Page 32 of An Unexpected Earl

“I prefer the roses myself.”

With a surprised gasp, she wheeled around. Her eyes landed on Pearce as he stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

“But then,” he drawled with a shrug of a broad shoulder as his gaze wandered over her, “I’ve always been fond of scarlet.”

The silk slipped through her fingers and puddled on the floor at her feet.

Like a cake of a girl, she stared at him, all dusty and rumpled from riding, his posture both rakish and defiant.Good God…he so easily took her breath away.

The dark-green jacket that stretched over his shoulders only served to make him look more dashing than usual, impossibly broader and more muscular, from his shoulders all the way down over the tan riding breeches hugging at his hard thighs. Unlike how other gentlemen dressed, he wore no hat or neckcloth, as if he couldn’t be bothered with unnecessary bits of clothing or dandyish fashion trends. The slightly open shirt collar that just peeked out from beneath the plain tan waistcoat scandalously revealed his bare neck, making him look like nothing more than a common worker or ruffian drifting in from the docks. He knew it, too, based upon the defiant gleam in his eyes.

But of course Pearce would snub both fashion and decorum. When had he ever followed society’s rules? That he was part of it now would make no difference.

She swallowed hard as he shoved himself away from the door and stepped into the room, uninvited. His eyes left hers only when he stopped in front of her and bent down to pick up the silk. But the reprieve was short-lived, and heat streaked through her when he rose to his feet, his gaze traveling slowly up the length of her and lingering in all kinds of places it had no business being.

She would have told him so, too, if he hadn’t left her speechless. And aching.

“Good afternoon, Amelia.” His deep voice played like warm fingers down her spine.

“Pearce,” she forced out breathlessly. The world was spinning beneath her, and she reached out to grasp the edge of the table to keep from falling away. “What are you doing here?”

“I went to your brother’s house. The butler said you were both here.” He cast a leisurely glance around the room before landing his gaze on her. “I’m not surprised you run a shop. Your father was one of the most successful businessmen in England. It must be in your blood.”

“No, it’s not.” She laid the silk panel aside. Sheneverwanted to be compared to Gordon Howard. “And it’s not a shop.”

“Could have fooled me,” he mumbled dryly, reaching for a small vial of perfume containing a new scent that one of the women had recently concocted and which Amelia was considering offering for sale.

“It’s a charity.” She sounded defensive, even to her own ears, but she couldn’t help it, feeling like a mother protecting her child. “I give employment to women who otherwise have no means of support.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. You always were caring.”

He removed the cork and wafted the scent beneath his nose, then curled his lips in an appreciative expression that spun through her all the way to the ends of her hair. The same way he used to look at her when they were younger. Right before he proposed some wild scheme that undoubtedly ended up casting them into trouble. Like the time they’d sneaked into the Twelfth Night celebrations and drunk so much punch that she’d gotten sick. Or when he’d asked her to go sailing on the boat he’d made, only for it to sink in the middle of the river, forcing them to be rescued by the ferryman. And all those times when they’d gone off alone into the fields for picnics or stargazing, lying on a blanket in each other’s arms… She’d thought they’d always be like that, always going from one adventure to the next. Together.

But fate had never been her friend.

Slowly, she took the bottle out of his hand and replaced the stopper. She had no time for memories of a past now best left to the shadows.

“Freddie’s not here. He left about ten minutes ago, most likely for Boodle’s. So you don’t have to stay just to be polite.” She set the bottle aside before he could see her shaking hands. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than visit a ladies’ charity shop.”

Instead of leaving, though, he folded his arms and leaned a hip against the table beside her in a pose of such masculine confidence that her belly tightened with desire. The memories of giving him her first kisses as a girl, and other intimacies, came flooding back unbidden. And mercilessly.

“We were interrupted in our conversation yesterday,” he said. “I think we should finish it, don’t you?”

No. Finishing that conversation was not at all what she wanted. Instead, she smiled, dismissing his concerns by turning to show him out of her shop. “I asked you to help me by delaying and declining the trust, and you agreed. So there’s nothing more to—”

“I didn’t agree.”

She stopped. Holding her breath in a silent prayer that she’d misheard, she looked at him over her shoulder. “What did you say?”

“That I didn’t agree to scuttle the trust.”

Dread rushed through her as she turned to face him. “But you did. That’s why you haven’t given Freddie your decision yet, because you’re delaying.”For me.

“I haven’t given my decision because I need more information.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, studying her. “About your brother’s reason for wanting this trust so badly, about the trustees he’s picked…and you, Amelia.”

“Me?” Instead of the squeak she’d expected, the word emerged as a throaty rasp. Drat the man for having this effect on her! “I don’t want that turnpike.”

“I know. What I can’t figure out is why.”