Page 19 of An Unexpected Earl

“Becoming involved with it was never my intention,” she muttered on an earnest breath.

Without moving her head, Madame knowingly arched a brow. “Gotten yourself into a sticky spot, then, have you?”

“I haven’t gotten myself into anything.” Freddie had. This was all his mess, but one that she’d been forced to clean up. Yet the way out—

Her stomach sickened, knowing she was trapped. Surrender Bradenhill to the trust and save Freddie from blackmail, thus also saving herself and her shop, or save her land by stopping the trust and risk that all Freddie had done would be revealed, destroying both of their lives and the war widows who depended upon her right along with them…Dear Lord, is there any way out of this?

Freddie thought so, with Pearce as his preferred solution. But she hadn’t seen him in twelve years, didn’t know if the man he’d become could be trusted… In his desperation to find a savior, had Freddie tossed their lot in with the devil?

“And the Earl of Sandhurst?” Amelia asked as nonchalantly as possible. “Do you know anything about him?”

“Ah, Brandon,” Madame purred, as if privately delighted that Amelia had mentioned him. “I do know him. Quite well.”

Brandon… Madame’s use of his given name implied intimacy. The unexpectedness of that nearly took Amelia’s breath away. She mumbled, “Do you?”

“He’s a war hero, you know. Wellington would have lost Waterloo if not for Brandon and his men.”

Amelia’s throat tightened. “No, I didn’t know that.”

When he hadn’t answered her letters, she’d stopped reading about him in the papers, stopped asking about him with old acquaintances in Birmingham…juststoppedeverything to do with him. She’d set her sights on completely forgetting about him, even if her nightly dreams hadn’t cooperated.

But she wasn’t surprised to hear that about him. He’d always been courageous, even in his youth when he’d so rashly thrown himself into fights, seemingly at every chance he had. Constantly, his face had carried bruises and cuts in all stages of healing, which had somehow only made him more dashing. Even then he’d been a natural-born fighter.

“He’s a good man. Averygood man.” Madame smiled knowingly as Amelia began to secure the pins and fought an immature urge to yank the woman’s hair out. “One with secrets.” Her gaze darted to Amelia’s in the mirror. “But I’m not certain they’re worthy of extortion.”

Her cheeks flushed. “No! I didn’t mean Pearce when I—”

“If you see him, tell him that I miss him.” She took the last pin from Amelia’s startled hand as it froze in midair and slipped it into place. “He hasn’t been by to see me in far too long.”

Gracefully, Madame stood with a swoosh of her green silk dressing gown and crossed the room to a small jewelry box on her dresser. She opened one of the tiny drawers and withdrew a bauble—an emerald and gold bracelet that dazzled in the sunlight.

“I have this because of Brandon. I acquired it the last time I saw him.” She held it out to Amelia to fasten around her wrist for her. “A beautiful little prize, don’t you think?”

With a tight smile, Amelia forced out, “Yes.” Whom Pearce chose to spend time with was none of her business, even a woman like Madame Noir. So drat it, why did the backs of her eyes begin to sting? Had he changed that much in manhood that he’d seek pleasure at a place like this? “Quite beautiful.”

Steeling herself, she fastened the bracelet in place and forced down by sheer will the unbidden jealousy now pulsing through her in waves.

Madame reached for a day dress tossed over a nearby chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to dress now.” She pulled free the tie on her dressing gown, then stopped. “I’d let you stay and watch, but I charge for such pleasures.” Her lips curled in amusement. “Business, you understand.”

“Perfectly.” Accepting that unusual request to end their tea, Amelia collected her shawl and reticule and moved toward the door. Despite the jealousy and resentment roiling in her belly, she knew she couldn’t afford to offend Madame and said, “Please visit the Bouquet Boutique whenever you’d like.”

Then she remembered who this woman was and the hard life she’d undoubtedly led, remembered why men sought her out—

If Pearcehadcome to her, it had surely been nothing more than a physical encounter. But he’d once wanted intimacies with Amelia because he’d loved her. That much, at least, she’d never doubted.

Her jealousy dissolved into pity, and she added sincerely, “I’d be happy to show the shop to you.”

Madame’s expression changed into one of gratitude and womanly connection. A look that left Amelia wondering as she slipped out the door if Madame had any friends who didn’t work for her at Le Château Noir. Or any true friends at all.

She made her way downstairs and out the rear kitchen door, safely out of sight from King Street. She couldn’t risk being seen leaving a brothel, even in broad daylight.

The hackney waited at the end of the alley where she’d left it, having dearly paid the jarvey to wait for her. When she approached, he stirred and tugged at the brim of his hat.

“Marylebone,” she called out as she stepped into the compartment. She needed to go to her shop to find space and time to catch her breath, calm her nerves, and plan out what to do next. “Montagu Square.”

She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Her fist pressed against her chest in a futile attempt to slow the frantic pounding of her heart and the pain that had lodged itself there. The thought of Pearce with someone like Madame Noir seared her insides.

She groaned softly in disgust at herself. What a goose she was! To care anything about whomever Pearce had given his body to, or gifted expensive jewelry, or granted his affections—He was a grown man, for heaven’s sake! An army officer and a peer. A war hero. Women would be no novelty to a man like him, including courtesans.