Page 70 of An Unexpected Earl

“To not have you—never completely—never allowed to love with all of myself in every way as a woman and wife should, openly and proudly, without fear for ourselves and our children… I simply couldn’t bear it! I want all of you, Pearce.” Her voice died to barely a breath. “Or nothing at all.”

Nineteen

Damnation.Pearce bit back a grimace. Amelia wouldn’t look at him. Instead she stared out the carriage window at the predawn blackness as the city passed by.

In the hour since Merritt Rivers arrived to escort them from the Prospect of Whitby, with Amelia wrapped in an old army greatcoat that Pearce had instructed him to bring to cover her ruined dress, she’d not glanced at him more than a handful of times. Judging by the way she’d fixed her gaze on the black night outside, she had no intention of making it more.

A chasm had opened between them, one as deep and dark as the night around them and just as cold.

But he’d waited twelve years for the chance to have her back. He’d be damned before he let her slip away again.

“That’s all you know about the men on the list?” Merritt prompted when she fell silent.

From the moment the hackney had pulled away from the tavern, she’d answered questions under Merritt’s gentle interrogation. He was good, Pearce had to give him credit for that. Merritt knew exactly when to press hard and when to ease back to gain the most information, and he was able to string together bits of information that most likely Amelia didn’t know were connected. That was why he was among the best barristers in all of the British Empire, certain to be appointed king’s counsel at the first opportunity and eventually become a high court judge like his father. His Majesty had no idea of the brilliant mind he’d be gaining in Merritt.

Pearce frowned. Nor how much of a troubled soldier.

Like some of the other men of the Armory, Merritt had not adapted well to being back in London. Even now, as he did his best to appear relaxed, Pearce knew he was on edge. He’d known Merritt too well for too long not to sense the man’s moods. Of course, Pearce’s suspicion was helped along in no small part by the way Merritt was dressed from head to boots in solid black and most likely armed to the teeth beneath his greatcoat. If Pearce were a betting man, he’d have wagered his newly acquired earldom that Merritt had been out tonight prowling the streets. Again.

Amelia answered quietly to the window, “I’ve told you everything.”

Merritt slid Pearce a sideways glance, asking for permission to continue. They would be arriving at her shop soon, and the opportunity they’d been given to delve deeper into what she knew would end. They might never have this chance again.

Fighting down a hard breath of guilt at interrogating her like this, Pearce nodded.

Merritt leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Have you ever heard your brother mention a group called Scepter?”

“No.” In the black window, her reflection shook its head.

They’d moved beyond the avenues with their gas lamps, now depending upon the lone lamp dangling off the front of the slow-moving hackney to make their way. Around them, Marylebone was asleep. The new rows of terrace houses that lined the streets were all shuttered and dark for the night, the patches of open land between wet from the drizzling rain and uninviting in the thickening fog. She could see nothing beyond the pane of glass, but she insisted on keeping her attention there, rather than on Pearce.

His punishment for daring to love her.

“And you know nothing about them?”

“Only what Pearce has told me. That they’re some kind of criminal organization.”

“To put it mildly,” Merritt acknowledged under his breath. “Have they ever attempted to contact you?”

“No.”

“Are you certain? No messages, no threats to harm you or your shop?”

Thatsnagged her full attention, and she darted her gaze between the two men. “Why would they threaten my charity?”

“To force you into pressuring your brother to make those appointments.”

“You’re mistaken.” She gave a short laugh. “I have no power over Freddie.”

Pearce didn’t doubt that. The Howard men had always treated her as little more than a burden. A doll to control and use as they wished. That her brother had helped her at all after her elopement still surprised him. Frederick Howard was nothing if not mercenary.

“Yet you’re the one who’s keeping the turnpike trust from going forward.”

“Freddie doesn’t know that. He thinks I’m willingly participating because he—” She stopped.

A chill coiled its way up Pearce’s spine. “Because he’s already threatened your charity himself,” Pearce quietly finished for her, “so there isn’t any need for Scepter to do it.”

“Yes,” she whispered.