“We have a friend in common.” The young duchess glanced across the ballroom toward Pearce and smiled. “The Earl of Sandhurst.”
Ah. Of course. The fog of confusion was beginning to clear. But when Amelia hardened her gaze on him for setting up this sneak attack, he didn’t look at all pleased. Downright miffed, in fact. So did the Duke of Hampton standing next to him.
Apparently the two women had taken it upon themselves to approach her.
“I understand that you’ve known each other for years.” Danielle wiggled her gloved fingers at Pearce in greeting. “From before he entered the army.”
“We knew each other as children in Birmingham.” Yet something told Amelia that the two women already knew that and were here to uncover other, more intimate details. So she threw the conversation back at them. “How do you know Sandhurst?”
“Marcus,” both women answered at once. Testimony to how close they were.
“My husband Marcus, Duke of Hampton,” Danielle explained. “That’s him there at Pearce’s side, scowling at us in dark irritation. He’s awfully good at it.”
Amelia had already lost the course of the conversation. “At being a duke?”
“Heavens no!” She laughed lightly. “At scowling with dark irritation.”
“An expert,” Claudia agreed. “That’s what made him such a good general.”
Yes. Amelia had heard about the man. His leadership had been rated second only to Wellington’s in the fight against the French. And looking at him now, she had to agree that he certainly possessed an imposing air that would have brooked no resistance when giving orders.
But standing next to Pearce, the man seemed a bit…lacking. Of course, she might have been biased, but Pearce appeared so much more untamed and dangerous, so much more muscular and solid. So much more dashing because of it.
“We’re quite fond of Pearce,” the duchess commented. “Marcus thinks of him as a brother, in fact.”
“So do all the men who served with him in the Coldstream Guards,” Claudia interjected. “He’s a true war hero, you know. Saved his men’s lives on several occasions when all should have been lost. He was a great brigadier.”
Amelia raised the glass to her lips to cover the proud smile lingering there. Of course he was. He was born for battle.
“But not so much an earl.”
Amelia froze, the flute at her lips, not at all expecting that. “Pardon?”
Even though Danielle’s voice lowered so that they wouldn’t be overheard by anyone in the crush around them, her concern rang clear. “He’s having difficulty adjusting to being a peer.”
“Oh?” Amelia couldn’t have told that from the way he looked tonight. Just as handsome in his evening finery as the other gentlemen filling the room, his presence just as commanding and confident. As if he’d never belonged anywhere else.
“He’s restless.” Danielle’s pretty brow creased. “He’s having trouble with being thrust back into London life. Even being responsible for the earldom isn’t enough, not when he has an army of accountants, solicitors, and servants to run it for him.” Her frown deepened. “Marcus went through that at first, too, when he was granted the dukedom.”
“Yes, but Marcus had you,” Claudia reminded the duchess. “You gave him new purpose.” An overlong, intentional pause… “Where will Pearce find his purpose, do you think?”
With that, the fog vanished. Amelia’s mouth twisted. Clearly, the two ladies already had an answer in mind.
“Pearce and I haven’t seen each other in years,” she clarified. “We’re barely friends anymore. What you’re suggesting is…” Ludicrous. Preposterous. Outlandish.
Impossible.
A piercing thud jarred along her spine. Amelia raised her glass to her lips, to hide whatever stray emotions might be visible on her face. And her pain.
“Oh, no! We’re not suggesting anything of the sort,” Danielle protested quickly.
“Nothing at all like that,” Claudia agreed. Then another long pause… “But would it be so terrible if we did?”
Amelia choked on her champagne.
“I mean, just look at the man.” Claudia gestured at Pearce with her wineglass, not attempting to hide that the three women were obviously talking about him. “He’s been captivated by you since the moment you walked into the ballroom.”
Amelia’s face flushed in embarrassment. How on earth had she gotten into this peculiarly personal conversation with these two women whom she barely knew? “That isn’t—”
“He hasn’t been able to drag his eyes away from you for a moment.” Claudia cast her a knowing look. “And he isn’t at all looking at you as someone he once knew as a childhood friend and now holds in fond affection.”
“No,” she had to agree, with full chagrin, or risk being called out for a liar. “He isn’t.” He stared at her as if he were a wolf who wanted to devour her. And shamelessly, she very much wanted to let him.
“Now, Claudia,” the duchess scolded lightly, “you know we shouldn’t play at matchmaking.”
Yet something told Amelia that the two women planned on doing exactly that.
“If Miss Howard says they’re only acquaintances, then we have to respect that.”
Relief surged through Amelia. “Thank you, Your—”
The duchess added beneath her breath, “It doesn’t mean we have to like it, however.”
Oh bother. Amelia rolled her eyes—
Just in time to see Freddie return to the ballroom in his hunt for Pearce.
“But making certain Pearce has an old friend in town—a dear friend,” Danielle continued, although Amelia only half paid attention, “well, there’s no fault in that, is there?”
“None,” Amelia murmured, distracted.
She watched as her brother stopped and scanned his gaze around the ballroom. He knew Pearce was here, and it was only a matter of time until he found him. After all, Pearce wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in the crush, towering a good half-foot over the rest of the men. And judging from the resolute expression on Freddie’s face, he planned to force Pearce into making a decision about the trust tonight, potentially ruining her plans for delay if he agreed or forcing the blackmailer into going to Varnham if he refused.
Icy dread chilled her. Both outcomes would destroy her.
“And if you two happened to be able to spend more time together—say, at small private outings and dinners—wouldn’t that be best for him? And for you?”
Amelia mumbled some sort of preoccupied agreement and caught her breath when Freddie spotted Pearce, then made his way toward him in a beeline. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
“After all,” Claudia added, “you two are dear, old friends. There’s no harm in two friends spending time together and getting to know each other again. Perhaps walks through the park or carriage rides…”
Amelia winced as Freddie interrupted Pearce’s conversation with the Duke of Hampton and another gentleman flanking his other side whom Amelia didn’t recognize. Oh, so rude! Made worse by the way he stuck out his hand in eager greeting to Pearce and largely ignored the duke and his friend.
Pearce smiled wryly and shook his hand anyway, letting Freddie’s discourtesy pass unacknowledged. But she also noticed that Pearce didn’t introduce her brother to his friends.
“…seats in our box at the theatre and Vauxhall…”
“…renting a boat down to Greenwich or up to Hampton Court…”
“Yes! With a picnic…”
Amelia didn’t hear the two women, so focused was she on her brother as he gestured toward the door. An invitation to Pearce to converse somewhere more private, and Freddie’s opportunity to corner him about the trust.
Pearce nodded his agreement and stepped aside to let Freddie lead the way. Giving his apologies over his shoulder to his friends—and sli
ding one last parting look at her—Pearce followed after.
“Oh no,” Amelia mumbled in dread. Everything was going to be ruined!
The duchess stiffened. “If you don’t like the idea of a picnic, then perhaps just dinner at our town house.”
Her attention snapped back to the two women, who were both staring at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head. God only knew what she’d agreed to during the conversation, while they’d been plotting out her courtship and she’d been focused on her brother.
“No, that’s not—I mean, I enjoy dinners—and picnics—” she stammered, her eyes trailing after the two men. They were leaving, and she needed to know what they were going to discuss, what decisions they would come to about the trust. And somehow find a way to stop them. “It’s just—I can’t…”
Her Grace’s eyes narrowed on Amelia with concern, and she reached a gloved hand toward her arm. “Are you unwell?”
“Yes!” Amelia seized upon the excuse and waved her fan like mad. “I’m feeling unwell. Too much champagne, I’m afraid. If you’ll both excuse me—” As she dipped a curtsy, she threw a glance after the two men. “I need to find the retiring room.” They disappeared from the ballroom. “Now.”
Mumbling a string of apologies, she hurried away, leaving the two women staring curiously after her.
Twelve
“You don’t seem to be excited about the turnpike,” Howard commented as the man helped himself to a glass of cognac in the small room where they’d gone to speak privately. The space had once been the Duke of Devonshire’s private closet where he could escape when he was forced to be in London rather than in his country gardens. Pearce didn’t blame him. He certainly wanted to be anywhere else at that moment.
“I wouldn’t say that.” What Pearce would have said was that had Howard been any other man, he would have given him the setdown he deserved for interrupting his conversation with the general and Merritt Rivers.
But since both men knew why Howard had approached him, Pearce had willingly gone off for a private conversation.
“Then why haven’t you fully committed?” Howard eyed Pearce over the rim of his glass as he took a sip, the liquid golden in the lamplight.
“I haven’t yet come to a decision.”
“Why not?”
Because any decision would destroy your sister… Because I still care about her… Because the look on her face when she told me how much my leaving had devastated her twelve years ago cut me like a knife… Because I never want to see a look of fear, sadness, or betrayal in her eyes ever again…
He shrugged. “It might not be the right investment for my property.”
Howard nearly choked on the brandy. He sputtered, “Not the right investment? Are you joking?” He gestured wildly with his glass. “Do you not realize how much money can be made from a turnpike?”
“I’ve got more than enough money now. I’m not concerned with making more.”
Howard’s mouth fell open, flabbergasted. He had no idea how to respond to that.
“What I am concerned about, however, is your sister.” Pearce darted his eyes toward the door and the flash of movement there. “I won’t press Amelia into agreeing to the turnpike if she doesn’t want it.”
“Of course she wants it!” Howard laughed stiltedly, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “That land is her only property. Why would she not want to capitalize on it?”
“She has other plans for it.”
“That silly idea of hers to build a trade school?” Howard scoffed. “Once she sees how much money a turnpike can generate—money she can then spend on her worthless war widows—she’ll be all for it.”
His soldier’s blood turned to ice. He repeated in a menacingly low voice, “Worthless war widows?”
Howard paled instantly, realizing his mistake. Pearce wouldn’t have been surprised to see a puddle form at the man’s crotch, given the terrified expression that gripped his face. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Pearce crossed his arms and pinned his gaze on him, every bit of the brigadier inside him rising to the surface. “Then exactly how did you mean it?”
“I meant—I meant the war, of course. That the war itself was a terrible waste. Of worth.” The words tumbled out so quickly that his tongue tripped over them. “Not the women themselves, you understand.”
Pearce said nothing, letting the man stew in his own juices.
“Or the war—good Lord, I’d never say that the war itself was without merit. Never that! But wasteful. A terrible waste of life and resources. So very destructive, and it—”
“I saw thousands of men die during the wars,” Pearce finally interjected, reaching his limit with Howard’s nonsense. “Some standing right beside me on the battlefield. The best men I’ve ever met in my life. Brave men, not pompous dandies who think it matters what they wear.” His gaze darted to the glass in Howard’s now trembling hand. “Or drink. Those men left behind mothers, fathers, wives, and children in order to fight for the Allies, to give their lives for a cause far greater than themselves.”
“Of—of course—”
“As far as I’m concerned, we should all be like your sister, giving all that we can to help the families those men left behind. If she wants to turn her land into a school to help them, then I will support her.” He paused, making certain that the seriousness of his point sounded loud and clear. “If she wants to do nothing with it at all but let it go wild and fester into weeds, then I will support her in that, too. Understand?”
“Yes—yes, I do.” Howard took an ingratiating step forward. “But you should also—”
“I will not force Amelia into handing over her land. If she doesn’t agree to the turnpike one hundred percent on her own, then I won’t go through with it.”
“I assure you that she will agree.”
Most likely because Howard would threaten her into it. Or already had. Pretending to her brother to go along with the trust while asking Pearce for his help in stopping it might be the only way she had to directly avoid Howard’s wrath yet keep her charity safe.
“If you harm her in any way,” Pearce said somberly, the threat clear, “you will regret it.”
“I would never harm my sister. I have always had her best interests at heart.”
Pearce stared at him silently for a moment, weighing the truth in the man’s words. And finding it absent. “You should also know that I hold enough sway in Parliament myself now to make certain that you won’t be able to force through the trust on your own.”
Howard said nothing, but his eyes narrowed murderously.
Good. Let him be furious, and furious to the point where he decided to throw a punch. Pearce longed for it, in fact, because he would drop Howard to the floor before the man landed a single fist.
“This trust will happen, I assure you.” Howard set the glass down, the rest of the cognac unwanted. “Amelia understands what it means for us. As long as we assure her that she’ll have the funds to do her charity work, she’ll go along with whatever we say. Mark my words.”
And pigs flew. Did Howard know his sister at all?
“Can I count on your support, Sandhurst?”
“Ask me again in a few days.”
Howard laughed darkly. “I don’t have a few days.”
“Why not?”
Howard’s head jerked up as he realized he’d let slip information he shouldn’t have. His panic reminded Pearce of a green soldier surrounded by the enemy on his first sortie.
“Parliament, of course. The session ends in a few days. I’ve—I’ve gone ahead and introduced the bill.” Frustration shook visibly through him. “Had no choice. There’s barely time to escort the bill through debate and voting as it is.”
Pearce glanced at the screen near the door, then drawled, “So we put it on ho
ld until the next session.”
Howard froze, his face paling. “You might not be in a hurry, Sandhurst, but I have obligations that need to be met. As soon as possible.”
In other words, his obligations to the blackmailer.
“I can’t wait until next session.” He rubbed at his forehead and the headache that was undoubtedly forming behind his eyes. “It has to be now or never.”
Never and lose the chance for the men of the Armory to use Howard as a way to find out more about Scepter and its leaders. Now and risk that Amelia wouldn’t understand why he was pressing forward with the trust.
Damnation. He was trapped.
“Tomorrow, then,” he assured Howard. “I’ll give you my answer by noon.”
The man’s slender shoulders sagged with relief. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise you.”
“Something tells me you’re right.” Then he nodded toward the door. “I’ll return to the party in a moment.” He grinned. “Rumors say that Devonshire keeps a bottle of forty-year-old Kopke port in this closet, and you can’t blame an old army officer for ransacking the place to find it.”
The joke broke the tension. Somewhat. Howard laughed stiltedly, but Pearce could still sense his desperation.
“Close the door when you leave, will you?”
Howard did as ordered, without another word.
Glad that conversation was over, Pearce leaned back against a side table positioned between the two tall windows, crossed his arms, and kicked one ankle over the other. The pose of a man completely at ease.
Until he called out, “All clear, Amelia. You can come out from hiding now.”
She stepped out from behind the paneled screen in the corner near the door and glared at him, hands on hips and chin lifted high into the air, eyes blazing. A fighting stance if ever he’d seen one.
The battle was about to begin.
* * *
“You agreed to give him an answer by tomorrow noon?” Amelia demanded, her hands clenching into fists against her hips. Because if she didn’t let anger overtake her, then she’d most likely break down in tears. Already her nose and throat were burning.
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