does? Ooh la la.” She raised her brows. “You distract him, Emmeline. And that gives you power. Distracted, he will make mistakes. If you rile him enough, he will snap.”
“I don’t want to see him snap,” Emmy said, quite honestly. “He’s dangerous.”
Camille tilted her head. “Au contraire, I think it could be extremely exciting. But it takes a brave woman to deal with that kind of man. You must meet him head-on. He is not comfortable, I think. But he would be so very worth it.”
“He will show me no mercy if he catches me.”
Camille nodded. “Sometimes the chase is such fun that the catching is quite a disappointment.” She took another bite of teacake. “On the other hand, sometimes being caught is only the start of the adventure.”
“Being caught would be the start of a trip to the gallows,” Emmy said sharply. “Nothing more.”
Sally’s reappearance at the doorway precluded any further argument. “Ready for a trip to Park Crescent?”
Emmy gave a resigned nod.
Chapter 16.
Emmy put both hands on the small of her back and arched her spine—the universal movement of a heavily pregnant woman trying to relieve the weight she carried in front—then took hold of the bottom of Sally’s ladder to steady it.
Luc had driven around Park Crescent late last night, flicking white, watery paint at several of the first-floor windows. This morning Sally and Emmy, happily disguised as itinerant window washers, were doing a brisk trade cleaning off the “pigeon droppings.”
Sally had excelled this time. Tied to Emmy’s waist by an ingenious series of straps and buckles was a pig’s bladder—thoroughly cleaned—filled with water. It gave the realistic appearance of a pregnant belly; the weight of it added to the authenticity of her posture.
Sally always said that for a disguise to be truly effective, the wearer must have an attitude to match. If you were supposed to be a ballet dancer, every movement, every action had to mirror that belief. You should keep your head up, chin high, be graceful. Conversely, if you were supposed to be a vagabond, you should hunch, and drag your feet, and scratch as if you had vermin. She’d learned such things from her days at the theatre.
Emmy felt very much like a woman who wanted to sit and relieve her aching feet. An apron tied over the top of her skirts added to her apparent bulk, as did the scratchy wig she wore beneath an unsightly bonnet that shielded her face.
Lady Carrington’s servants had been all too happy to delegate the task of window washing to Sally, who had turned herself into a strapping young lad. She was currently whistling tunelessly at the top of the ladder, gaily swiping at the “droppings” with a wet rag.
They’d done what they needed to do. While washing the back of the Carringtons’ house Sally had deformed one of the window latches just enough to prevent it from fully closing. Everything was set. Emmy had wanted to leave at once—Luc was waiting for them with the carriage just around the corner in Harley Street, but Sally had insisted they wash a few more windows along the street to allay suspicion.
Emmy cursed softly as a splash of water from Sally’s bucket landed squarely in her eye. It stung. Sally maintained the secret to a perfectly shiny window was vinegar in with the water.
“Get a move on!” Emmy muttered at Sally’s breeches-clad bottom.
Sally glanced down, and her white smile split the grimy oval of her face. “Almost done, missus.” She chuckled. “Don’t want to leave no streaks.”
Emmy cast a wary glance down the stately curve of Park Crescent. The row of elegant terraced houses had been designed by Prinny’s favorite architect, John Nash. They formed a gentle semicircle around a central green park. A couple of the upper-class residents were strolling along the well-kept paths toward the verdant swathe of Regent’s Park a little farther down the street.
Emmy ducked her head as she recognized Lord Denman, Chief Justice of the Court of Queen’s Bench, leaving his house. After the Lord Chancellor, Lord Denman was the second-most important judge in England. She had no intention of gaining his notice, either inside or outside a courtroom.
When she glanced up again, she almost swallowed her own tongue. Alex Harland was striding along the crescent, heading directly toward her. She pressed herself to the foot of the ladder with a whispered curse.
“It’s Harland!” she hissed.
Sally turned to look and gave an appreciative sigh from her elevated vantage point. “Good lord. Just