challenge of managing the place alongside Benedict and Seb.
Women of the ton had it far worse than men. Most of them were expected to do little else in life but attract a wealthy suitor—preferably one with a title—and settle down to a life of dreary domesticity while producing the next generation of aristocrats. He could hardly blame Miss Danvers if she craved a little excitement. But the law was the law.
Alex’s mouth curved in a faint cynical smile as her gaze swept the room over Eversleigh’s shoulder. She was cataloguing the exit points. As a soldier, a sniper, he automatically did the same thing, whether at the opera or a dockside tavern. He scanned for the highest vantage points too, the best place from which to take a shot. The stage, a balcony, a raised terrace. Seb and Benedict did it too. Old habits died hard.
Was it because she wanted to escape from the obnoxious Eversleigh? Or was it the ingrained habit of a thief? Alex watched her note the tall sash windows, the servants’ door partially disguised in the papered wall to her left, the door to the dining room, and the double doors that led out onto the terrace.
A thief would hate to be cornered. A thief would always want to know his options for escape.
Her options, he amended silently. Her name was Emmeline. Emmeline Danvers.
Could she be the Nightjar?
The idea of being the one to corner her sent a shiver of excitement through him. It was more than the mere thought of bringing a miscreant to justice. The delicious possibility that his thief might turn out to be this attractive young woman gave him an almost sexual thrill.
Alex shook his head. He’d been too long without a woman. It had been almost a month since he’d given Alicia her marching orders.
He glanced over at the girl again and his blood surged in anticipation. He’d never desired any of the criminals he’d been after before—not entirely surprising considering they were usually unwashed smugglers, pox-ridden whores, and toothless crones. His attraction wouldn’t sway him or distract him from his goal, of course, but it would certainly add a little piquancy to the game.
“Do you know what a nightjar is?” Seb asked suddenly. “I looked it up this afternoon. It’s a nocturnal bird. Its plumage is brown and speckled and resembles bark or leaves. It is exceptionally good at blending into its environment.”
Emmeline Danvers was doing an admirable job of effacing herself on the other side of the room. She blended into the shadows beautifully.
“They’re found all around the world,” Seb continued, “and are mostly active in the late evening, early morning, and at night. That describes our thief rather well, don’t you think?”
“It does indeed.” Alex smiled.
* * *
Emmy could barely concentrate.
She’d followed Harland’s progress through the room, watched as he directed that easy charm at everyone in his path. He knew just what to say. How to flatter, how to charm, and then skillfully extricate himself, leaving them wanting more.
He looked devastatingly handsome in his black evening jacket, a fact that irritated her no end. No man should look that good, especially one she was trying her best to ignore. She watched with hot envy as he bent his dark head toward a jewel-bedecked woman and laughed at something she said. Jealousy gnawed at her stomach when the woman’s hand lingered playfully on his shoulder, then slid down his shirt front in a familiar caress. When he stepped away, he took up a position almost directly opposite her.
Her skin pricked with an uncomfortable awareness.
He was watching her; she was sure of it.
Her heart began to pound in alarm. She felt his gaze like a touch all the way down her body, from her hair, over her breasts, waist, legs, and back up.
You’re imagining things. He’s not looking at you. He doesn’t know you exist.
Almost against her will, she glanced up, certain she would find herself mistaken. His gaze would be centered on some other hapless female.
Her entire body jolted in shock as his eyes clashed with hers.
The intensity of his stare made her stomach knot and the hairs rise on her arms. A sense of dread squeezed her chest, as if she’d spotted a highwayman on the crest of a hill or the sails of a pirate brig on the horizon. She knew she would be the next victim.
She was being ridiculous.
She wanted to run, but she seemed incapable of looking away. Incapable of even blinking. Did no