Page 26 of An Unexpected Earl

“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 trustisin 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 all 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 ignoreherever 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.”

On cue, a wailing moan of female pleasure echoed down the hall. Pearce rolled his eyes at the unconvinced look Merritt shot him over the rim of his glass.

“Madame Noir owes me a favor,” Pearce explained.

“Oh?”