punishment for stealing was harsh. A person could be executed for taking anything worth more than five shillings, be that a handkerchief or a sheep. Did she think if she made those stardust eyes fill with tears that a judge would be moved to clemency? Would those irresistible lips spout lie after lie?
Alex shook his head. Or did she think that he would be the weak link? That she could somehow sway him from turning her in? A muscle ticked in his jaw. Did she plan to seduce him into letting her go? His groin throbbed in an enthusiastic yes!
God knew, he would be tempted.
He frowned, irritated at himself. No. He would not be swayed, however persuasive that sweet body and those glorious lips might be. The law was the law. Reason free from passion. Just as Aristotle said.
Half an hour later, having spoken to Lady Carrington, Alex had learned two things. One, that Lady Carrington deserved to have her ruby necklace stolen. When he’d asked to see where she kept her jewels, the woman had complied willingly; the endeavor required a trip to her bedchamber. Licking her lips—which were thin and not at all tempting in the way that Emmy Danvers’s lips were—she’d casually mentioned that her “incredibly dull” husband would be “away for hours at some stuffy parliamentary debate.” Perhaps Alex would like to see her newly redecorated boudoir? Alex had politely declined.
The second thing he’d learned was that the Carringtons’ neighbor, the Spanish Ambassador, would be holding his annual ball on Thursday night. Which meant the odds were high the Nightjar would use the crowds and confusion to strike.
Alex bounded down the steps with a spring in his step, his pulse thumping in anticipation. Emmy Danvers was going to get caught.
Chapter 17.
Emmy’s dress for the Ambassador’s ball was dark-blue silk, an exquisite French-inspired creation that skimmed her shoulders and waist before falling in artless swirls around her legs. It felt as decadent, as smooth, as double cream.
Sally had pinned her hair up in elaborate coils on the top of her head, with a trio of black feathers and a diamond-studded clip, which added inches to Emmy’s diminutive stature. The feathers matched her black satin gloves and ostrich-feather fan.
Camille also looked magnificent, very much “la Grande Dame” in a gown of pale-green brocade shot with gold thread that shimmered when she turned in the light. Her upswept hair highlighted her excellent bone structure and piercing blue eyes.
“Well, don’t we look marvelous?” Camille laughed, her eyes sparkling. “The men of London should guard their hearts tonight.”
“Let’s just hope Lady Carrington isn’t guarding her ruby,” Emmy muttered. “If she’s wearing it, we’ll have to come up with another plan.”
Luc, handsome in a black satin evening jacket, shrugged. “You’re good at improvising, Em. You’ll think of something.”
Park Crescent was teeming with carriages when they arrived. Light blazed through the open front door of the ambassador’s house as a stream of people waited to be admitted by the liveried servants. Since the Prince Regent was rumored to be attending, along with several of the royal dukes, members of the cabinet, and Wellington, a squadron of the Royal Horse Guards had been placed on duty in the street in case of any disturbance.
Emmy glanced over at the Carringtons’ house. As expected, only a few lights burned in the upstairs living quarters. Some of the staff had been given the night off, since they weren’t needed to attend to their master and mistress, and the rest were gathered in the basement kitchen, peering out between the railings to watch the fantastic creatures arriving next door.
As she ascended the staircase to the huge ballroom that occupied the front of the house, Emmy was relieved to catch a glimpse of Lady Carrington wearing a sparkling diamond choker. She’d left her rubies at home. Thank goodness.
Luc made his way to the room that had been set aside for cards and took a seat, while Emmy left Camille talking to some friends and made her way to the ballroom.
Couples, with elbows high and hands clasped, swirled around the inlaid wooden floor to the accompaniment of a string quartet playing Schubert. Conversations rose and fell in rhythmic cadences like the sea. Fans fluttered, jewels flashed, turbans bobbed. It was a dizzying, glorious spectacle. Emmy took up position between a decorative wooden pillar that had been painted to look like marble and a side table held aloft by a grotesque gilt dolphin.
She became aware of Harland when the back of