Had she truly imagined that he would be clumsy? His footwork was perfect, his body straight and tall. He seemed to be touching her everywhere: his hand at the small of her back, gently guiding, at her elbow, around her waist, sliding easily around her hip.
The ballroom dissolved into a breathless succession of dips and swirls, advance and retreat. Heat spread throughout her limbs. Her skin began to glow. Every nerve in herbody was attuned to his presence. She wanted to press herself closer still, to feel the extraordinary breadth of his chest against her cheek, the rippled muscles of his stomach beneath her palms. The press of his mouth on hers.
No. No. No.She was becoming befuddled by his nearness. She couldn’t trust him an inch. He was here to catch her in the act of stealing the ruby. Why else would he have been at the Carringtons’ house two days ago?
Had he warned them? Had they moved the ruby? Was she about to walk into a trap?
She’d been plagued by visions of opening Lady Carrington’s jewelry case and finding nothing but a taunting black feather. Of turning to see Harland’s huge hands and triumphant face materializing from the darkness, blocking her only escape.
Last night, she’d awoken from a hot, confusing dream of being chased and caught, of being held against a rock-hard chest, her wrists manacled by unrelenting fingers. She’d been begging, sobbing, but for what? For freedom? For forgiveness? For more of that wicked, forbidden heat? She’d been simultaneously aroused and terrified.
She couldn’t wait until this was over. When Danton was appeased, she could start chasing herowndesires, her own dreams. Except the only thing she’d ever truly desired was this man who’d stop at nothing to see the Nightjar brought to justice. Ha.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, you know.” Harland’s murmur jolted her back to the room.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do. You’re very good at hiding, aren’t you, Miss Danvers? You pretend to be stupider than you are. You disguise your beauty behind drab colors. But not tonight,” he conceded, flicking an appreciative glance down at the silk of her dress. “Tonight you look like a jewel, ripe for the plucking.”
She stepped on his toe in surprise. What a choice of words. Deliberate? Or mere coincidence? She didn’t believe in coincidence. Everything this man said had a deeper meaning.
He glared down at her as if he could see into her soul. As if every misdeed and wicked thought lay naked to his gaze. Emmy bit her lip against the insane urge to confess everything. Good lord, no wonder this man was so successful at Bow Street. He only had to look at a perpetrator to have them spilling their secrets.
He bent his head and his breath tickled her cheek. “A word of advice, Miss Danvers. Only play a game if you are certain you can win.”
“That’s an interesting comment, coming from a man who owns a gambling club.”
He shrugged. “An individual might encounter a streak of luck, it’s true, but sooner or later, that luck will run out. The odds are always stacked in the bank’s favor.”
Her own luck couldn’t possibly continue. But did he think she had any choice in the matter? She had to play the game. “I stand forewarned, my lord,” she said lightly.
The waltz ended on two final, joyously uplifting chords.
Enough.She needed to stop torturing herself with the pleasure-pain of his proximity and get on with the real business of the night.
“Thank you for the dance, my lord. And the advice.” She bobbed him a curtsey then sent him a sidelong look full of mock sympathy. “Oh dear. I see a whole raft of ladies expecting a waltz, now you’ve finally set foot on the dance floor. You’ve opened Pandora’s box.”
His alarmed glance at the flock of women hovering on the periphery of the room was a joy to see. Emmy used his momentary distraction to step away. She had a ruby to steal.
Chapter 18.
It was easy enough to slip into the library at the back of the house. The room, although not officially open to guests, had not been locked. Emmy unlatched the tall doors that opened onto the narrow wrought-iron balcony and slipped through. The cool night air brought goose bumps to her skin.
Below her, the indistinct shapes of well-tended trees and bushes disappeared into the darkness of the garden. She clutched the rail and forced herself to look down. To her right, only a few feet away, an identical balcony belonging to the Carringtons protruded from the dressed stone. Pushing down a wave of nausea, she lifted her skirts and climbed over the metal rail. It was cold, even through her gloves.
She hated heights.
The French had a phrase,l’appel du vide, “the call of the void.” She felt it, always, that intrinsic urge to jump from high places, despite her fear.
With a heart-stopping stretch, she reached over andcaught the other railing, first with her hand, then her left foot. For an awful moment she froze, suspended like a starfish over the drop, one foot and one hand on each balcony. The sudden ridiculous thought of someone happening to come outside and glance up—they would see right up her skirt to her scandalous navy silk underthings—made her stifle a snort of nervous laughter.
A push, a lurch, and she transferred her weight to the opposite side and climbed gratefully over the rail. It would have been a lot easier if she’d been able to wear her breeches, but the cut of her dress had not allowed for her to wear them underneath.
There. Worst bit over.
Her palms were damp inside her gloves but the window catch Sally had bent out of shape ensured the window opened easily. Emmy strained her ears, listening for any hint of sound from within, but heard nothing. She slipped through the narrow window.
The Carringtons’ house was a mirror image of the ambassador’s, but their library didn’t have half as many books. Every one of her senses stretched as she made her way through the house. What trap had Harland laid for her? Since he himself was still on the dance floor, he couldn’t be lying in wait, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t arranged for other Bow Street agents to be here.
