by Kate Bateman
“No! Conant wants him alive to stand trial. Leave it to the authorities. Let them decide what they want to do with the traitorous bastard.”
Alex scowled at his friend.
“Nobody’s shooting anyone,” Seb repeated firmly. “Unless Emmy decides to shoot you, of course. That I’d pay to see.”
“Some friend you are. You’d probably hand her the gun.” Alex glanced around the clearing as a wave of belated shame swamped him. Oh, God, she’d seen him beating Danton to a pulp. She must be disgusted. Horrified at his barbarity. “Where is she?”
There was no sign of her or the dog.
Seb shrugged. “Probably gone to release her brother.”
Danton had lost consciousness. Alex rolled him over and searched his pockets, but they were empty. “We need that sapphire to tie him to the Italian’s murder.”
Seb nodded. “I’ll take him back to the coach. You find Emmy, her brother, and the gem.” He grabbed hold of Danton’s ankles and began to drag the unconscious man down the lane.
Alex scooped the jewels from where they’d fallen in the mud and replaced them in the tin. “Take these too.” He balanced the box on Danton’s stomach so Seb could use him as a human sled. “Don’t feel the need to be gentle with the bastard.”
Alex headed through the trees in the direction of the Thames. An excited bark helped him pinpoint a small, sleek vessel secured to a wooden jetty. Brutus was tied to a piling. Emmy and her brother appeared, both ducking to avoid the craft’s low doorway and then climbing back onto the dock.
Alex strode forward and held out his hand. “Still in one piece, Danvers? None the worse for your adventure?”
Luc Danvers returned the handshake with a smile. The man had a black eye and some ugly swelling on his eyebrow, but otherwise appeared unhurt.
“That’s quite the shiner you have there,” Alex said.
Luc grimaced. “Looks like I’ve gone six rounds with Gentleman Jackson, doesn’t it? Danton kicked my good foot from under me and I fell.” He shrugged. “Still, I’ve had worse.” He glanced down meaningfully at his prosthetic leg.
Alex sent him a respectful nod. They were both men who understood the subtle gradations of pain. “I need the sapphire he took from the Italian.”
Luc nodded toward the boat’s cabin. “He showed it to me. It’s in there. In the tea caddy.”
Alex inclined his head in thanks and stepped aboard. Emmy’s voice floated after him as he stooped into the untidy living quarters.
“Oh, Luc! I’m so glad to see you. You’re not hurt anywhere else?”
“I’m fine. In fact, I probably should be thanking Danton for kidnapping me.”
“Thanking him?” Emmys voice was incredulous. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t been on a boat since Trafalgar. I thought I’d never want to set foot on one again, to tell you the truth. But this whole adventure has reminded me just how much I love being on the water.”
“What?”
Emmys voice was strangled, and Alex suppressed a smile. He could just imagine her horrified expression.
Luc’s voice came again. “After what happened, I thought being on a boat would give me nightmares. But it’s quite the opposite. My disability doesn’t matter when I’m on deck. I can sway around as much as I want.”
Alex listened for what would undoubtedly be Emmy’s scathing response, but her answer was too quiet for him to hear. Or maybe her brother had finally rendered her speechless.
He’d like to know how to do that, himself. The only way he’d ever managed it was by kissing her. Come to think of it, he preferred his way. He couldn’t wait to silence her again.
Luc let out a satisfied sigh. “Ahh, yes. The wind in my hair, the seagulls calling, the spray on my face. I’m going to get a boat, Em. I’ll moor her at Southampton and take you and Sally on pleasure jaunts up the coast. Or over to France, if you like. I bet Camille would like to visit the old homeland.”
Alex spied a metallic silver tea caddy on a shelf. He pulled off the lid, upended it, and a blue stone the size of a walnut slid out onto his palm. The Ruspoli sapphire—evidence to link Danton to murder. Satisfied, he pocketed it and started for the door.
“Hoi, Harland,” Luc called out from the dock. “What do you suppose is going to happen to this ship, now Danton’s in custody? Will Bow Street confiscate it? I’ll give you a fair price for her, if so.”
Alex exited the cabin and clambered back onto the jetty. Luc was alone. “Where’s your sister?”
“Oh, she went back to the carriage with the dog.”
Alex started toward the trees. Luc limped alongside him. Out of politeness, Alex slowed down and shortened his stride so the other man could keep up, even though he was desperate to see Emmy again. He had to speak to her. Had she left because she couldn’t stand the sight of him after the way he’d beaten Danton? The blackmailing sod had deserved every punch, but he shouldn’t have lost control like that in front of her. Thief she might be, but she was still a lady.
The dark bulk of the carriage finally came into view, with Seb and Dan the coachman standing at the horse’s heads, deep in conversation.
Alex tilted his chin at the vehicle. “Danton’s in there?”
Seb nodded. “Making the acquaintance of a pair of Bow Street’s finest shackles.”
“Where’s Emmy?”
Seb frowned. “I thought she was with you?”
Alex glared at Luc. “Where is she?”
Luc shrugged. “How should I know? Maybe she needed a moment of privacy? She’s had a few trying days, by the sound of it.”
A rustle in the undergrowth had all four of them turning toward the sound, but it was only Brutus. He came bounding between the trees, his leash dragging on the ground behind him. Alex narrowed his eyes as a sudden wave of suspicion crashed over him. “Where are the jewels?”
Seb opened the door of the carriage. “In here. With Danton.” He slid the black metal tin across the floor—and cursed. “What the devil—? It’s too light.”
He lifted the lid. All four men leaned forward to look, but Alex already knew what he would see.
A single black feather.
He stared down at it in disbelief. How in the name of all that was holy had she—? Fury such as he’d never known pulsed in his blood. He snapped a murderous gaze to Luc, who tried and failed to look innocent. “Where’s your bloody sister, Danvers?”
Seb started laughing like a madman. “My God, I love this girl! She’s marvelous. I hope you do marry her, Alex, because if you don’t, I will. What a sneaky little—”
“Marry her?” It was Luc’s turn to scowl. “Who said anything about marrying her?”
Alex stopped listening. She couldn’t get far on foot. She knew that. He’d track her down and— Another dreadful thought occurred to him. He started running down the lane toward the clearing where he and Seb had left their mounts. She wouldn’t—
She would.
Seb’s horse was happily chomping the foliage, but a patch of trampled grass was the only indication that Bey had ever been there.
Alex raised his fists to heaven and counted to ten, then exhaled slowly, but he could still feel a muscle ticking in his jaw and the blood pounding in his temples.
The thieving little baggage! She’d stolen his horse, and all of the jewels. The only one she didn’t have was the sapphire in his pocket.
Bloody woman!
He stalked back to the others.
Did she think she could hide from him forever? He’d chase her down. And not because of the jewels—he truly didn’t care who had the bloody things anymore—but because he simply couldn’t imagine life without her. She was a brilliant, conniving, sneaky little weasel. And he was fatally in love with her.
Alex kicked a stone with the toe of his boot. Seb was right. Marrying her to protect her was just an excuse. He wanted the daily battles marriage to her would provide. The teasing and the banter and the irritation. He wanted her, body and soul.
He’d do whatever it took to get her back. He’d find her and make her marry him, dammit. If nothing else, she should accept him out of sheer gratitude for sparing her from imprisonment. For getting Danton off her back.
He kicked the stone again, harder, sending it skittering into a tree stump. No. That wasn’t true. He wanted her to accept him because she returned his feelings. Because she loved him, too.
Did she? He thought she might. She’d given herself to him, hadn’t she? She desired him physically. But could that make up for the resentment she bore him for catching her? Was it completely idiotic to imagine they could ever make a life together?
Where the hell had she gone?
Chapter 42.
Emmy hadn’t visited her parents’ graves for months. It took her a little while to locate them, even in the pale morning light.
The grass was wet with dew. A few tendrils of mist snaked eerily around the tombstones as she unfolded the rug she’d brought with her and sat. She wasn’t afraid; the dead couldn’t hurt her. Only the living could do that. And besides, at this hour, there were only a few servants and tradesmen about in the streets. No one would bother her.
She leaned forward and placed a tiny bunch of violets on each grave—the little purple petals were already drooping.
She hadn’t slept since she’d stolen the jewels from the coach and galloped away on Alex’s magnificent Arabian stallion. She’d gone to the one place she, Luc, and Sally had always agreed she would go in just such an emergency: the lodgings of Sally’s actress friend Molly O’Keene.
Molly’s small apartment was, ironically, less than a quarter mile from Bow Street, conveniently near Covent Garden and Drury Lane, but it was a world away from the refinement of St. James’s Square. It was the perfect place to hide—under Harland’s very nose.
Molly hadn’t asked any questions when Emmy had arrived close to midnight, her hair a tangled mess from her wild gallop, her cheeks red from the wind. She’d welcomed her inside, summoned a lad she trusted to deliver Bey back to the Tricorn without being accosted, and had shown Emmy upstairs to a cramped but comfortable attic room.
Emmy had collapsed on the small truckle bed, her body exhausted but her mind spinning. So many schemes. Her brain was practically bursting with them. She’d lain awake, trying to sort through all the endless permutations of what to do next. Dawn had found her no closer to an answer, but she’d been seized by the need to come here, to her father and mother, for clarity.
Father had been very specific about where he wanted to be buried, next to her mother, here in this quiet London churchyard. Emmy sighed. Her parents had loved one another deeply. Her mother had died trying to bring her younger brother into the world, and while Emmy could barely remember her, perhaps her father’s decision to become the Nightjar had been an understandable way for him to channel his grief and frustration at the loss of his beloved wife into something positive. It had given him something to live for, just as planning the heists had sustained Luc during his long convalescence.
Emmy settled the tin box on her knees and lifted the lid. The jewels gleamed softly within.
“We did it,” she whispered. “We got them back.” Tears tightened her throat as she tilted the box toward the unresponsive stones. “I wish you could both have been here to see it, but I know you’d be so proud of us. We miss you so much.”
A tear spilled over and trailed down her cheek. She brushed it away. “You know how you always said you wanted us to be happy? Well, I’m not. I thought I would be, once we had the jewels, but to tell you the truth, I’m miserable.”
She glared down at the fortune in her lap, then over at her father’s headstone. “This was your dream, not mine. It was a good dream,” she added hastily. “A noble dream. I don’t blame you for pursuing it. But it wasn’t mine.”
She closed the lid of the box.
“Do you know what my dream was? It was to meet someone who loved me right down to my toes, the way you loved Maman. And do you know the worst thing? I found him. He’s worth more than any treasure I could steal, but I found him too late.”
Emmy wiped the corner of her eye on her sleeve.
Too late.
The French had a word: dépaysement. It described the feeling of not being in your home country. It was similar to homesickness, except with the added disorientation of being strange and foreign, like a fish out of water. That was how she felt now, without Harland. He was her country. The place she most wanted to be. She wanted him with a fierce, soul-deep yearning.
What on earth was she going to do now?
With a cry of anguish, she pushed the box aside and buried her face on her bent knees. Why had she even taken the jewels from the coach? She hadn’t been thinking. It had been a reflex action—steal the gems, escape. It was what she always did.
But to what end? Even with Danton in custody and implicated in the Italian’s death, she couldn’t avoid being punished for the rest of the Nightjar’s crimes. Having the jewels was of no use to her. Alex would simply persecute her family until she returned them. She should have just left them next to Danton and accepted her fate. Now, she’d ruined everything.
The click of the gate and quiet footsteps on the path made her lift her head in panic. But instead of Alex coming to arrest her, it was Camille walking between the rows of neatly tended stones. She was wearing a straw hat with a blue silk ribbon and carrying another equally fetching bonnet in her hands. She smiled fondly when she reached Emmy.
“I thought I’d find you here, darling. I’m glad to see you safe and sound.”
“Have you seen Luc? Harland?”
Camille nodded. “Both of them. Lord Melton escorted your brother home last night. Luc told me what happened with Danton, and Lord Melton seemed under the impression that you might have preceded them to the house. He was most put out when I disabused him of that idea.” She sent Emmy a dry look of understanding. “I assume you followed our contingency plan and went to Sally’s actress friend instead?”
Emmy nodded. “Yes. Are you sure you weren’t followed? I can’t believe Harland didn’t set a watch on the house.”
Camille’s gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, I’m sure he did. A scruffy-looking lad was lounging around on the corner when I left. The poor thing must have been there all night. But I took a very circuitous route, changed carriages twice on the way here, and swapped hats too, just for good measure.” She flapped the bonnet she held in her hand. “I lost him somewhere around Piccadilly. I must say, Lord Melton does seem rather keen to speak with you. I assume it’s because of that?” She tilted her head toward the box on the grass.
Emmy flipped open the lid to expose the contents, and Camille sighed in rapture.
“Ahh! The Hortensia! And Marie Antoinette’s pearls. How lovely to see them all together again, just as your father wanted. But they have been the cause of much heartache, n’est-ce pas?”
“What are we going to do with them? I don’t even know why I took them again last night.”
Camille shot her a sly sideways glance. “Do you not?” she said softly. “Was it not to prolong the game you have been playing with Lord Melton?”
Emmy scowled. “That would be idiotic. I’m too tired to keep on running. I don’t want to be a fugitive for the rest of my life. But how can I give them over and let Bow Street return them to the fat Prince Regent and the undeserving Lady Carrington?”
“From what Lord Melton told me last night, there might be another option.”
Emmy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Well, he didn’t go into detail, but he did suggest that if I were to contact you, I should tell you he had a proposition to make to you. One that doesn’t involve you being prosecuted, and one that would see most of the jewels handed over to the French government.”
Emmy sent her a derisive, disbelieving look. “You don’t think it’s a ruse to get me to give myself up? You think he means it?”
“As a matte
r of fact, I do,” Camille said pensively. “He said to tell you he trusts you to do the right thing.”
“Ha! That’s rich. He doesn’t trust me as far as he could throw me. Why on earth should I trust him?”
“Because you’re in love with him?”
Emmy dropped her head back onto her knees with a choked sound “Oh, God. I am. It’s awful.”
“Come here, darling.” Camille settled herself on the rug next to her and put her arm around her. Emmy rested her head on her grandmother’s shoulder.
“Do you know the precise moment I knew I was in love with your grandfather?”
Emmy shook her head.
“It was the day I found him hunched over next to an open window, looking at something on the sill. Anthony—your grandfather—glanced up with a guilty start when he heard me enter the room, and his cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. He angled his body to try to hide whatever he was up to, but when I demanded to know what he was hiding, he moved aside so I could see.”
Emmy lifted her head and Camille smiled in fond reminiscence.
“A bumble bee lay on the sill. It was almost dead, but he’d placed a teaspoon of honey next to it. As we watched, the bee stuck out its little tongue, or antenna, or whatever it is bees have, and started to suck up the honey. Within a minute it had recovered enough to wander around, albeit a little drunkenly. Within two minutes it started to buzz its little wings, and then it was off, into the sky. Anthony was obviously highly embarrassed at having been discovered undertaking such an unmanly task, but the smile he gave me melted my heart. That’s when I knew. He was handsome, of course, and quick-witted, but more than that, he was good-hearted. He was the kind of man who helps grumpy old dowagers across busy streets. I knew then that I would love him forever.”
Camille stroked a lock of Emmy’s hair from her cheek. “This man, Alexander Harland. A blind man could see the attraction between the two of you. He has a handsome face and a strong pair of arms. But you know what they say: ‘handsome is as handsome does.’ What of his heart, Emmeline? What do you think his attitude is toward bees? And grumpy old dowagers?”
