remorse for what you have done?” It was more statement than question, but Emmy answered it anyway.
“Honestly? No. I feel pride. If you‘re expecting an apology, you’ll be waiting until doomsday. I will never apologize for doing my duty. My duty to my father, and my patriotic duty to France.”
Stealing back the jewels was morally the right thing to do. Emmy truly believed that. She just wished the responsibility had been foisted on someone else. Patriotism was all well and good, but in pitting her against Harland, a man she cared for, it had removed any possibility that they might have had a future together.
He sighed. “The diamond you took from Rundell and Bridge belonged to the Prince Regent. He wants it back.”
“Well, he can’t have it. It’s not his.”
“Tell me where it is.”
“I can’t,” she said in perfect honesty. She had no idea what Danton had done with it.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You little fool! This isn’t a game. It’s a damn risky business. Who put you up to this? Your brother? Your grandmother?”
“Nobody. It was all me. Working alone.” She curled her fists against her thighs. “You don’t understand. I had to do it.”
His eyes flashed, and she desperately tried to think of something that might appease him. “What if I collaborate?” she said quickly. “I’ll return the diamond, and the blue from the British Museum, in exchange for immunity from prosecution.”
She had no idea how she’d get the jewels back from Danton, but still—
“The Prince will never accept that. He wants the Nightjar punished to the full extent of the law. And what about all the other jewels that have been stolen over the years? We’re just supposed to forget about those, are we?”
He let out a long, frustrated exhale. Emmy turned her face to the wall and focused on the bottle of her perfume that still sat on the side table. She was in no position to negotiate. She was doomed. But she could still drag Danton down with her.
“All right. I’ll tell you who ‘put me up to it.’ A man named Emile Danton, a Frenchman.”
She told him about Danton’s letters. His threats and demands. The Rundell & Bridge heist and the one at the museum, making sure not to implicate Luc, Sally, or Camille in her testimony. To his credit, Harland didn’t interrupt her. He just sat and listened, and when she’d finished, she felt strangely light and unburdened.
His chair scraped backwards as he stood, his expression impossible to read. “I have to go out.”
“Where?”
“To Bow Street. I’ll have your brother released.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief, even though Luc was only being freed because she’d condemned herself so thoroughly. “Thank you.”
He nodded, crossed to a handsome mahogany chest, and pulled out a cravat. Emmy thought he’d put it on, but he disappeared into the bedroom, and she was mystified to hear the splash of water in the porcelain washbowl. He returned with the dripping length of cloth twisted in his hands.
“Cotton is stronger when wet,” he said by way of explanation. “Put your hands behind the chair.”
Emmy gave a groan of protest, even though she hadn’t truly expected him to leave her alone in the room, unsecured. “I promise I won’t run.”
He didn’t justify that with an answer. She tried to ignore the feel of his warm breath on her neck as he crouched behind her and secured the wet cotton around her wrists.
“This seems to be a theme in my life recently,” she said lightly, to cover her panic. “I am forever being confined in places I have no wish to be. Barrels. Sarcophagi. Gentlemen’s chambers.”
“I apologize,” he said gruffly. “It won’t be for long.”
No, of course it wouldn’t. He’d probably return from Bow Street with a set of Emmy-sized iron shackles. She was surprised he didn’t have a pair lying around the place, ready to use in just such a situation.
He gave the bindings a final tug and stepped back, apparently satisfied. She gave her wrists an experimental twist and bit back a curse. They really were inescapable, damn him.
She heard the rustle of clothing from behind her but staunchly refused to look as he finished dressing. When he stepped in front of her, she had to suppress a scowl. He was unreasonably handsome. His broad shoulders and long thighs—both of which had been intimately pressed against her only hours ago—were outlined by his tan breeches and immaculately cut jacket.
She wanted to kick him in the shins.
His eyes rested for