An Unexpected Earl Page 8

  “Aren’t you?” The wounded whisper emerged as pure accusation.

  “No.” But the forcefulness with which he said that didn’t register any visible trust in her.

  The hackney turned onto Hill Street and stopped in front of a row of terrace houses. When she glanced out the window, relief flashed over her face. She was home.

  And he was out of time.

  He reached across the compartment to place his hand over hers to keep her with him a few moments longer and tried not to let himself notice the way she flinched at his touch.

  “Whatever’s wrong, whatever trouble you’re in, I can help you. But you can’t keep secrets from me.” Ignoring the ball of lead-like dread forming in his gut, he pulled in a deep breath and forced himself to ask, “Have you been assisting your brother with the appointments?”

  Her gaze shot back to him. “Have I—” Then a shocked laugh fell from her lips as she pulled her hand away from his. “I could ask the same of you!”

  He jerked up straight. “Me?”

  “Frederick said that you supported the idea of putting a turnpike across our properties.” Her voice shook from the churning emotions that visibly gripped her. “He was practically crowing this morning over how excited you seemed to be about it. Said that you couldn’t wait to start.”

  Bloody hell. Pearce couldn’t deny it. He’d sent her brother a message just that morning claiming exactly that—that he was interested and wanted to know more about Howard’s plans and the men who would be made trustees.

  But it wasn’t for the reasons she thought, and he couldn’t defend himself without giving away what the men of the Armory planned to do. He would never betray their faith in him.

  “You’re wrong about me,” he said instead, the only answer he could give.

  “Oh, but I don’t think I am.” Her voice was raw and intense, just like the gleam in her eyes. “You see, unlike others in your new life as a peer, I know you. I know how restless you are, how driven…how compelled to keep moving forward. At all costs.” A slight pause, so small no one else would have noticed, yet he heard it. A world of accusation lived there. “That’s why I can’t trust you, Pearce.” The quiet fierceness with which she uttered her next words cut him like a blade—“And that is why you’re my enemy.”

  Seven

  Amelia watched him stiffen, surprised. And stunned just long enough for her to open the door and bound to the street before he could stop her.

  She had to get away. Now, before he could see her own surprise at the things he’d been asking about—or her desperation to keep them hidden. Or worse, how the affection and attraction she’d felt toward him when they were younger now bubbled inside her again.

  Something else ached inside her, too. Something hotter… He’d always been charming and dashing, even all those years ago when he’d been on the brink of manhood. But the passing years had made him broad and tall and oh so very solid, put lines of experience at the corners of his eyes and mouth, placed depth behind the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

  Now he was simply breathtaking.

  He caught her before she reached the front portico, taking her elbow to keep her from running away. The touch was meant only to slow her, yet it sparked an electric heat all the way down to her toes.

  She rolled her stinging eyes in frustration. Damn him for reappearing in her life right now, when everything was such a mess that she couldn’t give him the setdown he deserved for ambushing her in the carriage. Damn him for not answering her letters, for never once attempting to contact her in all the years they’d been apart.

  And damn herself for remembering how wonderful it had been to be with him.

  She moved her arm to pull free, but he held firm. She couldn’t yank herself away without causing a scene in the busy street, in front of her own house, no less, with all of her neighbors and their servants watching. He gave her no choice but to let him escort her to the door.

  “I am not your enemy,” he half growled under his breath.

  “You are certainly not my salvation,” she countered. No matter what Frederick thought.

  “Well then.” He leaned down, bringing his mouth close enough to her ear that his breath fanned across her cheek. Close enough that she could feel the knowing smile of his lips. “Good thing we’re in hell together.”

  Her head snapped up. “We are not togeth—”

  “Because I’ve been here before,” he said enigmatically, ignoring the perplexed look she gave him as he turned his gaze solemnly up at the town house and rapped the brass knocker. “And I can show you the way out.”

  She blinked hard, her lips parting as she stared at him. Dear God, if only that were true!

  “So tell me, Amelia, and no dissembling this time,” he murmured, keeping his gaze straight ahead on the door. “Exactly what kind of trouble are you in?”

  Her heart lurched. For one desperate moment, she wanted to confess everything about Frederick and the trust and the blackmail—

  Drummond opened the door.

  Thank God.

  She darted past the butler and into the house, heading straight for the stair hall. Sweet escape. Finally. The weight lifted from her shoulders, and she heaved out a breath of relief so large that it pulled all the way through her.

  Only for cold dread to slither back up her spine when she heard Pearce’s deep voice. “Is Mr. Howard at home? I’m here to call on him.”

  She spun around, her mouth falling open. Pearce stood inside the entry as if he belonged there, removing his hat and gloves and handing them all over to Drummond. Oh, that devil’s audacity!

  “Brandon Pearce, Brigadier,” he announced with the confident air of the battle-hardened soldier he was. “Earl of Sandhurst.”

  Drummond sketched a bow. “Of course, your lordship.” He gestured toward the stairs and the formal drawing room above. “If you would wait—”

  “No,” Amelia interrupted. Oh no, no, no! Letting him into her home—back into her life—was the very last thing she should do. Too many secrets could be revealed, so much could be destroyed… She hurried back to him, gesturing at Drummond to remain right where he was. “We are not accepting visitors today.”

  “Is that true?” Pearce asked the butler, who glanced in confusion between the two of them, not knowing whose orders to follow. “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Howard himself.” He smiled confidently. “Tell him that Sandhurst is here to discuss turnpikes.”

  He blinked, confused. “Sir?”

  “Turnpikes,” Pearce repeated deliberately, slipping out of his greatcoat and tossing it over the butler’s arm. “I’ll wait here.”

  With a stilted nod and a wary glance at Amelia, Drummond quickly disappeared into the house toward the study. There was nothing she could do to stop him from announcing Pearce’s arrival to her brother.

  Panic twisted down her spine. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He casually shrugged a shoulder, which rolled exasperation through her. “Discussing turnpikes with the neighboring landowner. Should be pretty easy to establish a trust since he’s an MP and I sit in the Lords now, don’t you think? Damned title ought to be good for something.” Pearce’s eyes slid to Amelia, a faint gleam of challenge lingering in their depths. “Unless you know of a reason why I shouldn’t. One you want to share with me.” He paused to give time for that quiet threat—and its only means of escape—to settle over her. “A good reason.”

  “Please don’t do this,” she whispered. Desperation blossomed in her belly. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself involved with.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Damn him! He was forcing her into a corner. “I can’t.”

  “Then I have no choice.” He folded his arms, doing a fine impersonation of an immovable mountain. “If you won’t give me answers, Amelia, then I’ll get them from your brother.
”

  A laugh strangled in her throat. She’d fallen in over her head, and the current was pulling her under. “He won’t tell you! He’s more afraid of what could happen to him than he’ll ever be of you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She kicked for the surface, frantic to save herself—“That you’re right,” she admitted quickly, glancing over her shoulder in fear that Drummond might return at any moment. “Freddie has been using his influence to put men into government positions.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “Why?”

  She bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him the truth. The further she kept Pearce away from this mess—and from her—the better. She couldn’t risk that anyone else might find out what illegal activities her brother had done.

  Or that Pearce would find out about her husband.

  “Freddie has three more men he needs to place.” She offered up this little bit of information to evade a more dangerous answer. “He thinks this trust will allow him to do that.”

  “You don’t agree with what your brother’s been doing?”

  “Of course I don’t.” She swallowed hard, her gaze darting into the house toward Freddie’s study, and lowered her voice. “And I certainly don’t want the trust.”

  “Why not?”

  “The turnpike requires Bradenhill, the property Papa left me when he died,” she rushed out. With every desperate second that passed, she knew she was running out of time to convince him to decline her brother’s plans. “It’s just a few acres, nothing much at all, but it lies between Freddie’s land and yours. He thinks that if he has all three properties lined up for the turnpike that Parliament will force the trust through for the rest of the county, and he’ll be able to place these last three men as trustees. He’s promised me that this will be the last of it.”

  “But you don’t want a turnpike?”

  “I have other plans for that land.” Once she freed them from this mess, she could move ahead with creating a training school and workshop at Bradenhill, be self-sufficient and away from all the gossips and problems of London. It would become the one part of her life that no man would ever be able to touch or harm. Not Freddie, not Aaron…not even Pearce.

  “So why not tell your brother no? Tell him in no uncertain terms that you don’t want the turnpike.” His eyes narrowed on her, studying her reaction. “After all, it’s your property to do with as you’d like.”

  Refuse the trust, force the blackmailer into exposing Freddie, watch as her life came crashing down around her… She nearly groaned. “It isn’t that simple.”

  “So you want me to tell your brother that I’ve decided against the turnpike?”

  “No!” Good Lord, if Freddie thought she had something to do with that decision, he’d have her hide! And the blackmailer would have Freddie’s head. “I’m not saying that. Just—just put off making a decision.” She grimaced, biting her bottom lip. “For a month or two.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “It will delay the trust.” A delay was all she needed. Just long enough that the blackmailer would think Freddie was cooperating, just long enough for other positions to come open. Then the need for the trust would vanish, and the threat to Freddie’s career and her charity right along with it.

  He shook his head, unconvinced. “Why is your brother doing this?”

  She wouldn’t tell him that, couldn’t risk it. If she put her faith in him, only to once more be manipulated and used by a man for his own advantage—

  But Pearce had never hurt her, except for leaving her. He’d only ever been kind to her, bringing her flowers and handmade gifts, teaching her how to shoot and ride and swim just like the boys, talking with her on blankets beneath the stars about all his future dreams. Her best friend and first love who went so far as to defend her with his fists when other men made crude comments about her—men twice his size and age. He knew her better than anyone else in the world, even her own family.

  But twelve years… Was any of the boy she’d once trusted still left inside the man?

  Gambling on her heart’s intuition, she sucked in a deep breath for courage. “You said you wanted to help me, so help me.” In desperation, she reached for his arm. The hard muscle flexed invitingly beneath her fingertips. “Pretend that you’re interested in the turnpike and let Freddie line up the trustees, but delay it so that the act doesn’t go through before Parliament ends. Make the bill wait, then change your mind right before the next session begins.”

  His face remained inscrutable, but his eyes searched her face for answers she couldn’t give. “Why should I do that?”

  “For me,” she choked out and dropped her hand away. Because you once loved me… “Because we were once friends.”

  Footsteps echoed from deep within the house, growing louder as they drew closer. Urgent and eager—

  “Please, Pearce.” She blinked hard to clear the hot tears of panic from her eyes. “If I ever meant anything to you—”

  “Sandhurst!”

  Frederick strode into the entry hall, his hand extended toward Pearce in greeting. He beamed a thrilled smile and slid between the two of them, ignoring Amelia in his eagerness to get to Pearce.

  But Pearce solemnly made eye contact with her over her brother’s shoulder as the two men shook hands.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Frederick gushed. “I’d planned on calling on you myself this afternoon, but how wonderful that you’ve anticipated me. Proof that you’re a man who knows his mind when opportunity strikes.” He placed his hand on Pearce’s shoulder to nudge him in the direction of his study. “Let’s discuss business, shall we? I have a special bottle of brandy that I think you’ll enjoy.”

  But Pearce didn’t move. “I’m not certain about the trust.”

  Hope fluttered inside her. Was he going to help her after all?

  Frederick froze. “Pardon?”

  “I’m not certain that a turnpike is the best use of my property,” Pearce explained. “I want to consider all options.”

  “But—but a trust is in all of our best interests, I assure you.” He gestured toward Amelia. “Tell him, Amelia, about all the new business to be made with a turnpike, the industrial development that can happen.”

  She caught her breath as both men looked at her expectantly—Frederick, for her to use whatever charms he thought she possessed over Pearce to sway him to their side, and Pearce, for her to give him the answers he wanted.

  But she couldn’t do that. Not without raising Frederick’s ire and his suspicions that she wasn’t doing everything she could to support the turnpike. And not when Pearce now held power over her.

  She was cornered. “I—well, I—” she stammered, praying an answer came to her.

  “We can talk about that between us,” Pearce told her brother, rescuing her once again by mercifully giving her an escape from the conversation. “I’m certain Miss Howard doesn’t want to be bothered with men and their business.”

  She breathed out a silent sigh of relief. “Quite true.” She was already far more involved in all of this than she wanted to be. And desperate for a way to stop it. Meeting Pearce’s gaze, she said, “I know you’ll do what’s in my best interests, Lord Sandhurst.”

  Pearce’s eyes gleamed, recognizing that for the lie it was. She wasn’t at all certain that she could trust him again, and he knew it.

  “Good,” Frederick chimed in as he once more took Pearce’s shoulder and practically turned him toward the back of the house. “Let’s adjourn to my study, shall we? We have lots to discuss, and no better time than the present.” He led the way toward the rear of the town house. “First, we need to consider the properties. Bradenhill is too small and worthless, of course, for anything else…”

  As the two men walked away, Amelia saw the hopeful bounce in her brother’s step. She leaned back against the wall as al
l the tension drained from her, replaced by churning confusion, fear, and doubt.

  Her hand rose to clasp her locket, and she closed her eyes against the hot tears of frustration threatening at her lashes. How much could she trust Pearce? Twelve years ago, he’d left Birmingham without a fight because he’d wanted to protect her, only to ignore her letters two years later. And ignore her ever since. Until now.

  And now, when presented with all the profits that a trust could bring, would he decide to protect her? Or would he, too, take her property and cast her away when she was no longer useful or wanted, the way Aaron had?

  Once more she’d been trapped by a man. But this time, it might just end her.

  Eight

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Merritt Rivers muttered as he jumped onto the narrow bed in one of the upstairs rooms of Le Château Noir and stretched out across the mattress, boots and all.

  Pearce pulled back the curtain and gazed down at the street. “I think it’s a grand one.”

  Beneath the drizzle of rain that had begun to fall an hour ago when the sun set over London, King Street was surprisingly quiet, yet just enough traffic prowled the street to make their visit to the brothel seem commonplace. The man standing guard at the front door had barely blinked an eye when the two of them arrived and asked to see Madame Noir. Alone. Of course, the coin Pearce had handed over helped to ensure that.

  “If we’re seen here, I can most likely forget any chance of taking silk,” Merritt grumbled and reached for the bottle of whiskey and the glass sitting on the bedside table that had been left there for clients, courtesy of Madame.

  “Then best not get caught.” Not spotting anything unusual on the street below, Pearce dropped the brocade curtain back into place and leaned against the wall. He couldn’t help but notice that for all of Merritt’s complaints about how dangerous it was for a potential king’s counsel to visit a brothel, he’d been quite eager to help when Pearce dropped by the Armory and told him his plans. “It’s only reconnaissance, after all.”