Page 41 of To Catch an Earl

As if she needed further confirmation, she ran the edge of her knife across it and watched as the blade left a telltale scratch on the surface. True ruby was hard, second only to diamond. It should not have yielded to the scratch.

Damn. Damn. Damn!

When had the ruby been exchanged for glass? Where was the true ruby?

Danton rose to his feet. He gathered the two diamonds and tucked them in his inside coat pocket. His face was mottled red with anger.

“You will get me the real ruby as soon as possible, Miss Danvers, or your family will pay the price. I do not make threats lightly.”

Emmy didn’t bother answering him. When he sauntered out of the room, she collapsed back into her chair and stared at the fraudulent stone in front of her, her mind a barrage of questions. Someone had swapped the ruby. But who? And when?

She took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. The Carringtons, either one of them, could have replaced the stone. Lord Carrington could have done it before he presented the necklace to his wife, but it was unlikely.Too many people had seen Lady Carrington wearing the necklace in public—and had a chance to inspect it at close range—for it to have been paste. The eagle-eyed ladies of thetonwould have gossiped and speculated about it for weeks.

Lady Carrington could have done it herself. She could have pawned the original and had a paste replacement made if she needed funds and didn’t want to tell her husband. Emmy bit her lip. Or perhaps another thief had beaten her to it? Plenty of people had access to Lady Carrington’s bedroom, if rumor were true.

But none of those explanations took into account the evil genius that was Alexander Harland. He was by far the most likely culprit.

Damn him!He had the real ruby safe somewhere, she was certain. That’s what he’d been doing at the Carringtons’ that day—arranging for its replacement. No wonder he hadn’t set anyone to catch her in the act; he hadn’t needed to. He’d been perfectly content to let her steal something that was almost worthless.

Bastard.She’dknownhe’d been taunting her with his double-layered words. He’d enjoyed playing with her, watching her sweat. She quashed a wave of reluctant admiration for such a sneaky maneuver. It was precisely the kind of thing she would have done.

Had he been trying to find the fake ruby on her person when he’d kissed her in the conservatory? Had he been feigning desire while she’d been practically swooning in his arms, panting with eagerness?

Emmy took a calming sip of tea. No. She might not have had much experience with men, but his desire hadn’t been feigned. She’d felt the rigid evidence of it pressed against her stomach, heard it in the desperate, throaty groans he’d made against her skin.

So, where did that leave them?

Whatever Harland’s reasons for kissing her, the fact remained that he obviously knew she was the Nightjar. He’d correctly surmised she would steal the ruby. He was probably on his way here right this very moment, to arrest her, with a search warrant.

Emmy stared into the deep red facets of the fake gem and a strange calm slid over her. Where was Luc? The two of them had discussed what they would do if she were ever caught, but it had always been in general, abstract terms. Camille had wanted to avoid all discussion of the subject, thinking it tempted fate to even say the words out loud.

Emmy had always said she’d take the blame. What was the point inallof them being punished? She’d made Luc swear that if she were exposed as the Nightjar, he would take Camille and Sally to France or Spain, anywhere to escape English justice. But that had been years ago. Camille was strong-willed, certainly, but she was over seventy years old. The rigors of travel would exhaust her.

Emmy stood. She wasn’t caught yet. There was still time for them all to leave the country. It would be a wrench, certainly, to leave behind the only life she’d ever known, and running away from a problem had never been her style. But better life as an exile than sentenced to death or transported halfway across the world on a prison hulk.

Decision made, she hastened to the door of the parlor and shouted out orders, even as she started down the stairs.

“Sally! I’m going to the park to get Luc. Wake Camille. Tell her we need to leave. Pack all her jewelry and a couple of dresses and—”

The crash of the door knocker silenced her tirade. Emmy skidded to a halt on the polished marble tiles.

Too late!A sense of fatalistic acceptance washed over her, and she straightened her spine. Very well. The game might be up, but she would accept the consequences of her actions with grace and poise. Her hand barely shook as she unlatched the door and braced herself to meet Harland’s penetrating gaze.

The youth who stood on the doorstep was not the man she expected.

“Letter for you, miss. From Bow Street.”

Emmy accepted it with a frown as the lad tipped his cap at her and scampered off. She ripped open the seal, scanned the contents, and let out a howl of furious disbelief.

Luc had been arrested on suspicion of being the Nightjar. He was being held for questioning at Bow Street regarding the recent break-in at the British Museum. She glared at the arrogant slash of ink at the bottom of the message. It simply read “Harland.”

Double, triple damn.

By the time Camille came downstairs, Emmy had decided what to do. Harland’s arrest of Luc—presumably while her brother took his customary early-morning stroll around Mount Street Gardens—was clearly designed to provoke her.

She’d initially thought of marching straight over to Bow Street, demanding to see Luc, and then haranguing Harland with a furious diatribe about harassing innocent citizens on the basis of insufficient evidence.

But Harland knew he had the wrong man. Luc’s physical disability ruled him out as the active participant in any of the Nightjar’s recent crimes. He clearly wasn’tthe one who’d been leaping between balconies, hiding in barrels, and stowing away in musty sarcophagi. No. Harland, the duplicitous swine, had correctly surmised that threatening her family was a far more effective weapon against her than threatening her own person.

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