heated silk of her drawers.
Emmy understood his destination. She and Sally had discussed the things a man could do to a woman, but Sally had never adequately described the sheer wanton pleasure of it. The urgency.
His fingers found the slit in her drawers. Emmy gripped his shoulders and squirmed in mortified bliss as he stroked the sensitive folds between her legs, sliding in her body’s natural slickness. He skated around the tiny nub of pleasure, teasing her mercilessly with the promise of more, and she rocked against his hand, urging him on. He kissed her deeply, claiming her with his mouth as his finger circled the entrance to her body, hovering so close that Emmy bit back an agonized moan. Every inch of her was hot, desperate. Aching.
Yes, there. More. Please.
The click of the door was the most dreadful sound she’d ever heard. For a split second both of them froze, a tableau of scandalous debauchery. And then Emmy gasped and straightened while Harland stepped away from her with almost unnatural haste.
Her skirts fell demurely back around her legs, and Harland, already a respectable distance away, turned his back to the door and cleared his throat loudly.
“And that, Miss Danvers, is how the exotic pineapple came to these shores. In the wild, of course, they are pollinated by hummingbirds, and occasionally bats, but here, I’m told, different methods must be deployed to ensure a successful harvest.”
Emmy blinked. He sounded so normal, as if the past few minutes had left him completely unaffected. She could barely remember her own name.
He turned, as if he’d only just become aware of the elderly couple who’d entered the conservatory and inclined his head in casual greeting. “Ah, Lord Travers. Lady Travers. Good evening. I was just discussing the ambassador’s famous pineapple with Miss Danvers. She is an ardent horticulturalist.”
Emmy managed to murmur an earnest agreement. An ardent whore, was more like it. She was certain her cheeks were a betraying shade of scarlet, and her hair a shocking mess, but the grey-haired couple clearly noticed nothing amiss. She sent up a thankful prayer for the concealing darkness.
Harland turned back to her and gave her a precise bow. “I do hope that satisfied your curiosity, Miss Danvers.” The edges of his lips quivered in a secret smile. “Do let me know if you require further clarification on the matter.”
He strode from the room without a second glance, and Emmy fought the desire to applaud his performance. He exuded arrogant indifference. Had he reacted any less quickly, they would have been steeped in scandal.
Lady Travers sent her a vague smile, devoid of speculative interest. Perhaps the thought of the notoriously selective Lord Melton seducing a nonentity like Emmy Danvers was just too preposterous to contemplate, despite the slightly dubious circumstances.
With her own show of unconcern, Emmy turned back to the flowers and feigned a rapt fascination in a tiger lily. Better to be thought an insufferably dull bluestocking than a woman who’d been on the verge of being debauched in the shrubbery. Her knees still felt weak.
Lord and Lady Travers began to stroll down one of the alternative paths, so Emmy bent and retrieved the ruby from where it had fallen in the dirt, then felt around on the floor for her hairpins and feathered comb.
She couldn’t go back into the ballroom with her hair in such disarray. She twisted it up, stabbing herself with several of the pins in the process because she was shaking, and hurried to the dressing room set aside for the ladies. With the help of a mirror, and one of the ambassador’s maids, she managed to make herself look halfway presentable.
There was nothing to be done about her lips—they looked redder and plumper than usual. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with devilry. Danger obviously agreed with her. Did she always look like this during a heist? She’d never taken the time to stop and peer in a mirror. Shaking her head, she made her way back to the ballroom.
There was no sign of Harland, and she told herself she was relieved. What had that been about? At first she’d thought he’d known she had the ruby. But then he’d started kissing her, and if his goal had been to search her and find it, then he’d failed.
It would be lovely to think that he’d been so caught up in kissing her that he’d become distracted, but she didn’t think that likely. Still, what other explanation was there?