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