An Unexpected Earl Page 21

  He fixed his solemn eyes on her. “I don’t care as long as you’re with me.”

  She stilled in disbelief, stunned, as his true meaning dawned on her. What he was proposing shook through her, churning and roiling. No, he couldn’t possibly be suggesting—

  And she couldn’t possibly accept.

  “What you’re proposing…” Grief threatened to overwhelm her. “A pretend marriage, never able to give you a legitimate heir, worried at every turn that someone would find out and your reputation would be ruined—” The grief spilled over, and so did her tears. “I’ve done it. I’ve lived that lie for years, and I don’t ever want that for us.”

  “I don’t give a damn about any of that.”

  “But I do. For you.” She pressed her fist against her breast as her heart pounded eagerly at the temptation of what he was proposing. Dear God, she wanted nothing more than to be with him! But never like that. “You finally have the life you were meant to have, the respect you’ve always deserved. I won’t take that away from you. I won’t risk it.”

  He dropped his gaze pointedly down her front to her belly. “We might not have a choice if you’re with child.”

  She placed her hand over her belly, as if a babe already grew there. A child to love and raise… His child.

  Happiness at the thought immediately died beneath her anguish. Her hand dropped away as she whispered desolately, “I’m not that lucky.”

  “I won’t let you go, Amelia, do you understand?” He cupped her face between his hands, and she clamped her eyes shut to hold back the flood of tears. “Never again. Your husband and your brother can both be damned for all I care.”

  He leaned in to kiss her, to prove that he meant every word. On his lips she tasted all the love he carried for her and his steely resolve to keep his promise.

  But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to rescue her, but in this, she would save him.

  “No,” she whispered, clasping his wrists to pull his hands away and break the embrace that had become torturous. “It’s over for us.” Once again finished before their future had the chance to even begin. “Tonight was amazing…and wonderful,” she choked out, “and you have no idea how very special it is to be with you…to be loved by you.”

  She took a step back, to put distance between them before she lost all strength and collapsed to the floor in sobs. Or worse, before she rushed back into his arms. Because if she did, she would be lost.

  “But that’s all it can be—only tonight.” The distraught expression that darkened his face nearly undid her. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you about Aaron. Because I know that nothing can be done about him.”

  He reached for her. “Amelia—”

  She pulled her arm back before his fingers could touch her. But her flesh tingled anyway, a pain as excruciating as what she’d carried with her all these years. A ghost pain. The same felt by soldiers who had lost a limb but still felt its presence. A part of them that would always be missing yet also forever with them.

  “To not have you—never completely—never allowed to love with all of myself in every way as a woman and wife should, openly and proudly, without fear for ourselves and our children… I simply couldn’t bear it! I want all of you, Pearce.” Her voice died to barely a breath. “Or nothing at all.”

  Nineteen

  Damnation. Pearce bit back a grimace. Amelia wouldn’t look at him. Instead she stared out the carriage window at the predawn blackness as the city passed by.

  In the hour since Merritt Rivers arrived to escort them from the Prospect of Whitby, with Amelia wrapped in an old army greatcoat that Pearce had instructed him to bring to cover her ruined dress, she’d not glanced at him more than a handful of times. Judging by the way she’d fixed her gaze on the black night outside, she had no intention of making it more.

  A chasm had opened between them, one as deep and dark as the night around them and just as cold.

  But he’d waited twelve years for the chance to have her back. He’d be damned before he let her slip away again.

  “That’s all you know about the men on the list?” Merritt prompted when she fell silent.

  From the moment the hackney had pulled away from the tavern, she’d answered questions under Merritt’s gentle interrogation. He was good, Pearce had to give him credit for that. Merritt knew exactly when to press hard and when to ease back to gain the most information, and he was able to string together bits of information that most likely Amelia didn’t know were connected. That was why he was among the best barristers in all of the British Empire, certain to be appointed king’s counsel at the first opportunity and eventually become a high court judge like his father. His Majesty had no idea of the brilliant mind he’d be gaining in Merritt.

  Pearce frowned. Nor how much of a troubled soldier.

  Like some of the other men of the Armory, Merritt had not adapted well to being back in London. Even now, as he did his best to appear relaxed, Pearce knew he was on edge. He’d known Merritt too well for too long not to sense the man’s moods. Of course, Pearce’s suspicion was helped along in no small part by the way Merritt was dressed from head to boots in solid black and most likely armed to the teeth beneath his greatcoat. If Pearce were a betting man, he’d have wagered his newly acquired earldom that Merritt had been out tonight prowling the streets. Again.

  Amelia answered quietly to the window, “I’ve told you everything.”

  Merritt slid Pearce a sideways glance, asking for permission to continue. They would be arriving at her shop soon, and the opportunity they’d been given to delve deeper into what she knew would end. They might never have this chance again.

  Fighting down a hard breath of guilt at interrogating her like this, Pearce nodded.

  Merritt leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Have you ever heard your brother mention a group called Scepter?”

  “No.” In the black window, her reflection shook its head.

  They’d moved beyond the avenues with their gas lamps, now depending upon the lone lamp dangling off the front of the slow-moving hackney to make their way. Around them, Marylebone was asleep. The new rows of terrace houses that lined the streets were all shuttered and dark for the night, the patches of open land between wet from the drizzling rain and uninviting in the thickening fog. She could see nothing beyond the pane of glass, but she insisted on keeping her attention there, rather than on Pearce.

  His punishment for daring to love her.

  “And you know nothing about them?”

  “Only what Pearce has told me. That they’re some kind of criminal organization.”

  “To put it mildly,” Merritt acknowledged under his breath. “Have they ever attempted to contact you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you certain? No messages, no threats to harm you or your shop?”

  That snagged her full attention, and she darted her gaze between the two men. “Why would they threaten my charity?”

  “To force you into pressuring your brother to make those appointments.”

  “You’re mistaken.” She gave a short laugh. “I have no power over Freddie.”

  Pearce didn’t doubt that. The Howard men had always treated her as little more than a burden. A doll to control and use as they wished. That her brother had helped her at all after her elopement still surprised him. Frederick Howard was nothing if not mercenary.

  “Yet you’re the one who’s keeping the turnpike trust from going forward.”

  “Freddie doesn’t know that. He thinks I’m willingly participating because he—” She stopped.

  A chill coiled its way up Pearce’s spine. “Because he’s already threatened your charity himself,” Pearce quietly finished for her, “so there isn’t any need for Scepter to do it.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He tightened his jaw. To threaten his sister to save his
own hide—the more Pearce learned about the man her brother had become, the more he hated the bastard.

  “You think Freddie is directly involved with them?” she asked.

  A grim look from Pearce silently answered for him.

  “He couldn’t be. What need would there be to blackmail him if he’s already working with them?”

  “We don’t know if your brother is part of Scepter,” Merritt answered. “But we’re certain that the men he’s been appointing are. Home Office intelligence has confirmed it.”

  “We also don’t know who wants them there,” Pearce added.

  She faintly shook her head, putting together as best she could the new puzzle pieces they were revealing to her. “If what you’re saying is true, then surely Freddie’s not alone. A handful of men in government positions—what good could such a small number do? Perhaps there are other MPs who are being blackmailed, others who haven’t carried out their wishes, others against whom the blackmailers have actually carried out their retaliation and revealed their illegal or unethical activities.” She arched an accusing brow at Merritt. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. Rivers, by taking me the long way around the park just to give yourself more time to interrogate me. You should be questioning Sir Charles Varnham.”

  Merritt froze, caught by surprise. Most likely for the first time in his entire legal career while questioning a witness.

  “Of course he won’t be able to give you answers outright. He either isn’t aware of the connections and so won’t know what information to provide you, or he’s working with the blackmailers himself and so won’t cooperate. But whoever’s been blackmailing my brother has the man’s trust.” She turned back toward the window. “So I think it might be worth investigating him, don’t you?”

  Pearce bit back a laugh at that sharp mind of hers. He would have admired her for it, if she didn’t frustrate the daylights out of him.

  “We’ll keep a close eye on Varnham,” Pearce assured her, “and if he has any contact with Scepter, we’ll find out.”

  “You’ll let me know what you discover?”

  “If you promise to stay away from him.”

  The little minx had the nerve to look offended.

  “I mean it, Amelia.” She might not believe they had a future together, but he did. And he damned well planned on protecting her, whether she liked it or not. “You could have been seriously injured tonight when those men attacked your carriage.” Or killed. He didn’t dare put that into words.

  “It was a small disturbance in the streets, that’s all, and footpads who tried to take advantage after we left the carriage.” She gestured at the city around them. “Uprisings have been happening all the time lately, all over London. Sir Charles couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it. For heaven’s sake, he wasn’t even at the Black Ball tonight to see me leave.”

  He didn’t need to be, if other men were watching her. If other men thought she was a threat to their plans. “Stay away from Varnham,” he warned. “I don’t want you to have any contact with him whatsoever. If he is connected to Scepter, then he won’t hesitate to silence you.”

  Her eyes gleamed in the shadows as brightly as jewels. “All right. I’ll leave him alone.”

  The carriage stopped. They’d reached her shop.

  The Bouquet Boutique was locked up tight against the night, but Amelia would be able to change into a clean dress here before he and Merritt took her home. After all, she couldn’t go breezing into the town house looking like this. It was one thing for her to be able to explain why she’d arrived home so late, with excuses at the ready—a late-night visit to the shop, an emergency with one of the women she employed—but it was something altogether different to arrive home late in an army-issued greatcoat over a wet, ruined dress that smelled of the Thames and sour ale.

  Even her self-absorbed nodcock of a brother would demand answers, if only out of concern for his own reputation.

  When she rose to leave the carriage, Pearce placed a hand on her forearm. She flinched, her gaze dropping to his fingers as if he’d scorched her.

  Damn it to hell. She used to crave his nearness, used to find reassurance in his touch. Now she wanted him as far away from her as possible.

  Except that she didn’t. Because under his fingertips at her wrist, he felt her pulse racing. He took hope in that.

  “Merritt and I have to wait here,” he instructed. “You can’t risk that we’ll be seen entering the shop with you.”

  “I understand.” There was no anger in her reply, only regret. A world of private meaning lived in her voice when she assured him quietly, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  He released her, and her arm slipped from his grasp. She stepped down onto the footpath. Pearce watched through the window as she hurried through the shadows to the door.

  “There was no riot tonight,” Merritt said quietly. “Those men purposefully targeted her carriage. You know that.”

  Yes. But Pearce hadn’t wanted to terrify Amelia by telling her. “She confronted her brother tonight about the trust, told him she wouldn’t support it. Right there in the ballroom,” he said quietly. “I think someone overheard and wanted to threaten her into changing her mind.”

  “Did it work?”

  He watched grimly as she glanced over her shoulder at the dark, empty street before letting herself into the shop. “No.”

  “She lied to you, you know. She has no intention of leaving Varnham alone.”

  “I know.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “If you race the devil for your soul,” he murmured, “you’d damned well better win.”

  “Pardon?”

  Pearce cast him a determined glance. “I’m going to beat her to him.”

  * * *

  Pearce placed his hat and coat into the attendant’s arms as he strode through the front door of Boodle’s that afternoon, then slapped him in the chest with his gloves as he handed them over. He didn’t have membership here. Wasn’t on the guest list. And didn’t give a damn. The attendant was wise enough not to stop him. So was the club manager as the man nodded his greetings and let Pearce pass. Being an earl had its privileges.

  He strode into the dining room, raising eyebrows of the members scattered at the tables. He didn’t give a damn about them either.

  He had one reason for being here, and it wasn’t to play nicely with others—

  Howard.

  Amelia’s brother sat at a small table in the corner, where he was lunching on a plate of roast pheasant and chatting with two of his cronies. Pearce stalked toward him, halting conversation at every table he passed and trailing whispers in his wake.

  The man looked up, just as startled as everyone else in the club to see him there. “Sandhurst.” Surprise lightened his voice. “How pleasant to—”

  “I want a word with you.” He narrowed his eyes at the two men flanking Howard. “In private.”

  “Of course.” He smiled apologetically at his chums. “If you might leave us for a moment?”

  The men rose from their chairs, not giving Pearce another look as they left the room to wait in the bar.

  “Boodle’s,” Pearce muttered as he sat heavily on the chair opposite Howard and pushed the previous man’s half-finished plate away. He made a disinterested gesture at the club around them. “I’m surprised that a man of your political ambitions isn’t entrenched in Brooks’s. That is where the Whigs live these days.”

  Howard leaned back in his chair with a twist of a smile. “My allegiance is to my country, not to a club or even to one political party.”

  Pearce chuckled darkly. “I didn’t think you had allegiance to anyone but yourself.”

  Amelia’s brother merely shrugged, not feeling the sting of that insult. “A man has to look after himself these days.” He reached for his port. “He’d be
a fool not to.”

  “And your sister, don’t forget. You look after her, too.”

  He lifted the glass in a toast. “Above all else.”

  Pearce longed to slam his fist into the man’s face. Instead, he smiled tightly. “Good. Then we’re in agreement that Miss Howard’s interests should be taken into consideration when it comes to the turnpike.”

  Howard nearly spilled his port. “Pardon?”

  “Last night, after we spoke at the ball, I had the chance to spend time with your sister.” Time that he would never forget. “We discussed Bradenhill.” Among other things. “She’s concerned about losing control of her property, that the trustees will put their interests above hers. I assured her that I would protect her.” He fixed his gaze on Howard. “Always.”

  “Then—” Howard lowered his voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. “You’ve come to a decision regarding the trust?”

  “I have.” He waved away the waiter when the man came forward to take his lunch order. He had no appetite. “I’m all in for the project.”

  A wide smile broke across Howard’s face. “That’s wond—”

  “But I don’t want to wait. I want to move ahead at full speed, to make certain the trust passes through Parliament before the current session closes.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Happiness—and relief—beamed from the man. “So we’ll talk to—”

  “Only one thing’s holding me back.”

  His smile vanished, and he snapped out, “For Christ’s sake!” When other members at the tables around them frowned at him, he leaned forward in exasperation and lowered his voice. “What could possibly be holding you back now?”

  “I want to meet the other men you’ve chosen to be trustees.” Pearce tapped his finger against the table to punctuate his point. “I won’t agree until I’ve had the chance to make certain that all of our interests align. I’m an experienced soldier. Character matters to me. So does trust. When the enemy has its guns pointed at you, the last thing you want to question is whether the men behind you have your back.” He smiled coldly. “Or if they’ll tuck tail and run.”