“Can we get there and back by this time tomorrow?”
“I believe so. It takes about six hours, with a change of horses.”
“Can you ride?”
Emmy shook her head. “Not for that distance. I usually take the mail coach.”
He gave a put-upon sigh and glanced at the clock on the mantel. “If we leave now, we should get there before dark. I’ll have Sam ready the carriage for you.”
“But not for you?”
He shook his head with a grimace of distaste. “I’ll ride.”
Emmy told herself the dip in her spirits was not disappointment. Was his grimace because he couldn’t stand the thought of being in her presence, or simply becausehe hated to be confined inside when he could ride? Why did she even care?
He crossed to the side table, picked up the ruby, and made a point of placing it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Stay here. I’ll see about some food for you.”
Emmy wrinkled her nose at his departing back, but it was hard to stay annoyed when he was being so considerate. She hadn’t thought he’d care whether she’d eaten or not.
She was clearly still his captive, but she’d spoken the truth when she’d promised not to escape. With Harland’s assistance, she could return to London with the jewels far quicker than if she’d been on her own, with the added benefit of his protection there and back.
As long as she delivered the gems to Danton by the deadline and saved Luc, she didn’t care what happened to them after that.
Emmy shook her head. She’d have the dubious pleasure-pain of Harland’s company until tomorrow. She must be a glutton for punishment. Even now, when she ought to resent him, she couldn’t find it in herself to do so.
A few minutes later a brown-haired serving girl brought in a steaming tray of food, and Emmy almost groaned in delight. Coffee with cream and sugar. Bacon and eggs. Toast and jam. Harland was proving to be a very agreeable jailer. She’d just finished the last slice of toast when Mickey arrived with a carpet bag she instantly recognized as her own.
“Miss ’Awkins sent this over for yer,” he mumbled. “’Is lordship said you got fifteen minutes to dress and meet ’im downstairs.”
“Thank you, Mickey.” Emmy smiled and watched the giant’s ears turn pink in embarrassment.
She opened the bag and almost laughed. Sally had sent two of Emmy’s most stylish dresses, along with a host ofother necessary items. She donned a scandalously sheer chemise, stays, and silk stockings, then pulled the pale blue day dress over her head. At least it was cotton, and not some impractical featherweight gauze, but the tiny puff sleeves were hardly enough to keep an inch of her arms warm and the row of little bows along the neckline was pure frivolity.
Thankfully, Sally had included a matching spencer to wear over the top, in a dark blue velvet with military-inspired gold braid frogging down the front. It buttoned snugly over Emmy’s bosom. She tugged a brush through her hair and secured it in a simple twist at the base of her neck with the pins provided.
As a final flourish, she crossed to the sideboard, reclaimed her bottle of perfume, and defiantly applied the last few drops to her wrists and neck. The familiar scent calmed her. She donned a pair of cream leather gloves and picked up the small drawstring reticule Sally had provided, which contained a handkerchief, a small circular mirror, a folding mother-of-pearl pocket knife, and a few coins.
A pistol might have made her feel a little more in control, Emmy reflected, but they’d never kept any firearms in the house, and she had no idea how to use one. Harland was used to serious weapons, rifles and muskets; he’d probably laugh himself silly if she threatened him with a muff pistol.
When she opened the door, it was to find Mickey waiting to escort her down to the mews. Harland was already out there, in a woolen greatcoat and riding boots, holding the reins of a bay stallion. Her heart quickened when she saw him, waiting with one foot propped up on a spoke of the carriage wheel and conversing with a groom who was seated behind a handsome pair of matched greys.
He took her hand to help her into the carriage. Her skintingled as his fingers squeezed hers, despite her gloves. Would she ever cease to be so acutely aware of him?
He sent her a baleful glare, his lashes a dark tangle against his blue-steel eyes. “Don’t even think about trying to escape. If you run, I will chase you to the ends of the earth. Never doubt it.”
Emmy suppressed a shiver. She was a fool to find such a declaration thrilling, but her heart was suddenly pounding with desire. The stupid organ clearly couldn’t distinguish between a threat and a promise.
With a sigh, she sat back against the comfortable leather squabs and tugged a travel rug over her knees. The next few hours might be her last taste of freedom. She would make the most of every moment.
Chapter 30.
Emmy peered out of the narrow window as the coach rattled along. It hadn’t taken long to reach the outskirts of London, and the jumble and chaos of the capital had given way to sporadic cottages, fields of swaying barley, and the occasional village turnpike.
Her chest tightened as bittersweet memories assailed her. She’d taken this journey many times in the company of her father, whenever there had been a new jewel to deposit in the cache. It was achingly familiar: the signposts for Letchworth and Biggleswade, the undulating sweep of English countryside. Never had the fields been so green, the songs of the birds so sweet. Life seemed infinitely precious, now that her days were numbered.
They stopped to change horses at a posting inn near St. Neots, but apart from providing her with a cup of coffee and a meat pie to eat in the carriage, Harland largely ignored her. She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t want her to show her face. If someone recognized him in thecompany of a lone female, they would either assume she was his mistress or—worse—that the two of them were eloping. They were, after all, heading north toward Gretna Green.
The idea should have been amusing, but instead, it added to the ache in Emmy’s heart. She and Harland might have shared a night of passion, but they were far from being lovestruck swains. They weren’t even friends. They were adversaries, under a temporary truce.
