the assembled crowd.
“I spoke to Caroline,” Seb said over the din. “The Danverses are here. She said the son would probably be seated. And the countess is wearing a powder-pink gown.”
Alex arched his head to see over the dancers and studied the chairs set up along the opposite side of the room. He dismissed several pink-gowned women as too young, and then his eye was caught by an elderly lady standing next to a handsome, seated man. The dowager’s snow-white hair had been arranged in an upswept style, and while she was obviously of advanced years, it was clear she had once been a great beauty. She retained a certain ingrained elegance.
Seb followed his gaze. “That’s them. The son’s called Luc. And Vidocq’s file omitted one crucial fact that puts paid to your theory he’s the new Nightjar. The man’s an amputee. Lost his right foot at Trafalgar.”
Alex studied him. They were of a similar age, a similar height. Luc Danvers did not appear to be lacking a foot; he must have adopted a prosthesis, like so many others Alex had encountered since the war. A faint bump under his breeches, just below the knee, seemed to confirm that notion.
“He’s almost as tall as either of us.” Alex frowned. “And broad. Even if he wasn’t missing a foot, he’d never have been able to fold himself into that beer barrel at Rundell and Bridge. Whoever we’re looking for, they’re smaller than that.”
“What about the daughter?” Seb asked. “Standing next to her grandmother. Her name is Emmeline.”
Alex moved his eyes to the right and froze.
Amidst the ever-moving gaiety of the ballroom, the woman was standing perfectly still, a sliver of darkness among all the frilly pastels. She was no debutante in ice blue or delicate pink, nor like the matrons in their somber greys and browns. Her dress was midnight blue, so dark it was almost black. Unfussy, unadorned with either ruffles or frills, it was striking in its elegant simplicity.
Alex narrowed his eyes, trying to discern her features. She’d chosen a place in the most shadowed part of the room.
She was a little over five feet. Her face was elfin, with a small nose, a softly pointed chin, and the hint of a smile at the edge of her lips. She looked playful, mischievous. As if she knew an amusing secret and didn’t want to share.
A flash of desire quickened his pulse. The woman’s sly merriment was oddly attractive. He couldn’t make out the color of her eyes from this distance, but her teeth flashed white as she smiled at something her brother said.
It was clear that she and the man were siblings. They were both attractive, with the same tilt of eyebrow, high cheekbones, and brown hair. And yet one version was undoubtedly masculine while the other was unmistakably feminine.
Alex watched as the foppish Lord Eversleigh approached the trio. Eversleigh was rich; he regularly lost hundreds of pounds when he played at the Tricorn, usually because he was so often in his cups. His weaving course across the room suggested he’d already sampled Lord Turnbull’s hospitality to the hilt.
He kissed the countess’s hand with a flourish, then turned his attention to the younger woman. After kissing her hand too, he proceeded to address his comments to her bosom, waving his lace-edged handkerchief in the air for emphasis. Her mouth adopted a faint curl of disdain, and Alex felt his own lips quirk in response. She was not impressed with the boorish Eversleigh. An astute judge of character, then.
“She’s small enough to fit in a barrel,” Alex murmured.
Chapter 6.
Alex watched the young woman, trying to place her in the role of thief. It was unlikely that someone from the midst of the ton should have adopted such an unlawful sideline, but not impossible.
The fact that her family had wealth was significant, since the Nightjar didn’t seem to profit from his crimes. His thefts were based on high-minded patriotic principle.
Three years of warfare had shown Alex that noble concepts like honor and justice were used only by those who could afford them. To a starving man, or a woman desperate for medicine for her sick child, the moral argument of whether stealing was wrong took second place to necessity.
Was Miss Danvers bored? In need of a challenge? Alex could sympathize with that sentiment. He worked for Bow Street even though he didn’t need the money. His investment in the Tricorn too gave him a great deal of satisfaction. He relished the