Page 3 of To Catch an Earl

She managed a watery smile at his weak attempt at a joke. “No. But I have to go.”

A good thief always knew when to leave the scene of a crime. Kissing Alex Harland had been better than she’d ever imagined, but it might also prove the biggest mistake of her life. Because now she knew precisely what she was missing.

She started back toward the garden gate. He picked up his mask, which he’d dropped on the grass, and retied it. When they reached the steps of the terrace, he caught her hand and tugged her around to face him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she forestalled him.

“Don’t say goodbye.”

He inclined his head. “All right. Let’s simply say good night, then. Until we meet again.”

He kissed her hand, his lips warm on her skin, and her stomach clenched. She already missed him. How was that even possible? She pulled away and started up the steps.

“I’ll find you,” he vowed at her retreating back. “When I return.”

Emmy bit back a bittersweet smile. He would only find her if she wanted to be found. And she had far too many secrets for that.

“No,” she whispered, too softly for him to hear. “You won’t.”

Chapter 1.

London, 1816.

“That blasted Nightjar has done it again!”

Alexander Harland, Earl of Melton, glanced up from his morning paper. Sir Nathaniel Conant, Chief Magistrate of Bow Street, dropped a sheaf of papers onto the table beside him and lowered himself into a vacant armchair with an irritated exhalation. “That devil—whoever he is—is a menace to society.”

Alex concealed a groan of impatience. He’d barely finished breakfast. At this hour, the Tricorn Club’s salon was usually empty. Benedict, having recently married, had moved out last month; “jumped ship,” as Seb had wryly phrased it. And Seb himself, the third pillar of their unholy triumvirate, was doubtless still sleeping off last night’s boisterous trip to the Theatre Royal. Alex had banked on a good hour of uninterrupted reading before being bothered by anyone.

Clearly, it was not to be. Mickey, the Tricorn’s mountainous doorman, had been given strict instructions to admit Sir Nathaniel whenever he so desired. Alex twistedhis head to glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. Eventsmustbe concerning to have roused the elderly peer at the ungodly hour of nine o’clock.

He carefully folded the newspaper and placed it on the table next to him. “Another jewel has been stolen?”

Conant’s jowls wobbled as he shook his head. “The sneaky beggar’s hit close to home this time, Harland. Pinched a bloody great diamond from Rundell, Bridge and Rundell.”

“The Royal jewelers?” Alex raised his eyebrows as his mouth twitched in reluctant admiration. “You have to give the man credit; he never takes the easy route, does he? I’d have thought their security was tight as a drum.”

“It is. But the Nightjar still managed to breech it. And that’s not the worst of it.” Conant gave a disgruntled sniff. “The blighter couldn’t have stolen a worse piece. The diamond he took belongs to the Prince Regent himself. He’d asked Rundell to fashion it into a pendant. Prinny wants it found as soon as possible—and the culprit prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

Alex’s pulse kicked up at the prospect of a new challenge. Since his return from the continent last summer, he, Benedict, and Seb had helped Bow Street investigate a number of sensitive cases. Two months ago they’d foiled an attempt to rescue Bonaparte from exile on the island of St. Helena via submarine, and the Regent had shown his gratitude by awarding all three of them with titles. Benedict was now the Earl of Ware, Seb had been made the Earl of Mowbray, and Alex the illustrious Earl of Melton.

Not that Sir Nathaniel paid it any heed. He still addressed Alex as Harland.

“Just when everything’s quiet, and I think the sneaky devil’s retired, or dead, he pops up out of nowhere and steals another gem. It’s maddening, Harland. Maddening.”

“Whatdowe know about him?” Alex asked.

“Precious little, to tell the truth.” Conant gestured at the file of papers on the table between them. “Whatever we have, it’s in there. The mode of operation is always the same; he only ever steals one gem at a time, even when he has the chance to take more. The pieces he takes are always jewels of exceptional quality—but so are the ones he leaves. And the cheeky bugger always leaves a solitary black feather in place of the missing item, as a calling card.” Conant took an indignant breath. “He’s been at it for years. His crimes stretch back over a decade, at least. And I’m sure there have been times when his feather’s been overlooked. Those bumbling clodpolls in the provinces aren’t as meticulous as you and I, when it comes to preserving evidence.”

Alex inclined his head in acknowledgment of the gruff compliment. “Presumably he leaves the feather because he wants the thefts to be known as his work?”

Conant scowled. “But why? Are those from whom he steals supposed to congratulate themselves on being members of an exclusive club? Those with the dubious honor of being one of the Nightjar’s victims?”

“Who knows? But at least it gives us a way of linking the crimes. Perhaps there’s a pattern, some logic to them? They’re not opportunistic thefts.”

“I should say not. Each one has to have been meticulously planned. No two are the same. And no evidence is ever left, save for the feather. It’s as if the man’s a wraith.”

Alex’s lips twitched in amusement. “Oh, he’s flesh and blood, I guarantee it. And sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake. Everyone does. Do you think we’re looking for an older man, since he’s been active for so long? Or a group of thieves working together?”

Conant grunted. “That’s what I expectyouto find out.”He steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “The odd thing is, the gems he steals are the kind of stones that make jewelers sit up and take notice, but they never reappear on the market. We constantly check the pawn shops, jewelers, auctions, and gem dealers. They just… disappear.”

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