His eyes flashed, and she desperately tried to think of something that might appease him. “What if I collaborate?” she said quickly. “I’ll return the diamond, and the blue from the British Museum, in exchange for immunity from prosecution.”
She had no idea how she’d get the jewels back from Danton, but still—
“The Prince will never accept that. He wants the Nightjar punished to the full extent of the law. And what about all the other jewels that have been stolen over the years? We’re just supposed to forget about those, are we?”
He let out a long, frustrated exhale. Emmy turned her face to the wall and focused on the bottle of her perfume that still sat on the side table. She was in no position to negotiate. She was doomed. But she could still drag Danton down with her.
“All right. I’ll tell you who ‘put me up to it.’ A man named Emile Danton, a Frenchman.”
She told him about Danton’s letters. His threats and demands. The Rundell & Bridge heist and the one at the museum, making sure not to implicate Luc, Sally, or Camille in her testimony. To his credit, Harland didn’t interrupt her. He just sat and listened, and when she’d finished, she felt strangely light and unburdened.
His chair scraped backwards as he stood, his expression impossible to read. “I have to go out.”
“Where?”
“To Bow Street. I’ll have your brother released.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief, even though Luc was only being freed because she’d condemned herself so thoroughly. “Thank you.”
He nodded, crossed to a handsome mahogany chest, and pulled out a cravat. Emmy thought he’d put it on, but he disappeared into the bedroom, and she was mystified to hear the splash of water in the porcelain washbowl. He returned with the dripping length of cloth twisted in his hands.
“Cotton is stronger when wet,” he said by way of explanation. “Put your hands behind the chair.”
Emmy gave a groan of protest, even though she hadn’t truly expected him to leave her alone in the room, unsecured. “I promise I won’t run.”
He didn’t justify that with an answer. She tried to ignore the feel of his warm breath on her neck as he crouched behind her and secured the wet cotton around her wrists.
“This seems to be a theme in my life recently,” she said lightly, to cover her panic. “I am forever being confined in places I have no wish to be. Barrels. Sarcophagi. Gentlemen’s chambers.”
“I apologize,” he said gruffly. “It won’t be for long.”
No, of course it wouldn’t. He’d probably return from Bow Street with a set of Emmy-sized iron shackles. She was surprised he didn’t have a pair lying around the place, ready to use in just such a situation.
He gave the bindings a final tug and stepped back, apparently satisfied. She gave her wrists an experimental twist and bit back a curse. They really were inescapable, damn him.
She heard the rustle of clothing from behind her but staunchly refused to look as he finished dressing. When he stepped in front of her, she had to suppress a scowl. He was unreasonably handsome. His broad shoulders and long thighs—both of which had been intimately pressed against her only hours ago—were outlined by his tan breeches and immaculately cut jacket.
She wanted to kick him in the shins.
His eyes rested for a moment on her flushed face, as if memorizing her features, then dropped to her chest where her breasts were pushed forward by the unnatural position of her hands. He raked his fingers through his hair in a distracted gesture and a flush darkened his cheekbones.
She raised her brows at him imperiously.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
She sent him an exasperated look to remind him just how ridiculous that was. “Go away.”
Alex locked the door, pocketed the key, and strode down the corridor, desperate to leave the confounding woman behind. He could barely contain his need to do violence. Not to Emmy, but to the bastard who’d placed her in such an untenable position.
The irony of the fact that he’d completely reversed his position, from being angry at her to being angryforher, did not escape him. The desire to protect her, from Danton, from herself, from her own foolish choices, was almost overwhelming.
He’d witnessed the infinite possibilities of violence in his three years of war. He knew the damage that could be inflicted on the human body. The thought of someone hurting Emmy made him break out in a cold sweat. If this Danton harmed a single hair on her head, he’d tear him apart with his bare hands.
Alex exhaled slowly and tried to calm the pounding in his blood. He needed distance. Not proximity. Emmy Danvers was dangerous. She sucked all the air from his lungs. No wonder he couldn’t think straight; his poor brain was permanently deprived of oxygen whenever he was near her.
What did he want from her? He let out a despairing laugh. He wanted her to be a different woman. He wanted her to be the perfect, innocent girl he’d held fast in his memory for so long. He wanted hernotto be a criminal.
What if shehadn’tbeen the Nightjar? He forced himself to complete the thought. What if he’d simply recognized her across a dance floor as the girl from the garden and learned she was a paragon of virtue, perfectly socially acceptable. Would he have been contemplating marriage?
