“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, andallof 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 andmakeher marry him, dammit. If nothing else, sheshould 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.
Didshe? 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.
