we had to do this quite so quietly, of course, in a private ceremony, but it wouldn’t do to embarrass our French cousins in public. Not now we ain’t fighting ’em.”
He turned his attention back to Emmy and raised his brows. “I also hear, young lady, that you were instrumental in putting an end to the career of that blackguard the Nightjar.”
Harland gave her elbow another warning squeeze, and Emmy shot him a quick look of irritation. What did that mean? Confess? Or keep quiet?
She chose her words with care. “You could say that, Sir. I think it’s safe to say the Nightjar’s career is over.”
The prince chuckled. “I should say so. Got him in Newgate, haven’t you, Conant, awaiting trial? Not at all surprised to discover he’s a Frenchie.”
Emmy opened her mouth, then shut it again. What game was Harland playing? The prince clearly thought Danton was the Nightjar. And while she wasn’t entirely happy with that attribution, she wasn’t about to start admitting to the crimes herself.
Still, even if the prince hadn’t been told she was the Nightjar, Harland and Conant knew the truth. They might not be forcing her to make a full public confession, but they would never allow her to go unpunished. They doubtless had some private torture planned.
The Regent nodded. “Good, good. Well, then. I believe Lord Melton has come up with a suitable reward for you, my dear.”
Emmy’s heart sank. Any “reward” Harland proposed would probably include her sharing a tumbril to the gallows with Danton. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
The prince picked up the diamond she’d stolen from Rundell & Bridge and eyed it with a wistful look. “Shame we have to give ’em all back, eh, Conant? Surely the French wouldn’t miss one or two—”
Conant coughed discreetly. “We have submitted a full inventory to the ambassador, sir. I’m sure we wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”
The prince’s lower lip stuck out in a distinct pout as he dropped the diamond back onto the pile. “Shame. I do so like diamonds. Ah, well. I suppose you’d better let ’em in.”
He turned to Harland. “Grateful to you, Melton, of course, but you’ve already had an earldom from me this year.” He chuckled, sending his belly jiggling like a blancmange. “You ain’t getting another. Chaps might get jealous.” His eyes twinkled in merriment, and to Emmy’s astonishment, he gave her a wink. “You two young things must go and dance. Think of it as a royal command.”
He flicked his fingers at the two of them in clear dismissal.
Emmy ducked another swift curtsey, shot one last goodbye look at the jewels on the cushion, and was escorted from the room by Harland. It was only when the doors closed behind them that she realized she was shaking.
That was it, then. Ten years of work, and all she had to show for it was an empty reticule. No, she realized, she didn’t even have that; she’d left her bag in there with Conant.
Harland still hadn’t let go of her elbow. She was intensely conscious of him next to her, his height, his strength. She tried to pull away, desperate to join her family and say her goodbyes before she was whisked off for whatever new interrogation he had planned, but he stepped in front of her.
“I believe this dance is mine, Miss Danvers. We can’t ignore a royal command.”
Chapter 45.
Emmy could hardly look at him. Just being near him made her chest ache for all that could have been, and yet she found herself nodding in agreement. One last dance.
Instead of leading her onto the crowded dance floor, he pulled her through a doorway and into an unoccupied room whose curtains, walls, and furnishings were covered in dark blue velvet. He closed the door with an audible click.
“Dance with me.”
The music was still faintly audible through the wooden panels. He pulled her close, and her body came alive with his touch. She felt light, almost transparent. As insubstantial as air, except for where he held her. Those points alone felt real, felt solid. They swirled into the familiar steps, and she concentrated on the pearl studs on his waistcoat. God, he danced so beautifully. Her heart felt heavy, almost to bursting. She forced herself to look up at him, then wished she hadn’t, as his intense blue-grey eyes met hers.
The chandelier above them provided excellent illumination. She studied every detail of his face, trying to impress it upon her brain, to forge a memory she could hold in