back.
She braced herself to look him in the eye, and the predictable flash of lightning sparked between them. What an unreasonable attraction.
His gaze rested for an instant on her mouth, then flitted away. Emmy was aware of curious glances being sent their way, a flurry of speculative whispers. Any woman with Alex Harland would be an object of envy. With his height and sinfully dark good looks, he was utterly compelling, and her heart fluttered at being the center of attention. The cattiest amongst them were probably wondering how a freckled little thing like her was dancing with a demigod like him.
“Wait, you don’t dance!” she recalled belatedly. “You haven’t danced since you returned from the Peninsular.”
His eyebrows rose, and she could have bitten off her tongue for betraying how much she knew about him. His lips quirked. “It’s true I haven’t danced, but that doesn’t mean I cannot do so. I’ve just chosen not to. Until now. I never found a suitable partner.”
Her pulse fluttered. What did that mean?
“You’ll have to help me, Miss Danvers,” he murmured. “I cannot see our joined hands, nor the couples in our periphery. If it looks as if we are about to cause a collision, do let me know.”
She glanced round in alarm. “Really, there’s no need. We should—”
“Afraid?” he taunted softly.
That did it. She lifted her chin. “Of course not.”
His chuckled exhale sluiced against her temple. He pulled her tighter into his embrace and squeezed her hand. “In that case, try to keep up.”
The music started, another Viennese waltz, and Emmy’s breath lodged in her throat. Her first steps faltered, but Harland spun her out and back into his embrace with consummate skill.
Had she truly imagined that he would be clumsy? His footwork was perfect, his body straight and tall. He seemed to be touching her everywhere: his hand at the small of her back, gently guiding, at her elbow, around her waist, sliding easily around her hip.
The ballroom dissolved into a breathless succession of dips and swirls, advance and retreat. Heat spread throughout her limbs. Her skin began to glow. Every nerve in her body was attuned to his presence. She wanted to press herself closer still, to feel the extraordinary breadth of his chest against her cheek, the rippled muscles of his stomach beneath her palms. The press of his mouth on hers.
No. No. No. She was becoming befuddled by his nearness. She couldn’t trust him an inch. He was here to catch her in the act of stealing the ruby. Why else would he have been at the Carringtons’ house two days ago?
Had he warned them? Had they moved the ruby? Was she about to walk into a trap?
She’d been plagued by visions of opening Lady Carrington’s jewelry case and finding nothing but a taunting black feather. Of turning to see Harland’s huge hands and triumphant face materializing from the darkness, blocking her only escape.
Last night, she’d awoken from a hot, confusing dream of being chased and caught, of being held against a rock-hard chest, her wrists manacled by unrelenting fingers. She’d been begging, sobbing, but for what? For freedom? For forgiveness? For more of that wicked, forbidden heat? She’d been simultaneously aroused and terrified.
She couldn’t wait until this was over. When Danton was appeased, she could start chasing her own desires, her own dreams. Except the only thing she’d ever truly desired was this man who’d stop at nothing to see the Nightjar brought to justice. Ha.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, you know.” Harland’s murmur jolted her back to the room.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do. You’re very good at hiding, aren’t you, Miss Danvers? You pretend to be stupider than you are. You disguise your beauty behind drab colors. But not tonight,” he conceded, flicking an appreciative glance down at the silk of her dress. “Tonight you look like a jewel, ripe for the plucking.”
She stepped on his toe in surprise. What a choice of words. Deliberate? Or mere coincidence? She didn’t believe in coincidence. Everything this man said had a deeper meaning.
He glared down at her as if he could see into her soul. As if every misdeed and wicked thought lay naked to his gaze. Emmy bit her lip against the insane urge to confess everything. Good lord, no wonder this man was so successful at Bow Street. He only had to look at a perpetrator to have them spilling their secrets.
He bent his head and his breath tickled her cheek.