Page 23 of To Catch an Earl

“Whether or not she’s attractive is neither here nor there. Justice will be served. Let’s not forget what happened the last time I gave a pretty woman the benefit of the doubt.”

Seb levelled him with a direct stare. “This is nothing like Spain, Alex. Not the same at all.”

It had been one of Alex’s blackest moments, an experience he’d never been able to forget. They’d been escorting a group of French prisoners of war through the mountains and had stopped near a small village. As usual, a group of locals had appeared, offering food and drink. A young Spanish woman carrying a basket of flowers had approached the group of bound prisoners, who were resting on the ground.

She was beautiful; her unbound hair was wild around her face, her eyes flashing brown. The fringed edge of her burnt-orange shawl fluttered as she walked. All heads turned to follow her progress.

Alex’s commanding officer had just motioned at her to move away from the men when she reached into her basket and pulled out a grenade.

The entire camp stilled. Alex had been on lookout; his rifle was already in his hands. Someone shouted an order to shoot, but he’d hesitated. He didn’t want to shoot a woman. He couldn’t believe she would carry out her threat.

The explosion, when it came seconds later, killed the woman and the two Frenchmen closest to her and wounded a dozen more. It transpired that her husband had been killed by the French the week before.

Alex closed his eyes. It still rankled. He’d been naïve, blinded by her attractive appearance, still clinging to the faint hope that the world wasn’t as brutal as he already knew it to be. His gut had warned him of danger, but he’d ignored his instincts and allowed emotion to override his training. Innocent men—even if they were technically the enemy—had died because of his weakness.

In hindsight, the situation had a certain dark irony. Back then, he’d still had full vision; he’d been blinded by hope and inexperience. Now, he was blinded in truth, at least partially, but never again would he be fooled by a pretty face. He’d learned his lesson.

“We can’t just walk in there and search the place,” Seb said, interrupting his brooding thoughts. “We need a warrant from Conant.”

“I know that.”

“Then why—?”

“I don’t know,” Alex said irritably. “I just want to take a look at her. In her home, the place she feels most secure.She’ll be confident there. Relaxed. She might let something slip that incriminates her.”

He couldn’t explain it logically, but he was convinced that if he just looked her in the eye he’dknow. He’d see it in her face. The guilt. The amusement. The spark of challenge in her eyes.

“Besides, there are plenty of ways to get what we want without a search warrant. Sometimes all you have to do is ask nicely.”

Chapter 12.

Harland’s timing was unfortunate.

Emmy, Luc, and Camille had just sat down to an early dinner so they could go and watch one of Sally’s friends, Molly, perform at the Haymarket Theatre.

An impatient pounding on the front door had Emmy and Camille glancing at one another in wide-eyed alarm. Emmy’s first thought was that it was Danton, come to demand not only the Rundell & Bridge diamond but also the blue one she’d stolen the previous night. Both lay on the white tablecloth between them.

Quick as a flash, Emmy seized the blue stone and dropped it into the bowl of soup in front of her. It was, thankfully, leek and potato, and therefore opaque. Beef consomméwould have been a disaster. Camille, with a chuckle, did the same with the clear diamond. It made a distinct splash just as Sally reappeared in the doorway and announced, “Lords Melton and Mowbray to see you.”

Emmy was certain her face must be an incriminating shade of pink, but Camille merely dabbed the cornersof her mouth with her napkin and said loudly, “Atthishour? How singular. Still, I suppose it must be something important.”

“Shall I put them in the salon, ma’am?” Sally asked.

“Heavens no. You may show them in here. If they will come visiting at dinnertime, they should expect people to be eating dinner.”

A wave of excitement that bordered on nausea rose up as Harland and his friend appeared in the doorway. Camille gave them both a radiant smile and batted her eyelashes. Emmy almost rolled her eyes. Sometimes her grandmother acted more like a girl of sixteen than a woman of seventy. “My lords, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Good evening, Countess. Danvers. Miss Danvers.”

Harland’s voice did fluttery things to her insides. Emmy tried to keep her eyes on the soup but failed. The instant she looked up, his blue gaze bored into hers, and she pressed her lips together to stop a completely inappropriate smile. He looked harried. Angry. Harassed. He’d definitely discovered the note, then.

Camille rose from her seat, and Emmy did the same. Luc, however, remained seated. “To what do we owe the pleasure, gentlemen?”

“I apologize for interrupting your dinner.” Harland swept the table with a brief glance and Emmy quelled the urge to cover her soup bowl with her napkin. He made a motion with his hand. “Please, sit down.”

Camille sank back into her chair, as did Emmy, although she would have preferred to remain standing. Harland loomed over her at the best of times. There was no need to add to the height difference.

“I was wondering if I might have a brief word with Miss Danvers?”

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