a crime. I bet I’m not the first woman to visit your chamber uninvited in the middle of the night.”
She quashed a hot flash of jealousy at the thought.
He sent her an impatient look. “Your father is dead. A dead man didn’t break into Rundell and Bridge. A dead man didn’t steal the blue diamond from the British Museum.” He leaned closer. “A dead man didn’t call me an unresponsive lump of rock.”
Emmy bit her lip to suppress a smile. So that still rankled, did it? Good.
“What do you want me to say? That I took over as the Nightjar from my father? Do you think anyone will believe that? I’m just a weak and foolish woman.”
That, hopefully, would be the opinion of a bench full of judges, should she ever be brought to trial. She would play upon their standard male prejudices: A young woman like herself was too stupid to mastermind a string of audacious thefts, too feeble to carry them out.
“You didn’t work alone. I know full well your brother is involved. And that housekeeper of yours, Sally Hawkins.”
Damn. Emmy tried to keep her face impassive. She was prepared to take sole blame for the Nightjar’s crimes, provided the rest of her family were spared. Perhaps it was time to divert his attention. She sent him a wistful smile. “I truly wish we’d met under different circumstances, Lord Melton. But the fact of the matter is, I’m—”
“A criminal?” he supplied smoothly.
She inclined her head but refused to admit it out loud. “And you’re—”
“Not?”
“Indeed. So we shall ever be on opposite sides. Like Wellington and Napoleon. But I like to think we could have been friends.”
He snorted. “As well ask a prosecutor and a defense lawyer to be friends.” He gave her a look from under his lashes that made her stomach twist. “I think we’re destined to be passionate enemies instead.”
There was an awkward pause.
“There’s no walking away from this,” he said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
Her delight at their banter evaporated, replaced by a heavy sense of fatalism.
“Talk to me,” he commanded. “Tell me how you became the Nightjar. This is not something you’ve taken on suddenly. Your skills must have taken years to hone. Who taught you? Your father?”
Emmy closed her eyes. So it began. The relentless questions designed to wear down her resistance. There really was no point in trying to wriggle out of it. He would break her eventually. He wouldn’t stop until he had the answers, the evidence he needed. Even if she stalled him now, it would only be a temporary reprieve. It might even be a relief to finally confess.
She sat up straighter in her chair and tried to emulate Camille’s worldly confidence. “I did everything in my power not to become a criminal, but it was inevitable, given my father’s decisions. And since I had no choice in the matter, I decided to see it as a personal challenge. If I was going to be a thief, then I would be the best thief London has ever seen.”
Harland’s expression of surprise was delightful. He clearly hadn’t expected to get a confession out of her so easily. She smiled. “I am a damned fine criminal, if I do say so myself.”
“You were,” he said brutally. “Until you got caught.”
Her chest tightened at that irrefutable truth.
“Why jewels?” he asked. “And why only ones from the French royal collection?”
Ah, so he’d made that connection. She’d thought as much. How else could he have predicted she’d go for Lady Carrington’s ruby and not some other prize?
She gave a sad half smile. “What is that phrase? ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’”
He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingertips on the arms. “You do know the true, legal definition of stealing, do you not? As in, taking something that doesn’t belong to you without intending to return it?”
A burst of righteous anger welled up inside her. “I have every intention of returning them! Just not to the people from whom I stole them. They will go back to their rightful owner.”
“And I suppose you’ve determined who that rightful owner is?” The sarcasm in his voice could have cut glass.
“Of course. The people of France.”
The silence that followed her pronouncement was profound. Harland stared at her as if the concept of her actually having a noble reason for stealing the jewels had never entered his head. She felt vaguely insulted. Had he really thought her so venal?