To Catch an Earl - Kate Bateman Page 0,31
The instant she looked up, his blue gaze bored into hers, and she pressed her lips together to stop a completely inappropriate smile. He looked harried. Angry. Harassed. He’d definitely discovered the note, then.
Camille rose from her seat, and Emmy did the same. Luc, however, remained seated. “To what do we owe the pleasure, gentlemen?”
“I apologize for interrupting your dinner.” Harland swept the table with a brief glance and Emmy quelled the urge to cover her soup bowl with her napkin. He made a motion with his hand. “Please, sit down.”
Camille sank back into her chair, as did Emmy, although she would have preferred to remain standing. Harland loomed over her at the best of times. There was no need to add to the height difference.
“I was wondering if I might have a brief word with Miss Danvers?”
Luc’s eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted.”
“We met at the British Museum yesterday,” Camille supplied brightly.
“And what do you wish to speak to her about?” Luc asked, in the tone Emmy had long ago christened his protective-big-brother voice.
Harland shot her an indecipherable glance from under his lashes. “This is not a social call. I’m sorry to report that shortly after Miss Danvers and the countess visited the museum, it fell victim to the thief known as the Nightjar. A stone of some considerable value was stolen from one of the galleries.”
Camille made a convincing little gasp of shock. “Oh, dear. But what can that possibly have to do with us?”
“I have reason to believe that the thief may have been present in the museum at the same time as you, preparing for the heist.”
Emmy bit her lip. He knew. He knew it was her. He was just playing with them, like a cat with a mouse.
“I was hoping you might be able to furnish us with descriptions of the other visitors you encountered.”
Camille nodded. “Of course. We would be delighted to help. But my memory is not what it once was. I’m sure Emmy will be able to provide you with a more complete list of those she remembers.”
Emmy shot her a furious glance. She didn’t want to give Harland an example of her handwriting. She’d made some effort to disguise it when she’d penned that taunting note, but why give him something with which to make a comparison? He might use it as evidence.
“We’ll send it over to Bow Street tomorrow,” Camille said. “Will that be all?”
“There is one more thing,” Harland said silkily. “I was wondering if I might visit Miss Danvers’s bedchamber.”
Luc glowered at him. “I fail to see what bearing that could have on your investigation, Lord Melton.”
Harland gave him a smile that was both innocent and, to Emmy’s mind, utterly diabolical. He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew two familiar black feathers. “The Nightjar left these at his last two crimes.”
He lifted them to his nose and inhaled, and Emmy felt a cold wave of dread sweep over her.
“They have a very distinctive scent. Almost like a woman’s perfume. When I met Miss Danvers yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice that her perfume is very similar to that of these feathers. A happy coincidence, you might say.”
Emmy narrowed her eyes. A happy coincidence, my arse. He knew. But at least he wasn’t accusing her of being the Nightjar directly. Not yet, anyway.
“I had no idea you had such an excellent nose, Lord Melton,” Luc said acidly.
Harland’s smile was wicked. “I daresay I’ve had some experience in recognizing female perfumes.”
She didn’t want to know about his experience with other women, the fiend.
“If Miss Danvers would be so kind as to show me the scent she uses, I’ll know what I’m looking for. It may be that the Nightjar is, in fact, a woman.”
“It could just be a man who gets his feathers from a woman’s fan or headpiece,” Camille suggested. “What are they, anyway? Ostrich feathers?”
Harland stroked them back and forth along his jaw. Emmy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight. There was something horribly sensual about it.
“I believe ostrich feathers are larger. These are goose feathers, dyed black. Unfortunately, they’re too common to track down their source. They’re used in everything from pillows to hats. But the scent is rather distinctive. Identifying this particular perfume might well be the key to identifying the culprit.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. She should have listened to her father. She’d never imagined feathers could absorb scent to such a degree. Or that Harland would have such