Page 43 of To Catch an Earl

Get the job done, Em.

A desk stood in one corner of the room. Emmy reached between her breasts, pulled out the black feather she’d stashed inside her stays, and kissed it for luck. She placed it dead center of the otherwise-clean desk. Mission accomplished.

She turned to go, but a flash caught her eye; her own perfume bottle, right there on the side table. It was almost empty, but she reached out to steal it back anyway. And then her hand stopped, arrested in midair, as she recognized the faceted lump that lay next to it.

Lady Carrington’s ruby.

Hell and damnation!She’dknownit was him!

It was the size of a pigeon’s egg, glinting and beautiful even in the dim light. Emmy reached for it just as the rasp of a tinderbox ricocheted through the silence.

Chapter 23.

Emmy twisted around in horror as Harland calmly set a flame to the wick of an oil lamp and turned it up so a warm glow filled the space between them. The door to the bedroom behind him was open—how long had he been watching her from the shadows?

A million permutations of what might happen next flashed through her brain. Words sprang to her lips:I can explain! It’s not what it looks like!

Except she couldn’t explain. Not without dragging Luc and Camille down too. Better to hold her tongue.

The look Harland sent her pierced her to the core. It was filled with such accusation, such knowledge. He wasn’t surprised, damn him. He’d known all along that she’d come.God, she was so stupid!He’d laid a trap, and she’d walked right into it.

He was wearing a shirt—barely. It was open at the neck and the untucked front extended to midthigh. He still wore breeches, thank God, but his feet were bare. Had hebeen lying in wait for her? Emmy could barely draw in a breath.

It was he who broke the agonizing silence. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms casually over his chest.

“You know, Bonaparte once said ‘Never interrupt your enemy when they’re making a mistake,’ but in this case I felt compelled to intervene. We can’t have you stealing that ruby now, can we, Miss Danvers?”

His voice was a deep growl, scratchy with sleep. He sounded pleasant enough, amused even, but beneath this outward show of courtesy, he was furious, Emmy was sure.

“Do you know what I hate, Miss Danvers?” he continued softly. “I hate being blind.”

Emmy drew her brows together. “I thought you’d only lost—”

He waved that away. “No. I mean that I have been blinded byyou. But no longer. The real Emmeline Danvers stands before me.”

His mocking gaze made a slow, thorough inventory of her outfit, from the V of her dark shirt to the way her breeches clung to her legs. Her skin heated. He gestured toward the chair that was stationed in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

Emmy stepped sideways and dropped into the chair as her legs gave way beneath her.

Oh, God, what would happen to her? Would she hang? Be transported? Sentenced to hard labor?

Harland prowled forward and took the comfortable armchair opposite her, lounging back in it like a king as he regarded her with cynical interest. Emmy dug her nails into her palms. He tilted his head, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “You’re so small,” he mused aloud. “Dodressmakers charge you less because of how little fabric it takes to make your outfits?”

She blinked at the unusual topic. She’d assumed the interrogation would begin immediately:Tell me where the jewels are hidden. Tell me why you did it. Tell mehowyou did it.

She wouldn’t tell him a thing.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Not that I don’t approve. You in breeches is quite possibly the finest thing I’ve seen all year.” His eyes clashed with hers. “A brand-new fantasy to add to my collection.”

Emmy was sure her heart stopped beating. She sucked in a breath. The interrogationhadbegun; he meant to scandalize her into submission.

“I have scores of them,” he said darkly. “Of you and me together.” His gaze lasted five whole beats of her heart before he looked away.

Good God.

Something dark and dangerous shivered in the air between them, a mutual awareness. Hunter and hunted. Predator and prey. Emmy’s heart raced, but mixed in with the fear was a sharp, unwelcome stab of desire. She must be mad.

He was watching her with a smile that was hard to define. She regarded him warily, as she would an unpredictable wild animal, uncertain of his mood.

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