to let Sally and Camille know that we have the jewels. I don’t want them to worry unnecessarily.”
“You can write them a letter now. I’ll have it delivered straight away. There’s paper and ink on my desk.”
She nodded, like a queen bestowing favor upon her lowly subjects, and turned to the massive doorman. “Good. In that case, Mister, er, Mickey,” she amended, when she realized she had no idea of the man’s surname, “I would very much appreciate some food. And a nice cup of tea, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
The giant’s ears turned pink as she gave him her sweetest smile.
“Of course, miss. I’ll go tell Mister Lagrasse. It’ll be his pleasure.”
Alex rolled his eyes and she just knew what he was thinking: What kind of prisoner ordered people about in such a manner? She didn’t care. She was cross and worried and altogether out of sorts. If she was going to be his captive for another few hours, at least, until they met Danton, then he could damn well provide her with a decent meal.
She swept up the stairs in high dudgeon.
* * *
Seb let out a quiet laugh as Emmy stalked away from them. “That’s quite the subdued prisoner you have there. She seems properly terrified of you.”
Alex shot him a filthy look. “I’d like to see you do any better. The woman’s a handful.”
“I’ll just bet she is.” Seb chuckled again, his eyes on Emmy’s pert bottom as she mounted the staircase, and Alex quashed the urge to put him in a chokehold to give him something else to think about. He turned and strode into the study, where he discovered Benedict Wylde, Earl of Ware, ensconced by the fire.
“Benedict’s here, by the way,” Seb said belatedly.
Ben rose from his chair. “I hear you’ve been having adventures without us.” He eyed the box with undisguised interest.
“I’m amazed you’ve managed to tear yourself away from your wife,” Alex countered sarcastically. “We count ourselves honored by your presence.”
Benedict laughed. “One day, the two of you are going to find yourselves happily leg-shackled, and we’ll see how willing you are to traipse around the countryside in the rain.”
Seb sent him a doubtful look. “There’s not a woman alive who can make me willingly enter the parson’s mousetrap.”
Benedict grimaced. Seb had certainly made no secret of his views on the subject: marriage was for idiots. In all fairness, Alex thought, Benedict’s marriage was probably the first happy one Seb had ever encountered. His own family certainly bore no shining examples of matrimonial bliss. Seb’s father, the Duke of Winwick, was one of the loudest proponents against marriage Alex had ever met.
It was the worst kept secret in the ton that Seb’s father had not been married to his mother at the time of his conception. The duke’s first wife, a dull, dutiful woman, had died giving birth to Seb’s older half brother, Geoffrey, who was only eight months older than Seb himself.
Seb was the result of an affair the duke had had with a volatile Italian contessa. When his first wife had died, the duke swiftly married the already-pregnant contessa to legitimize his son and ensure he had a “spare,” in case Geoffrey proved as sickly as his mother.
The marriage had not proved a happy one. The contessa was far too spirited to be content to stay in the country and play duchess. She’d returned to London and taken a series of lovers, and the duke had continued his rakish ways with a steady succession of ever-younger actresses and courtesans.
Seb’s mother had died of smallpox when he was six, and the duke had vowed there and then never to remarry. Women, he declared, were just not worth the bother.
It was no wonder Seb’s views on the subject were jaundiced.
Alex glanced over at Benedict. Marriage did seem to agree with him, though. He’d been disgustingly happy with his new wife for months. He’d barely stopped smiling since the wedding, and he’d had this smug, self-satisfied expression on his face, as though he’d discovered some secret Alex and Seb had yet to fathom.
Not that Alex begrudged his friend happiness, of course, but he knew the chances of himself finding similar happiness in the married state were exceedingly remote.
Seb and Benedict both let out slow, impressed whistles when Alex lifted the lid of the box and showed them the jewels. Seb picked up the peach-colored diamond, the one Emmy had called the Hortensia, and held it up to the light.
“Bloody hell.