An Unexpected Earl Page 23

  There. Third drawer from the bottom, halfway through the stack.

  She sank to the floor as relief flooded over her. Holding her breath, she scanned the sheet to make certain it was exactly as she remembered, with Aaron’s aristocratic signature scrawled across the bottom, her worthless one beneath…and an empty space where Frederick should have signed.

  Oh, thank God!

  Her hands shook as she held it. All of her shook! For the first time in seven years, she had hope. Real hope. She could barely breathe beneath the sob that swelled up from the back of her throat.

  So much more than a mere piece of paper. It was her freedom. The document she could use to press for an annulment. Legally, the unsigned agreement couldn’t stand on its own, but when added to Aaron’s abandonment of her, her minority when they’d married, and Frederick’s testimony that he’d never granted permission, it would surely be enough for an annulment. Please, God, let it be enough!

  She clutched the paper to her bosom, needing to prove to herself that it was real. Her petition would be messy and drawn out, expensive, absolutely scandalous…the verdict hanging by a thin thread, surely. But in the end, she would be free and legally entitled to remarry. She would finally be free to love Pearce, completely and openly, and his good character as a war hero and peer would prop up her charity and keep it from ruin until the scandal blew over.

  If Freddie cooperated. If he were willing to have her sham of a marriage exposed and suffer all the damage by association that pursuing an annulment would surely bring.

  A tortured sound rose from her. Even now, with freedom resting in her hands, she was trapped beneath the will of a man. Would she ever be free?

  As she began to return the unwanted papers to the drawers, another sheet caught her attention, and she stilled. Another document with Aaron’s signature.

  She frowned. She didn’t remember any other papers except the settlement. Fresh dread surged through her. If that sheet documented any kind of consent between Aaron and Frederick—

  No. She didn’t dare let herself believe that. Yet her hand trembled as she reached for it. It looked like…a receipt? No, a contract of sorts, in which Frederick promised to pay Aaron five hundred pounds for services rendered in Birmingham, England, March 1811.

  She frowned. March. The same month they’d met.

  “This makes no sense,” she muttered, reading it again, this time much more slowly in search of any details she’d missed. Why would Freddie had been making contracts with Aaron so soon after meeting him?

  “Amelia! What on God’s earth are you doing?”

  Her gaze darted to the doorway, where Freddie glared at the mess on the floor. And at her.

  Her mind whirled to find an excuse. She couldn’t tell him the truth—not yet. Not until she’d discussed it with Pearce. And not until she’d come up with a good argument to convince Freddie to go along with her plan. Or a good way to coerce him, if logic failed. After all, she still held the key to keeping the blackmailer at bay and keeping Freddie out of prison. He would owe her for that…and she was certain that he would gladly be rid of her by handing her over to an earl.

  Judging from the furious look on his face, not a moment too soon either.

  He stepped into the study. “You’re going through my private papers. You broke into my cabinet!” His eyes narrowed on her. “What’s that in your hand?”

  Freedom. “My marriage settlement.” She held it up. No point in attempting to hide it.

  He frowned, bewildered. “What do you want with that?”

  “Pearce.” That was the God’s honest truth.

  He froze, except for his face which paled. “Sandhurst knows about your marriage?”

  She swallowed. Hard. And lied. “No. The turnpike. He wanted to make certain that I had ownership rights to Bradenhill, that I could consent fully to the trust without worry that someone else might have a claim to it.”

  “But you refused the trust.” His eyes gleamed darkly as he slowly approached her. “Quite publicly, too.”

  “He changed my mind.” Surprisingly, no guilt accompanied lying to her brother. Only regret that they were so suspicious of each other that she couldn’t even trust him with something as potentially wonderful as this. “He made me realize that I’d be able to help even more women with the revenue a turnpike would bring.”

  A knowing smile broke across his face. “Finally you’ve listened to reason.”

  No. Finally she’d listened to her heart. “He wanted to make certain that the decision would be completely and freely mine,” she echoed his words from last night’s ball. “That was when I remembered the marriage agreement. I wanted to make certain that Aaron couldn’t make any claims against the property. I wanted—” She looked down at the paper in her hand and took courage in it. “I wanted to make certain that the property was listed in the agreement as part of my dower. That way, if he ever does return and attempts to take it, I can use the intent of the agreement to make my argument to keep it.”

  “Intent is worthless under the law. That agreement wasn’t signed by both parties, and that was what allowed him to steal all your money. That’s what all the lawyers I hired told us when we tried to retrieve your money, remember? Every last one of them.” He crossed his arms and glared down at her, the look of a prefect scolding a misbehaving student. “You were impetuous and acted without thinking, and we’re suffering because of it.”

  With a scowl, he grabbed up the papers she’d tossed onto the floor and shoved them back into the tallboy, then picked up the key from the floor and locked all the drawers. Instead of putting the key back into his desk, he slipped it into his breast pocket.

  Guilt began to rise in her throat—

  No. He wouldn’t make her feel awful this time, as he always had before. She wouldn’t let him.

  Pearce was right. She’d gone into her marriage with love, and the lies and treachery Aaron committed were not her fault. She could never have foreseen what he’d planned. No woman could have. She wouldn’t blame herself any longer.

  Now, she would take back the life she’d been cheated out of.

  “I found something else.” She held up the other document. The contract Freddie had made with Aaron. “What is this?”

  Frederick took it and heaved out a sigh as he glanced over it. “Nothing to concern yourself with.” He added in an irritated mutter, “Like every other document in this cabinet that you have no right to rifle through.”

  Despite his anger, she held on to her resolve and pressed, “You paid Aaron five hundred pounds. Why?”

  “I don’t remember. That was so long ago. I’m sure I had good reason.” He shoved it into his jacket breast pocket. “But you’ve nothing to fear about Bradenhill, I assure you.” With a pleased smile, he crossed to the liquor tray and poured himself a glass of cognac from the crystal decanter. “Aaron Northam won’t be able to take your land, and he won’t be able to stop the trust now either. No one can.”

  Alarm twisted in her belly. “What do you mean?”

  “Sandhurst finally agreed. Told me himself just this afternoon at Boodle’s.” He returned the stopper with a soft clank, punctuating the significance of the moment. “Wants to push it through as quickly as possible, in fact, before the current session of Parliament ends.” He lifted the glass to her in a toast. “Congratulations, Amelia. We’ve got our turnpike trust.”

  Her breath hitched. Pearce agreed? Impossible. He said they were together in stopping it, in discovering who was behind the blackmail. He would never have agreed without consulting with her first…would he?

  Shame heated her cheeks, and she silently castigated herself for doubting him. She’d questioned Pearce’s love for her for so long that even now her first reaction was distrust.

  But she wouldn’t let suspicion win. Not this time. He loved her, he wanted to protect her, he wanted to ma
rry her… That was where she’d put her trust now. In Pearce’s heart.

  If he’d agreed, he had good reason. Yet he’d done so without her when they were supposed to be working together. She couldn’t help a prick of betrayal in her belly.

  “It’s all gone exactly as planned.” Frederick took a long swallow of cognac, as happy as the cat who’d caught the mouse. “Now the blackmail threats will end, and my career will be saved.” He gestured at her with the glass. “Your future as the sister of an MP is secure, society matrons will continue to cross the threshold of your little shop, and you don’t have to pretend to like Sandhurst any longer.”

  “No.” She gave him a smile, one Freddie completely misread. “I don’t have to pretend to like him.”

  He finished the cognac and set the glass down. “I’m going out to a club meeting and taking Sandhurst with me. I’ll be certain to tell him how happy you are about the trust.”

  “No need.” She fought to keep the irony from her voice. “I’d be happy to tell him myself how I feel about it, the first chance I have.”

  “I’ll be gone all night, most likely not back before dawn.” He sauntered from the study. “Don’t wait up.”

  Twenty-one

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Not at all.” Pearce flicked his gaze at Merritt Rivers in the dressing mirror as his man McTavish fussed with his cravat. The old camp aide turned valet knew practically nothing about dressing a gentleman, but Pearce hadn’t hired him for his grooming skills. He’d hired him because McTavish had been a trusted and dependable soldier during the wars, only to find himself cast out upon the streets after returning home. The same story with practically all the other servants comprising his household. “That’s why I want you to follow us tonight.”

  Merritt slid a slow look over Pearce. “Keeping you in sight won’t be difficult.”

  Pearce frowned at his reflection in the drawing room mirror. Most likely not. White jacket, white breeches and stockings—white everything, except for his boots, whose black leather McTavish had shined to gleaming. But those were the instructions Howard had included in the note he’d sent over just after six o’clock. The meeting with the trustees had been arranged for that night. Be ready to be collected at half past eleven. Wear all white, including the white cap that the messenger had handed over when he’d delivered the note.

  Dressed like this at midnight, he’d stand out like a beacon. Or a target. Not exactly a reassuring thought, considering Scepter’s penchant for murdering people.

  “And our next step after tonight?” Merritt asked.

  Pearce waved McTavish out of the room with his mumbled thanks. Not that he didn’t trust the man; he did, with his life. But knowing anything about Scepter, no matter how small, might put McTavish’s life at risk.

  When the door closed, Pearce turned away from the mirror and lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips. “We use the trustees to get closer to Scepter.” He took a swallow, letting it warm down his throat. “I don’t have to learn why they’re being placed, just who’s been pressing for it. That should lead me to Scepter’s leadership.”

  “Charles Varnham’s involved, if Miss Howard’s right. Perhaps we should do as she suggested and focus on him.”

  Pearce shook his head. “I’m not certain. If Varnham wanted—”

  A door slammed downstairs, followed by the sound of a muffled argument and pounding footsteps. Both men tensed. His gaze not leaving Pearce’s, Merritt silently slid his hand into his jacket sleeve for the knife he kept there.

  “No, I will not wait in the drawing room—Pearce!” The female voice shouted through the house, followed by more pounding footsteps. “Pearce! Where the devil are you?”

  “Miss Howard’s come calling.” Merritt grimly slid the knife out of his sleeve and held it handle-first toward Pearce. “You’re going to need this.”

  Pearce grimaced.

  “Miss, stop where you are,” McTavish’s gruff voice climbed the stairs. “That is an order!”

  His grimace turned into a wince. Oh, that was not going to go over well!

  “An order?” Her voice rose with all the imperial haughtiness of a dowager duchess on an iceberg. “An order? How dare you think that you…”

  Merritt slipped the knife back beneath his sleeve and declared, deadpan, “It’s now every man for himself.”

  His bedroom door burst open. Amelia paused in the doorway, the hood of her cloak falling down around her shoulders and still dotted with raindrops from the drizzle falling over London. She was out of breath from racing up the stairs, her eyes blazing like a Fury’s. And was simply magnificent for it.

  “Apologies, sir,” McTavish panted out behind her. “She slipped past me on the stairs.”

  “I’m sure she did.” Pearce fought back a smile at the old soldier’s wounded pride that the enemy had penetrated the lines. “It’s all right. Miss Howard is welcome here.”

  She arched a brow. “You owe me an explanation.”

  So…her brother had told her about the trust. She was bound to have found out sooner or later, but this wasn’t at all the way Pearce wanted to have this conversation. And certainly not with Merritt and McTavish listening in.

  “Yes, I do.” He came forward. “But not in my bedroom.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she looked around and realized for the first time what room they were in. “I don’t care.”

  “I do. Gentlemen, we’re finished for the evening.” He called out over his shoulder as he took her arm to lead her out. “McTavish, I won’t need you when I return.”

  He gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Brigadier.”

  “And Merritt, you’ll do as we discussed?”

  “Count on it.”

  “Thank you. Can you show yourself out? Miss Howard and I might have a long discussion ahead of us.” He frowned down at Amelia and sensed the emotion pulsating from her. A very long discussion.

  Merritt grinned as he slid past them and out the door, drawling, “Count on it.”

  Pearce’s glare only made Merritt laugh.

  “This way, then.” He led her downstairs.

  When they reached the drawing room, Pearce slid closed the pocket doors and leaned back against them, crossing his arms over his chest so he wouldn’t sweep her off her feet and carry her right back upstairs to his bed.

  He shot her a no-nonsense look. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “And you shouldn’t have spoken to Freddie without me.” With her eyes flashing brightly in her pale face, she looked as determined as a green captain about to lead his first battle charge. “You said we were in this together.”

  “We are.”

  “Since when is agreeing to the trust on your own the definition of togetherness?” She waved a hand in no particular direction. A sign of how upset she was. “I want to trust in you, Pearce, but—”

  “You can.” He kept his voice even and calm, just as he kept his distance and remained where he was. He was aching to hold and reassure her, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she was ready. “You know me, Amelia. You know how I feel about you.”

  As she stared at him, biting her bottom lip, he could see her struggling with what he was telling her. She wanted to believe him, he knew. But the men in her life had taught her hard lessons about trust, had used her for their own benefit— Damn to hell every man who had ever wounded her!

  But Pearce wouldn’t be among them.

  “I would never betray you.” Keeping his distance was killing him. “In your heart, you know that.”

  “Then why?” Her anger deflated, along with her shoulders as they sagged beneath her cloak. “And after we…” Her voice choked off.

  “Made love,” he finished gently for her.

  Her cheeks pinkened beautifully at the memory. “I thought we’d agreed about the turnpike.”

 
“We did. But events have sped up, and I needed to act.” Losing the battle to keep himself away from her, he shoved away from the door and stopped in front of her. “There are more lives at risk now, including yours. Delaying is no longer an option.”

  Her eyes widened, an expression that had him longing to kiss the confusion from her lips.

  “We are in this together, Amelia, but I will always draw the line at protecting you.” He touched her cheek to punctuate that promise. “I didn’t tell you that I’d planned to agree to the trust precisely because I knew you would want to stop me. Or worse—that you’d do something foolish like go after Varnham again.” When she began to protest, he cut her off with a touch of his fingertip to her lips. “But we’re running out of time, and I need to get closer to Scepter.” He crossed his arms before he wrapped them around her and pulled her against him. At that moment, if he did, he was certain she’d flee. “I’d like your understanding. But even without it, I’m going through with this. Starting tonight.”

  They stared at each other for a long while, neither speaking, neither moving. Like two adversaries staring at each other across the battlefield, each waiting for the other to give first.

  Then she nodded jerkily and turned her eyes away. Not the eager endorsement he’d hoped for, yet he’d gladly accept it. With Amelia, he’d take his victories whenever he could.

  Blowing out a hard breath, he sank heavily onto the settee. The posture of a man at the limits of his patience.

  “We can discuss our next steps tomorrow, if you’d like, after I’ve learned more about the trustees. But for now, you need to leave. Your brother will be here in an hour to take me to meet them.” He raked his gaze heatedly over her, so intensely that she shivered. “And if you stay, I will make love to you.”

  Her lips parted in surprise at the boldness of that declaration. Good. Because he wasn’t teasing.