To Catch an Earl--A Bow Street Bachelors Novel

by Kate Bateman

  “He would give the bee some honey, and the dowager his arm.”

  Camille gave a decisive nod. “Well, then. I approve wholeheartedly.”

  Emmy managed to snort. “Even if I am in love with him, what does it matter? He doesn’t feel the same way about me. I’m just unfinished business, a criminal who must be brought to heel. I’ve hoodwinked him and hidden things from him since the day I met him.” She gave a watery sigh and squeezed Camille’s hand. “I know I have to face him. But I need a little time. Do you think you can keep him away for a day or two?”

  “Of course, darling. Take as much time as you need. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the other news! Luc and Sally are engaged.”

  “They are?”

  “Yes. As soon as Lord Melton left last night Luc asked for a private word with Sally. I took one look at his face and knew exactly what he was going to ask her. There’s nothing like a near-miss to put everything in perspective. I’m just surprised he’s taken so long to do it.”

  “And she said yes?”

  Camille nodded, clearly delighted. “She took some persuading, by all accounts. Said she was too low-born for the likes of him, but he convinced her that was nonsense. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s talking about buying a boat and taking her sailing around the Greek islands.”

  Emmy laughed. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for them both! I wish I could come back home with you now and congratulate them.”

  Camille got to her feet and shook out her skirts. “Take a few days to think about whether you trust Harland enough to hear him out. If you don’t, we’ll have to come up with a new plan to spirit both you and the jewels out of the country.”

  Emmy was already shaking her head. “I don’t want to be a fugitive for the rest of my life, separated from everyone I love. I know I have to face the consequences of my actions.”

  “If you do decide to trust him,” Camille continued, “then you can decide where and when you want to meet him. Send a message to Sally via her friend.”

  “All right.”

  Chapter 43.

  Emmy had just come to a decision when Harland forced her hand.

  A note from Camille, passed via Sally and Molly, informed her of his masterstroke: Bow Street had told the Prince of Wales that they’d successfully recovered the French crown jewels. The delighted prince had decided to hold an impromptu celebration at Carlton House. On Friday.

  Harland had sent her an invitation.

  Emmy sucked in a horrified breath. As a gesture of “solidarity and friendship between two great nations,” the prince would be holding an “intimate gathering” to present the missing crown jewels of France to the French ambassador. Miss Emmeline Danvers was most cordially invited to attend.

  It went without saying that she was expected to bring the jewels too.

  Emmy sat heavily on the edge of the lumpy mattress in Molly’s attic and stared at the invitation in her hand. Harland was a fiend. He was calling her bluff, as if this were a game of faro, demanding that she put all her cards on the table. All or nothing. The ultimate dare to see which of them would fold.

  She should have expected nothing less from the owner of a gambling club.

  Irritation roiled in her breast. The nerve of the man! She could practically feel the weight of his expectation pressing down on her. What a risk he was taking. If she didn’t show up with the jewels, not only would he be humiliated, but so would all of his colleagues at Bow Street, and the Prince Regent himself. His arrogant belief that she would “do the right thing” had given her the power to cause an international diplomatic disaster.

  Emmy frowned at the neat, confident slashes of his handwriting. How could he trust her with something so monumental? She could ruin him, and his friends, and embarrass the monarchy, all in one fell swoop. What was he thinking? She’d betrayed him on numerous occasions. Why did he think this time would be any different?

  Was his faith in her so strong? A tiny warm glow spread in her chest, but she beat it down ruthlessly. She’d already come to the decision to hand over the jewels on her own. If she returned them now, he’d think it was because of what he’d done. He’d be smug and arrogant and assume she’d caved in due to the pressure of his bold move.

  She should call his bluff. She should catch a packet to Calais or sail off to the Americas with the treasure. That would teach him. But, of course, she wouldn’t do that. He seemed to know her better than she knew herself. It was maddening.

  She couldn’t imagine what kind of deal he was going to offer her. In truth, she still didn’t entirely trust that there would be one. She didn’t have Camille’s confidence. Even if Bow Street could prove Danton had been responsible for killing the owner of the sapphire, she couldn’t believe they’d be willing to let a thief as prolific and infamous as the Nightjar go unpunished. Or remain at liberty. Still, she’d made her choice. Harland’s confidence in her was not misplaced, damn him.

  She rose and went to sit at the small desk in the corner. Molly had provided her with paper, ink, and quills. She dashed off a reply to her grandmother, confirming she would be there on Friday, but telling her not to inform Harland. The beast deserved to sweat a little. It would be a small victory, but she’d take whatever she could.

  She would attend the party, even though it might be her last. And she would do it looking her very best. Camille was right about that. If one was going to be arrested and imprisoned, one might as well do it in style.

  * * *

  The Prince Regent always kept his apartments overly warm. Alex tugged at the folds of his neckcloth. He certainly wasn’t nervous. Of course not. Emmy would come. She was fashionably late, that was all. She was making a point. He refused to believe the worst of her.

  She had to come. He’d given his word to Conant the jewels would be here. He’d even persuaded the prince to give over “his” diamond too, in a grand gesture to the French.

  If it ever bloody arrived.

  His throat was parched. He grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing servant and took a healthy gulp. It wasn’t just his employment at Bow Street that was at stake, it was his honor as a gentleman. The honor of the entire bloody nation. What had he been thinking, to let it all rest on the unpredictable whim of a thief?

  The Regent had already settled himself in the Council Chamber under a crimson canopy to receive the French delegation. The French ambassador, René-Eustache, the Marquis d’Osmond, had already arrived, as had half the French aristocracy. They’d all come out of the woodwork, despite the short notice, since half of them were still living in exile in London. Alex almost groaned when he saw the seventy-nine-year-old Louis Joseph, Prince de Condé, and his cousin, the thirty-eight-year-old Charles Ferdinand d’Artois, Duke de Berry. If Emmy didn’t show, this could be a disaster of epic proportions.

  Where the hell was she?

  The rest of her family had already arrived. The Comtesse de Rougemont—Camille, as she’d begged Alex to call her—was over by the door with Luc and his new fiancée, the termagant who’d pushed her way into the Tricorn.

  They’d been in contact with Emmy all week, Alex was certain of it, but they were all fiercely loyal. They’d refused to divulge her location, no matter how many times Alex had asked. Or demanded. Camille had been adamant that Emmy hadn’t left London, but that was all she’d been prepared to say. She’d relayed Alex’s invitation for tonight, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say whether Emmy was coming or not.

  Alex realized he was tapping his knuckles against his thigh and forced himself to stop. He’d felt this way countless times during the war, restless and jumpy. Knowing the enemy was out there and just waiting for the attack. Wishing it would come so he could get it over with.

  He’d never been like this for a woman, so keen that every sound made him edgy. In the past, when other women had failed to show up at their appointed time, he’d been mildly irritated at the need to change his plans, but the inconvenience—and the woman—were quickl
y forgotten. He could never forget Emmeline Danvers.

  He caught sight of Seb deep in conversation with Benedict and his wife, Georgiana, on the opposite side of the room. There must have been over two hundred people crowded into the place. Prinny’s idea of an “impromptu little gathering” had swelled to include almost every member of the ton still in London. His household staff were probably all in various stages of apoplexy.

  Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to experience a very public humiliation. He glanced at an ornate gilt clock above an equally gaudy fireplace and cursed under his breath. She was over an hour late. Had he really misjudged her so badly?

  Then he saw her, on the steps leading down from the entrance, and his heart seized before pounding back to life.

  Thank God.

  He blinked in slow appreciation. She’d clearly decided she no longer needed to blend in. No drab colors for Miss Danvers tonight. Her dress was a deep, rich burgundy, a ravishing, seductive color guaranteed to bring every man in the room to his knees. Alex felt the strangest desire to applaud. She looked incredible, as haughty and as regal as a queen. The low neckline of the dress showed to perfection the rubies—presumably not stolen—that glittered at her ears and throat. Her glorious hair was swept up in an elaborate coil to reveal the pale curves of her shoulders.

  She was carrying a large reticule. Could all the jewels fit in there? He bloody well hoped so.

  Alex pushed his way through the crowd, determined to reach her before she had a chance to speak to her family. There was no hint of the easy, laughing expression he knew so well. She was coldly beautiful, composed—like a prisoner going to the guillotine. She was fully expecting to be arrested and thrown into prison.

  A warm glow of pride formed in his middle. She was brave, this girl. And ironically honorable, for a jewel thief. But her days as the Nightjar were over. It was time to end the game.

  Chapter 44.

  Emmy clutched the heavy bag tightly and swallowed the lump of terror that had lodged in her throat. Had she been invited here to be clapped in irons as soon as she’d handed over the jewels? It was possible. Perhaps they planned to make an example of her? A very public comeuppance for the thief who’d taunted them all for so long.

  She would be brave. She would face her fate with dignity.

  The ballroom was crowded and ridiculously warm. She glanced around for the rest of her family, but of course it was Harland who materialized at her side and caught her elbow in a firm grip. Her heart pounded at the sight of him.

  He bent his head to her ear, and she tried to ignore the wave of longing that washed over her, the desire to push herself into his arms and hold on tight.

  “Good evening, Miss Danvers. I’m delighted you could join us. This way.”

  He didn’t seem to require a reply, which was fortunate, because Emmy had lost the power of speech. He steered her through the crowd, navigating the crush of bodies with ease, and, nodding to two footmen standing guard at the door, propelled her into a small private room in which only two people were gathered.

  The closing of the door dampened the noise as if they were suddenly underwater, and it took Emmy a moment to realize that she was in the presence of royalty. The rather plump gentleman lounging on a chaise beneath the red canopy was none other than the Prince Regent himself. She dipped a deep, belated curtsey.

  Harland, without letting go of her arm, folded into a bow. “Your Highness, may I present Miss Emmeline Danvers.” He straightened and gave her a little tug forward.

  Prince George’s appreciative gaze roamed over her face and figure in a way that could hardly be considered regal. His blue eyes twinkled, and he licked his red lips as though she were a morsel of food he wanted to sample.

  “Ah, so this is the young lady you were telling me about, eh, Conant?” He turned his head slightly to address the gentleman standing on his right—a difficult task considering the dangerously high points of his shirt collar.

  “Indeed it is, sir,” the older man said. His expression was inscrutable. “Miss Danvers and her family have worked tirelessly for several years now to discover the whereabouts of the missing French crown jewels.”

  Emmy felt her brows rise. That was a diplomatic way of putting it.

  Harland squeezed her elbow.

  The prince gave a grunt that made his entire belly wobble and turned to Emmy. “And I hear you’ve been remarkably successful in finding the gems?”

  Emmy found her voice. “Indeed, Your Highness. It was something of an obsession for my father before he died.”

  She gave another curtsey and offered forward the bag of jewels to the man named Conant, who must be Sir Nathaniel Conant, the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street, and Harland’s superior. He tugged open the drawstring and upended the bag of jewels onto a red velvet pillow beside the prince. The diamonds and other gems slithered out like some wondrous, glittering serpent.

  The Prince Regent sucked in his breath. “Good lord. Just look at that.” He clapped his hands like a five-year-old child on Christmas morning. “Always gratifying when we English succeed where the French have failed, what? Excellent work by Bow Street, Conant. You too, Melton.”

  Emmy sent him what she hoped was a winning smile. Harland might be planning to throw her into Newgate as soon as this interview was over, but she could at least try to ensure the jewels went where they belonged.

  “It was my father’s dearest wish to see these jewels returned to the people of France. May I say how glad I am that you have the wisdom and generosity to bring it about?”

  The prince, apparently susceptible to flattery, puffed up his chest a little. “Quite. Quite. Not that it ain’t useful to grease the wheels of diplomacy too, eh, Conant? Shame we had to do this quite so quietly, of course, in a private ceremony, but it wouldn’t do to embarrass our French cousins in public. Not now we ain’t fighting ’em.”

  He turned his attention back to Emmy and raised his brows. “I also hear, young lady, that you were instrumental in putting an end to the career of that blackguard the Nightjar.”

  Harland gave her elbow another warning squeeze, and Emmy shot him a quick look of irritation. What did that mean? Confess? Or keep quiet?

  She chose her words with care. “You could say that, Sir. I think it’s safe to say the Nightjar’s career is over.”

  The prince chuckled. “I should say so. Got him in Newgate, haven’t you, Conant, awaiting trial? Not at all surprised to discover he’s a Frenchie.”

  Emmy opened her mouth, then shut it again. What game was Harland playing? The prince clearly thought Danton was the Nightjar. And while she wasn’t entirely happy with that attribution, she wasn’t about to start admitting to the crimes herself.

  Still, even if the prince hadn’t been told she was the Nightjar, Harland and Conant knew the truth. They might not be forcing her to make a full public confession, but they would never allow her to go unpunished. They doubtless had some private torture planned.

  The Regent nodded. “Good, good. Well, then. I believe Lord Melton has come up with a suitable reward for you, my dear.”

  Emmy’s heart sank. Any “reward” Harland proposed would probably include her sharing a tumbril to the gallows with Danton. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  The prince picked up the diamond she’d stolen from Rundell & Bridge and eyed it with a wistful look. “Shame we have to give ’em all back, eh, Conant? Surely the French wouldn’t miss one or two—”

  Conant coughed discreetly. “We have submitted a full inventory to the ambassador, sir. I’m sure we wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

  The prince’s lower lip stuck out in a distinct pout as he dropped the diamond back onto the pile. “Shame. I do so like diamonds. Ah, well. I suppose you’d better let ’em in.”

  He turned to Harland. “Grateful to you, Melton, of course, but you’ve already had an earldom from me this year.” He chuckled, sending his belly jiggling like a blancmange. “You ain’t getting another. Cha
ps might get jealous.” His eyes twinkled in merriment, and to Emmy’s astonishment, he gave her a wink. “You two young things must go and dance. Think of it as a royal command.”

  He flicked his fingers at the two of them in clear dismissal.

  Emmy ducked another swift curtsey, shot one last goodbye look at the jewels on the cushion, and was escorted from the room by Harland. It was only when the doors closed behind them that she realized she was shaking.

  That was it, then. Ten years of work, and all she had to show for it was an empty reticule. No, she realized, she didn’t even have that; she’d left her bag in there with Conant.

  Harland still hadn’t let go of her elbow. She was intensely conscious of him next to her, his height, his strength. She tried to pull away, desperate to join her family and say her goodbyes before she was whisked off for whatever new interrogation he had planned, but he stepped in front of her.

  “I believe this dance is mine, Miss Danvers. We can’t ignore a royal command.”

  Chapter 45.

  Emmy could hardly look at him. Just being near him made her chest ache for all that could have been, and yet she found herself nodding in agreement. One last dance.

  Instead of leading her onto the crowded dance floor, he pulled her through a doorway and into an unoccupied room whose curtains, walls, and furnishings were covered in dark blue velvet. He closed the door with an audible click.

  “Dance with me.”

  The music was still faintly audible through the wooden panels. He pulled her close, and her body came alive with his touch. She felt light, almost transparent. As insubstantial as air, except for where he held her. Those points alone felt real, felt solid. They swirled into the familiar steps, and she concentrated on the pearl studs on his waistcoat. God, he danced so beautifully. Her heart felt heavy, almost to bursting. She forced herself to look up at him, then wished she hadn’t, as his intense blue-grey eyes met hers.