He and Mowbray might well have set similar traps during their army days, but had any of them involved hostages? She doubted it. If anything happened to Luc, she would never forgive herself. And what if Danton didn’t contact them, as he said he would? What if he’d already killed Luc? Her head began to pound. Ignoring the lumpy, uncomfortable seats, she lay down and tugged Alex’s heavy greatcoat over her, awash in misery. The scent of him provided a little comfort and eventually she slept, worn out by worry and exhaustion.

  It was midafternoon when they clattered into the mews behind the Tricorn. Sebastien, Lord Mowbray, must have been listening out for them, because the back door opened, and he bounded down the steps.

  He gave a lordly grimace when he caught sight of the shabby conveyance. “What the hell did you do to our carriage?”

  Alex dismounted. “It’s somewhere in deepest, darkest Lincolnshire with a broken axle. I’ve arranged to have it taken to a wheelwright in Stamford, then delivered back here when it’s mended.”

  Mowbray raised his eyebrows. He opened the door to the carriage and extended his hand to help Emmy down, but Alex pushed him out of the way with his shoulder and took his place. Emmy sent them both a smile of thanks.

  Mowbray’s eyes were sparkling with interest. He was clearly dying to know what had happened. “Sounds like you had an eventful trip,” he prodded.

  Alex sent her a smile that made her innards liquefy. “You could say that,” he murmured.

  “Did you retrieve the jewels?”

  “Yes.” He reached into the carriage and withdrew the box. “Come inside and I’ll show you.”

  Mickey was waiting in the hall to relieve them of their cloaks. Alex started toward the drawing room, then turned to Emmy.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and freshen up? I need to have a little talk with Lord Mowbray.”

  Emmy refused to be so summarily dismissed. She turned and addressed Mowbray. “I assume you’ve been in contact with my grandmother? Has Danton sent instructions about exchanging the jewels for Luc?”

  Mowbray grinned at the way she ignored Alex’s suggestion. “Yes. He sent a note to Waverton Street this morning. He wants to meet at Kew, in the grounds of the palace that’s being constructed there, at ten o’clock this evening.”

  Emmy nodded. “Very well. I will be ready.” She turned back to Alex. “I would like to let Sally and Camille know that we have the jewels. I don’t want them to worry unnecessarily.”

  “You can write them a letter now. I’ll have it delivered straight away. There’s paper and ink on my desk.”

  She nodded, like a queen bestowing favor upon her lowly subjects, and turned to the massive doorman. “Good. In that case, Mister, er, Mickey,” she amended, when she realized she had no idea of the man’s surname, “I would very much appreciate some food. And a nice cup of tea, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  The giant’s ears turned pink as she gave him her sweetest smile.

  “Of course, miss. I’ll go tell Mister Lagrasse. It’ll be his pleasure.”

  Alex rolled his eyes and she just knew what he was thinking: What kind of prisoner ordered people about in such a manner? She didn’t care. She was cross and worried and altogether out of sorts. If she was going to be his captive for another few hours, at least, until they met Danton, then he could damn well provide her with a decent meal.

  She swept up the stairs in high dudgeon.

  * * *

  Seb let out a quiet laugh as Emmy stalked away from them. “That’s quite the subdued prisoner you have there. She seems properly terrified of you.”

  Alex shot him a filthy look. “I’d like to see you do any better. The woman’s a handful.”

  “I’ll just bet she is.” Seb chuckled again, his eyes on Emmy’s pert bottom as she mounted the staircase, and Alex quashed the urge to put him in a chokehold to give him something else to think about. He turned and strode into the study, where he discovered Benedict Wylde, Earl of Ware, ensconced by the fire.

  “Benedict’s here, by the way,” Seb said belatedly.

  Ben rose from his chair. “I hear you’ve been having adventures without us.” He eyed the box with undisguised interest.

  “I’m amazed you’ve managed to tear yourself away from your wife,” Alex countered sarcastically. “We count ourselves honored by your presence.”

  Benedict laughed. “One day, the two of you are going to find yourselves happily leg-shackled, and we’ll see how willing you are to traipse around the countryside in the rain.”

  Seb sent him a doubtful look. “There’s not a woman alive who can make me willingly enter the parson’s mousetrap.”

  Benedict grimaced. Seb had certainly made no secret of his views on the subject: marriage was for idiots. In all fairness, Alex thought, Benedict’s marriage was probably the first happy one Seb had ever encountered. His own family certainly bore no shining examples of matrimonial bliss. Seb’s father, the Duke of Winwick, was one of the loudest proponents against marriage Alex had ever met.

  It was the worst kept secret in the ton that Seb’s father had not been married to his mother at the time of his conception. The duke’s first wife, a dull, dutiful woman, had died giving birth to Seb’s older half brother, Geoffrey, who was only eight months older than Seb himself.

  Seb was the result of an affair the duke had had with a volatile Italian contessa. When his first wife had died, the duke swiftly married the already-pregnant contessa to legitimize his son and ensure he had a “spare,” in case Geoffrey proved as sickly as his mother.

  The marriage had not proved a happy one. The contessa was far too spirited to be content to stay in the country and play duchess. She’d returned to London and taken a series of lovers, and the duke had continued his rakish ways with a steady succession of ever-younger actresses and courtesans.

  Seb’s mother had died of smallpox when he was six, and the duke had vowed there and then never to remarry. Women, he declared, were just not worth the bother.

  It was no wonder Seb’s views on the subject were jaundiced.

  Alex glanced over at Benedict. Marriage did seem to agree with him, though. He’d been disgustingly happy with his new wife for months. He’d barely stopped smiling since the wedding, and he’d had this smug, self-satisfied expression on his face, as though he’d discovered some secret Alex and Seb had yet to fathom.

  Not that Alex begrudged his friend happiness, of course, but he knew the chances of himself finding similar happiness in the married state were exceedingly remote.

  Seb and Benedict both let out slow, impressed whistles when Alex lifted the lid of the box and showed them the jewels. Seb picked up the peach-colored diamond, the one Emmy had called the Hortensia, and held it up to the light.

  “Bloody hell. That’s enough to make even Prinny’s glitter-loving heart beat faster.” He replaced it and poured out three glasses of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. He offered the first to Alex. “Drink? You look as if you could do with it. Stayed up all night making sure our little thief didn’t abscond with the goods, did you?”

  “Something like that.”

  Seb shot him a knowing look. “I’m sure you went above and beyond the call of duty. We all know how conscientious you are, Harland.”

  Alex sent him a hard glare and Seb grinned. “While you were
enjoying your bucolic interlude with our delightful captive—”

  “Recovering stolen property,” Alex amended.

  “As I said. While you were showing the lovely Miss Danvers the error of her larcenous ways, we found a witness to the Italian’s murder.”

  Alex let out a shocked breath. “You did? Bloody brilliant!”

  Seb shrugged, pretending a modesty he most assuredly didn’t possess. The man was as arrogant as they came. “Why, thank you. It was rather well done, if I do say so myself.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  “Well, when we got to Gravesend, we poked around a bit and heard mention of a servant missing from Andretti’s household. The local constabulary hadn’t been able to find him and assumed he was either party to the murder, or had himself been killed and his body disposed of by the murderer.”

  Alex shook his head as he lowered himself into one of the comfy wing armchairs that flanked the fire. “That makes no sense. The black feather at the crime scene points the finger squarely at the Nightjar. Why would he kill the servant and hide his body when he made no attempt to conceal the murder of the Italian?”

  “I didn’t say the locals were the sharpest nibs in the inkpot, did I? I begin to see why Conant holds them in such contempt.”

  Benedict nodded. “They really were a bunch of amateurs. Couldn’t find a clue if it was tied to their coattails.”

  Seb sent him a droll look. “But we digress. We told the locals we didn’t believe in the missing servant’s guilt and let them know that if he ever presented himself at Bow Street, he would receive a fair hearing. I even hinted there would be a financial reward for information.”

  Alex nodded. “Good thinking.”

  “Yesterday, an Italian by the name of Stefano Mancini sent a message to Bow Street to meet at a tavern down by the East India docks.” Seb’s mouth kicked up in a mocking grin.

  “Mancini witnessed the entire thing,” Benedict said. “He was about to deliver his master’s usual post-dinner tipple when an ‘Eenglish gentleman’ arrived and was shown into the study. Mancini, the perfect servant, heard raised voices and decided to listen at the door. Since it was good, solid English oak, he could hear very little, so he sneaked around the side of the house to see what was happening through the study window. It was dark outside, so he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be seen from within.”

  “Very commendable,” Alex said snidely.

  Seb glared at Benedict for taking over the tale and continued. “He saw his master remove a painting from the wall and open the safe that was hidden behind it. Unfortunately, whatever the English gentleman wanted was not inside. The Englishman grew agitated. Mancini saw him pull a pistol from his cloak and threaten Andretti. Andretti held up his hands and went to his writing desk, one he’d brought over from Italy. He reached inside a drawer, released a secret compartment, and withdrew a large, blue stone.

  “This, apparently, was what the Englishman had been after. He pocketed the stone, gestured for Andretti to sit, and calmly shot him in the head. Mancini, quite justifiably, believed he would be next. He ran away and hid in a nearby farmer’s cowshed. When he was certain the murderer had gone, he returned to the house, packed his few belongings, helped himself to the contents of the safe, and hightailed it to London.”

  “His plan,” Benedict interrupted again, “was to catch a boat back to his native Genoa, but he was robbed and beaten on the way back to his lodgings. With no money, and no other options, he decided to contact Bow Street and claim the reward for information about Andretti’s killer.”

  Alex leaned forward. “Can he positively identify Danton?”

  “Without a doubt,” Seb said. “And he’s willing to testify. He’s keen to see his master’s killer brought to justice. Conant’s put him in a safehouse in Whitehall under guard until we catch Danton.”

  Alex nodded. “Along with Danton’s oblique written admission in that note he sent to Emmy, Mancini’s testimony should be enough to convict him. Good.”

  “So all you have to do now is catch him and retrieve the sapphire,” Benedict said happily. “Easy.”

  Seb frowned. “What will you be doing?”

  Benedict slapped his palms on his knees and stood. “I’ll be getting back to my wife. It pains me to miss an adventure, boys, but I promised Georgie I’d escort her to the theatre. You’re going to have to do this one without me. Remember not to get shot, all right?”

  Chapter 39.

  Alex swallowed the rest of his brandy and frowned into the fire as Benedict took his leave. “Danton’s expecting Emmy to meet him—alone—at ten o’clock, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll go with her and take up position close by. I don’t want her near that murderous bastard any longer than absolutely necessary. She’s a witness. There’s no chance he’s going to let her live. He’ll try to shoot her, just as he did Andretti. As soon as either of us gets a clean shot, we take it, understood?”

  “We can’t kill him,” Seb said, his expression grim. “I know it’s tempting, but we need him alive to face trial.”

  Alex scowled. “I know.”

  “If you want her to have some extra protection, why don’t we borrow that guard dog from the British Museum? He certainly looks fearsome enough.”

  “Brutus? Good idea.”

  “So, assuming we succeed in capturing Danton, what are your plans for the fair Miss Danvers? A carriage straight to Newgate?”

  Seb’s expression was pure mischief. He and Emmy would get on extremely well, Alex thought. He tried to school his features into revealing absolutely nothing, but his old friend knew him far too well.

  “I know that look!” Seb said, suddenly incredulous. “It’s the one you get when you’re about to do something stupid but heroic. Like when you leapt in front of me and saved me from that sniper’s bullet in Spain.” His smile widened. “You’re not going to turn her in, are you? I knew it! What are you going to do? The prince demands a culprit.”

  “He’ll have one. Danton.”

  “You’re going to claim Danton’s the Nightjar? Conant won’t believe that.”

  “No, but the prince will.”

  “You’re going to lie to him?”

  “Danton’s the reason the Nightjar went after the gems. The most recent ones, at least. If we hand the jewels over to the prince and tell him the perpetrators have been dealt with appropriately, it won’t be a lie. Danton can stand trial and receive his just punishment for murdering Andretti. And I’ll personally vouch for Emmy’s continued good behavior to Conant if she’s spared prosecution. Case closed.”

  Alex stared into the fire. Emmy wouldn’t like Danton taking credit for her heists. She was proud of her talents, and rightly so. But if this solution stopped her from being imprisoned, he would do it, her pride be damned. Danton would hang for the Italian’s murder. He might as well take the blame for the thefts too, and let the Nightjar die with him. Emmy would be free from her father’s legacy once and for all.

  Seb wrinkled his forehead. “Vouch for her? How are you going to do that? Sail her off around the world? Keep her chained up at the Tricorn for the next sixty years?”

  “By keeping a close eye on her for the rest of my life. I’m going to marry her.”

  Alex derived a great deal of satisfaction from the way Seb’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  “You’re going to what?”

  “Marry her.” It got easier every time he said it out loud. Alex smiled. “I’ll swear to Conant to keep her out of trouble. I’ll keep her so busy, both in bed and out of it, that she won’t have time to steal.”

  Seb slouched back in his chair and took another sip of brandy. “Does she know about this brilliant plan of yours? You’ve actually asked her to marry you? And she’s agreed?”

  “Not yet. I was going to tell her, once tonight was over with.”

  Seb gave a bark of laughter. “Tell her? Good God, man! I might not be married, but from everything I know
about the fair sex, you don’t just tell a woman you’re going to marry her. You ask. You grovel, in fact. You get down on your knees and beg. And then you pray she’s either foolish enough, desperate enough, or pitying enough to say yes.”

  Alex shifted in his seat. “She won’t refuse me.”

  Seb’s disbelieving chuckle made him want to punch him in the face. “This is the same woman who still thinks you’re about to lock her away and throw away the key? That one?” He shook his head.

  “I’m doing it for her own protection,” Alex growled, inexplicably feeling the need to justify his decision with rational argument. “As my countess, she’ll be far better off, both socially and financially. That alone should convince Conant that she won’t need to steal anymore.”

  “She never stole for profit in the first place,” Seb pointed out, with irritating logic. “That’s the worst excuse I ever heard. Why don’t you just admit the real reason?”

  Alex felt heat creep up his neck. “What reason?” Seb’s teasing smirk made his hands itch to close around his neck. He clenched them into fists.

  “That blind spot of yours is an extremely good metaphor, you know,” Seb drawled. “Physically, you can’t see to your right. Mentally, you can’t see what’s been bloody obvious to everyone else around you for weeks. You can’t take your eyes off her. You can’t stop thinking about her. You can’t stop talking about her. You can’t stop chasing her. You are, in fact, one hundred percent in love with her.”

  Alex opened his mouth to deny it, but Seb raised his hand.

  “Admit it. You’re head over heels in love with her, and you’re too much of an idiot to tell her so.” He shook his head mock mournfully. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  “It’ll happen to you too, someday,” Alex growled.

  “Not in a month of Sundays. Love is for fools.”

  “You don’t need to tell me. I know. We’re from opposite ends of the legal and—might I add—ethical moral spectrum. I’m sworn to uphold the law. She’s committed heaven knows how many crimes and shown not a shred of remorse for any of them. In fact, she seems to exhibit an unholy glee at having outwitted us all for so long.”