by Kate Bateman
She was stroking the waxy petals of an orchid now, and he tried not to remember the way those fingers had felt against his skin.
Concentrate.
She turned back to him, with those big wide eyes, and he experienced the usual jolt, that strange humming awareness of being alive. He’d felt the sensation once before, from an “electro-static machine” Lord Braxton had hired as a parlor trick. It had made his nerves tingle. Emmy Danvers produced the same reaction.
He couldn’t allow himself to feel anything for her. She was a criminal and he was sworn to uphold the law.
Yet here he was, breathless with desire.
The faint strains of a quadrille drifted in through the doorway, but he felt disconnected from it all, as if they were in another, more elemental world, one that consisted of darkness and earth. Her pupils seemed enormous, her skin luminous against the near-black of her dress, and he curled his fingers into his palms against the urge to put them around her throat. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to strangle her or ravish her.
He felt positively medieval, freed from the trappings of polite civilization by the shadows and the heat. There was no point in denying he wanted her. No point in pretending he wasn’t going to kiss her either. He’d thought of little else for days. Craved it like the laudanum they’d given him when he’d first been wounded.
She’d hidden the jewel somewhere on her person, he was certain. Finding it was going to be an absolute pleasure.
He closed the distance between them and the lush scent of her filled his nose, headier than all the flowers surrounding them. He slid his hand around her nape. She sucked in a surprised breath and started to object, but he didn’t want to hear excuses.
“Don’t say another word.”
His lips found hers with unerring precision. He half expected her to push him away, but with a muffled groan she lifted herself up on tiptoe and returned the kiss as if she were as desperate to taste him as he was to taste her.
Hellfire. This woman was always a surprise.
Alex closed his eyes and kissed her deeply, extravagantly. He let her taste his hunger, taking her breath and giving her his in a sinful, erotic exchange. Her heart pounded against his chest as he pulled her close, the same heartbeat that throbbed in his ears, a deafening drumbeat of sound.
You’re supposed to be finding the jewel.
The sensible thought struggled to surface against the drowning tide of pleasure. Alex forced his hands from her nape and stroked down her arms, then slid them back up over her ribs to her armpits. She made a little whimper of pleasure against his lips; the sound went straight to his cock. He kept on kissing her, claiming her attention while he drew his thumbs down the center of her bodice, feeling for the telltale bump of a hidden gem. But all he could feel were the stiff whalebone strips of her corset and the soft, yielding woman beneath.
His hand skimmed over her breast and she arched up into his touch with a groan that made him feel invincible. Unable to resist, he slipped his fingers inside her bodice and bit back a groan of his own. God, she was so soft. The perfect weight in his hand.
Time lost all meaning. There were no seconds or minutes. Only decades luxuriating in her mouth, eons of pleasure as he tugged down the front of her dress and lowered his lips to her skin. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he flicked her with his tongue, glorying in the contrasting textures of hard, ruched nipple and satiny curve of breast.
A reckless wash of desire swamped him. More. He wanted more.
Chapter 20.
Emmy could barely think as Harland’s tongue laved her skin. She’d been close to swooning with his kisses, but this? Words failed her.
Heat spread throughout her body and the muscles of her stomach contracted as his wicked mouth sent a spearing sensation down between her legs. He caught her nipple between his lips and the gentle tug almost buckled her knees. It was exquisite torture, one that somehow both satisfied and created more of an ache at the same time.
She vaguely registered the loosening of her coiffure. Pins were falling, the heavy coils sliding down, but it was of no importance when Harland was doing such wondrous things. It was only when the metal comb that secured her feathered headpiece jabbed painfully into her scalp that sanity returned in an unwelcome rush.
Good God! The ruby!
Emmy made a desperate grab for her hair, but there was no stopping its downward momentum; the heavy mass slithered to one side and began to unravel. She arched her back, offering herself even more shamelessly to Harland’s mouth in the process, and tilted her head to prevent the gem from falling to the floor. With only the faintest of thuds, the ruby tumbled into the foliage behind her.
Emmy let out an inaudible sigh of relief and a thrilling wave of recklessness engulfed her. Harland could search every inch of her now and he’d never find it.
She frowned into the darkness. Was that why his hands were roving all over her? Was he searching her?
A stab of indignant outrage was swiftly followed by a smile. Who cared what his motives were? This might be the one and only time she ever got to experience the wonderful things he was doing. She certainly didn’t want him to stop.
Emmy pulled his face back up to hers and kissed him, hard. He groaned against her mouth.
“Sweet,” he murmured almost accusingly. “You taste so bloody sweet.”
His hand stroked her unbound hair and she shivered as he coiled it around his fist and tugged. The possessive, almost barbaric, gesture pebbled her skin. He opened his hand and slid his fingers down her spine, from neck to waist, then farther still, spreading them wide to cup her bottom. He bunched the fabric of her skirt, drawing it slowly upward, and the warm air was a shocking caress against the bare skin above her stockings. An achy, excited feeling bloomed at the apex of her thighs as he slid his hand up over the heated silk of her drawers.
Emmy understood his destination. She and Sally had discussed the things a man could do to a woman, but Sally had never adequately described the sheer wanton pleasure of it. The urgency.
His fingers found the slit in her drawers. Emmy gripped his shoulders and squirmed in mortified bliss as he stroked the sensitive folds between her legs, sliding in her body’s natural slickness. He skated around the tiny nub of pleasure, teasing her mercilessly with the promise of more, and she rocked against his hand, urging him on. He kissed her deeply, claiming her with his mouth as his finger circled the entrance to her body, hovering so close that Emmy bit back an agonized moan. Every inch of her was hot, desperate. Aching.
Yes, there. More. Please.
The click of the door was the most dreadful sound she’d ever heard. For a split second both of them froze, a tableau of scandalous debauchery. And then Emmy gasped and straightened while Harland stepped away from her with almost unnatural haste.
Her skirts fell demurely back around her legs, and Harland, already a respectable distance away, turned his back to the door and cleared his throat loudly.
“And that, Miss Danvers, is how the exotic pineapple came to these shores. In the wild, of course, they are pollinated by hummingbirds, and occasionally bats, but here, I’m told, different methods must be deployed to ensure a successful harvest.”
Emmy blinked. He sounded so normal, as if the past few minutes had left him completely unaffected. She could barely remember her own name.
He turned, as if he’d only just become aware of the elderly couple who’d entered the conservatory and inclined his head in casual greeting. “Ah, Lord Travers. Lady Travers. Good evening. I was just discussing the ambassador’s famous pineapple with Miss Danvers. She is an ardent horticulturalist.”
Emmy managed to murmur an earnest agreement. An ardent whore, was more like it. She was certain her cheeks were a betraying shade of scarlet, and her hair a shocking mess, but the grey-haired couple clearly noticed nothing amiss. She sent up a thankful prayer for the concealing darkness.
Harland turned back to her and gave her a precise bow. “I do hope that s
atisfied your curiosity, Miss Danvers.” The edges of his lips quivered in a secret smile. “Do let me know if you require further clarification on the matter.”
He strode from the room without a second glance, and Emmy fought the desire to applaud his performance. He exuded arrogant indifference. Had he reacted any less quickly, they would have been steeped in scandal.
Lady Travers sent her a vague smile, devoid of speculative interest. Perhaps the thought of the notoriously selective Lord Melton seducing a nonentity like Emmy Danvers was just too preposterous to contemplate, despite the slightly dubious circumstances.
With her own show of unconcern, Emmy turned back to the flowers and feigned a rapt fascination in a tiger lily. Better to be thought an insufferably dull bluestocking than a woman who’d been on the verge of being debauched in the shrubbery. Her knees still felt weak.
Lord and Lady Travers began to stroll down one of the alternative paths, so Emmy bent and retrieved the ruby from where it had fallen in the dirt, then felt around on the floor for her hairpins and feathered comb.
She couldn’t go back into the ballroom with her hair in such disarray. She twisted it up, stabbing herself with several of the pins in the process because she was shaking, and hurried to the dressing room set aside for the ladies. With the help of a mirror, and one of the ambassador’s maids, she managed to make herself look halfway presentable.
There was nothing to be done about her lips—they looked redder and plumper than usual. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with devilry. Danger obviously agreed with her. Did she always look like this during a heist? She’d never taken the time to stop and peer in a mirror. Shaking her head, she made her way back to the ballroom.
There was no sign of Harland, and she told herself she was relieved. What had that been about? At first she’d thought he’d known she had the ruby. But then he’d started kissing her, and if his goal had been to search her and find it, then he’d failed.
It would be lovely to think that he’d been so caught up in kissing her that he’d become distracted, but she didn’t think that likely. Still, what other explanation was there? That he’d simply happened on her in the conservatory and decided to kiss her because he wanted to? Even more unlikely. A man like Alexander Harland always had an ulterior motive. Maybe he’d been hoping to befuddle her so much, she’d blurt out her crimes?
Either way, she’d been granted an unlikely reprieve, and she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She caught Luc’s eye across the ballroom, and he made his way over to her.
“Run into trouble?” he asked casually, raising his brows as he noticed her different coiffure.
Emmy fought a blush. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Oh, she’d handled Harland, all right. And he’d handled her. Most proficiently.
Mortification mixed with frustration coiled inside her. Thank heavens they’d been interrupted. She’d been shamefully close to giving herself to him. Instead of thinking of ways to get away from him, she’d kissed him back, then lost herself in the taste and scent and feel. She could still recall the texture of his hair under her fingers, the incredible sensation of his hands on her breasts. His mouth on them.
Camille bustled up. “Are we ready to leave?”
Emmy could only nod.
When the carriage arrived home, she went straight up to her room. She barely glanced at the ruby, throwing it carelessly onto her bedside table before she collapsed facedown on her bed with a groan of dismay.
What a night. She was exhausted from the sheer range of emotions she’d encountered, from nervous excitement to dread, elation to panic, then guilty, reckless pleasure. Kissing Harland had been the real triumph, not successfully stealing the ruby. He’d warned her not to play with fire, but sparring with him was so full of paradoxical pleasure, it was hard to stop.
Chapter 21.
“He’s back,” Sally said ominously.
Emmy glanced up from her solitary breakfast and her heart started to pound at the thought of seeing Harland again. “Who’s back?” she croaked.
Sally sent her a dire look. “Danton, that’s who. He’s down in the hall, cooling his heels.”
Emmy’s spirits plummeted and dread replaced anticipation. “Where’s Luc?”
“Out for his usual walk around the park.”
Emmy cursed. Hellfire. She didn’t want to have to deal with Danton on her own, but Camille was still upstairs asleep, and she didn’t want to rouse her.
“Show him up. And leave the door open.”
When Danton entered, Emmy studied the man who’d made her life a misery for almost a full year.
Sally had described him well. He was of average height and of stocky build, perhaps a decade older than Emmy herself, and his features had a childish, petulant cast to them. He reminded her of a baby about to have a tantrum, except for the calculating gleam in his eyes. There was nothing innocent in his gaze. His eyes roamed over her face and figure, lingering lasciviously at her bosom and lips as if he had the right to examine her. As if he owned her.
Emmy felt a chill sweep over her skin when he smiled. This was a man who knew the cost of everything and the value of nothing. And he clearly relished his role of puppet master, making her family dance to his tune.
“Miss Danvers. We meet at last.” He inclined his head. When Emmy sank back into her seat, he settled himself in the chair opposite her, making himself at home with a familiarity that made her bristle.
“I have been all curiosity to meet the thief who took up the Nightjar’s mantle.”
Emmy nodded stiffly.
He picked up a butter knife and toyed with it between his fingers. “I will admit to a certain hesitancy when I heard a female would take his place, but I own I have been delighted by your success. You have, I believe, recovered the Regent’s diamond and the French blue?”
Emmy nodded again. She didn’t trust her tongue. It would be foolish to antagonize this man, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t make her lose her temper. What gave him the right to force her to do things? And how dare he suggest that as a woman she was somehow less capable of doing the job than a man?
She was glad Luc wasn’t here. He might have been goaded into doing something foolish. Like trying to stab him with that butter knife.
Her cool silence didn’t seem to affect Danton. He raised his brows and helped himself to a bread roll. “And what about the ruby?”
Emmy found her voice. “I have that too. I retrieved it last night.”
If Danton had come to collect the jewels, she might as well hand all three of them over to him. No need to give him another reason to call. “I’ll go and get them now.”
She rose and hurried out of the room, leaving Sally to keep an eye on him from the hallway. She retrieved the two diamonds from inside one of her shoes and collected the ruby from her bedside table.
When she placed the three gems in front of Danton, his delighted smile made her want to slap his face. She’d sweated blood and tears to get those jewels. Faced danger and possible arrest. It wasn’t fair that he simply got to take them away. Selling them had never been part of her father’s vision. Giving them to Danton simply so he could sell them for profit felt like a betrayal of the cruelest sort. Her stomach cramped in misery.
She watched, biting the inside of her cheek, as Danton examined first the Rundell & Bridge diamond and then the smoky blue from the museum. Rainbow shards scattered over the white tablecloth as he held them up to the morning sunlight, and the jewels fragmented the pale beam like a prism.
But when he picked up the ruby, he sucked in a breath. His features hardened and his mouth turned down in displeasure. “Is this your idea of a joke, Miss Danvers? What do you mean by giving me this?”
Emmy frowned. “You asked for Lady Carrington’s ruby. That’s it.”
His eyes flashed in temper. “This is no ruby. Look at it! It’s paste. Worthless!” He threw the stone across the table towar
d her.
Emmy stared at him, dumbfounded. She hadn’t taken a good look at the jewel last night; it had been dark, and she’d been too distracted by what had happened between herself and Harland. Was it possible she’d been tricked?
Surely not.
Danton’s voice, filled with fury, broke into her thoughts like a dreadful echo. “Do you think to trick me, girl? Do you take me for a fool?”
Emmy leapt to her feet and snatched up the stone from where he’d tossed it. “No! Of course not. I—I—”
She couldn’t explain it. Now she looked at the stone in the daylight, it was painfully obvious it was colored glass. It was a fine paste copy, one of the highest quality, but she’d seen enough of the real thing to know what to look for. She squinted at the surface of the jewel and with a sinking heart identified the tiny white spots that indicated gas bubbles, the fine lines of surface-reaching fractures, neither of which were found in true rubies.
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?