Page 57 of An Unexpected Earl

That rasping murmur stirred a hot throbbing between her legs. But she wasn’t embarrassed to be standing in front of him like this, letting him look—encouraging his attentions, in fact, by making no attempt to cover herself. She simply stood there, her arms at her sides, the thin shift plastered over her breasts and hips. Having his gaze on her was too delicious to refuse.

“I think you have to agree,” she half whispered, “that a lot’s changed since I was nine.”

His eyes darted up to hers, and the raw desire she saw in their depths turned her insides molten.

He took a slow step toward her, and the smooth, stalking motion spiked her pulse. Now she knew what a gazelle felt like when faced with a lion.

“What I think, Amelia,” he admitted in a husky drawl that sparked across her flesh, “is that you’ve grown into a woman who knows her own mind and possesses the confidence not only to go after what she wants but also to know what to do with it once she has it.”

Standing close in front of her, he took another deliberate sweep of his gaze over her, this time not bothering to hide his desire as his eyes lingered shamelessly on her breasts and hips. Surely, he could see the dark circles of her nipples through the shift, tightened into little points that longed to be touched, and the dark curls between her legs guarding her femininity. She might as well have been naked.

He added in a low drawl, “That includes men.”

Amelia scoffed at the absurdity of that, that she of all women understood men and what they wanted—

Until he stripped off his waistcoat and tossed it to the floor to pile over her dress. The sound strangled in her throat.

He wore nothing more than black trousers and a wet shirt that clung to his sculpted chest and revealed exactly how much of a man he’d become during their years apart. Shamelessly, she let her gaze move over him, the same way he’d done to her only moments before.

Sliding the braces off his shoulders to let them dangle around his hips, he dropped his arms to his sides and let her look. The audacity of his confident stance was a clear issue of a challenge. “So the question is…what do you want?”

An anguished ache swelled inside her with such yearning need that she couldn’t breathe. What she wanted was comfort and security, love, protection…him. God help her. Even after all these years and all that had happened, she still wanted to be with him.

Beneath her confused stare, he yanked his shirttail out of his breeches and peeled the wet shirt over his head and off. It landed on the floor at her feet.

Her lips trembled as she whispered helplessly for mercy, “Pearce…”

He cupped her cheek against his palm and slowly lowered his mouth toward hers.

“Sir!” A knock pounded at the door.

Amelia jumped just as his lips grazed hers, startled back into sanity. She quickly stepped back, putting half the room between them.

Pearce bit down a curse and ran his hand through his damp hair. His hungry gaze remained fixed on her, even as he demanded over his shoulder at the door, “What is it?”

“Mr. Hughes sent me up, sir.” The high-pitched voice belonged to a boy who couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. “You got a message you need me to run?”

“Perfect timing,” Pearce bit out sarcastically in frustration as Amelia crossed her arms over her bosom to hide herself and turned away. “Wait one moment.”

He snatched up the spare blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders to cover her.

“Seems that you and I never get to finish what we start,” she teased, forcing a lightheartedness to ease the tension between them. “I think fate’s trying to tell us something.”

“I think fate can’t tell time.” He lowered his mouth to her ear, and his warm breath tickled over her skin as he murmured, “Because the night’s only half over, and that boy will be gone in five minutes.”

Her knees turned liquid, and she reached for the bedpost to keep her balance.

He stepped past her to the little desk beneath the window and reached for a piece of paper and the quill. He scrawled out a quick message, then folded it. Not bothering with a seal, he wrote the direction on the front. Glancing at her to make certain she was covered, he opened the door.

A boy with a giant cowlick and scruffy clothes stood in the hall. The insolent look on his face belied his young age and revealed a soul who had already spent too many rough years on the streets. Amelia feared he’d have too many more harsh years of survival to come.

Pearce handed him the letter. “Can you read this direction?”

“I can read,” the boy said defensively, jabbing up his chin. “And write, too.” His gaze dropped to the note, and he read slowly but determinedly, sounding out every letter, “The Armory, High Holborn Street.”

“The place looks abandoned but isn’t. Knock hard on the door, then wait for someone to answer. You’re to deliver this immediately, and the man who gets it will give you a coin.” He handed over the note. “When you bring him back here, you’ll get a second coin. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy tucked the note under his cap, then looked curiously past him at Amelia.