Page 15 of An Unexpected Earl

He scoffed. “Influence peddling? Every MP does that.” Pearce desperately wanted that to be true. For Amelia’s sake, he prayed that her brother was nothing more than a typical Westminster politician. “That doesn’t mean he has connections to Scepter or the murders.”

“No. But he did have close associations with the Earl of Hartsham, whom we know without doubt was involved with Scepter. I’m not willing to take a chance that influence peddling is all he’s been doing.”

Merritt interjected, “And he wants you to consider a business arrangement with him?”

“Nothing that involves murder, that’s for sure.” He tossed back the last of his cognac and frowned at the bottom of the glass. “He wants to build a turnpike across our adjoining properties.”

The two men exchanged another look. But this time, Merritt grinned.

“What is it now?” Pearce half growled. He was a step behind. But then, subtle strategy had never been his specialty. His expertise had lain in blasting the hell out of the enemy once plans had been made. Even now, the old restlessness that gnawed at him demanded action.

“It takes an act of Parliament to create a turnpike,” Merritt explained. “A bill to empower a trust has to be passed to allow for the confiscation of land and to oversee the road’s creation, the collection and disbursement of tolls, and ongoing maintenance.”

“I know,” Pearce grumbled. He was part of the Lords now, whether he liked it or not. “I’ve voted on over two dozen of the things since May.”

“Then you also know that all trustees have to be approved by Parliament. Which technically makes them government appointees.”

“Technically,” he repeated for emphasis, not yet wanting to admit to himself that Amelia’s brother was involved with Scepter. “But there’s a grand difference between turnpike trustees and the types of government positions that Scepter’s willing to murder for.” But saying that didn’t alleviate his growing unease. “This doesn’t mean Howard’s involved with Scepter. Just opportunistic.”

“We can’t be certain of that,” Clayton reminded him.

For Amelia’s sake, Pearce prayed they could be.

He shoved himself out of the chair and crossed the room to the side table, ignoring the bottle that Merritt held only a few feet from his chair. He needed to move. Pouring himself a whiskey was simply an excuse to do so. “Howard’s involvement aside, we’re dancing around the most important question. Why should Scepter care about government appointments in the first place, and enough to kill for them?”

“To put their men into positions of power,” Clayton answered.

“Turnpiketrustees?” Incredulity colored his voice. “No one in the history of England has ever associated turnpike trustees with positions of power.”

“Never in the history of England has there been an organization like Scepter,” Merritt echoed quietly.

That was the God’s truth. If what Clayton and Merritt were saying was true, then Amelia’s brother had been swept up into a hornet’s nest. “But atrust? Scepter murdered at least half a dozen men to free up those positions on your list.” He gestured at Clayton with his empty glass. “Maybe more. If they’re willing to do something like that, why on earth would they settle for trustees, men who don’t even earn a sinecure for serving?” He yanked the stopper out of the decanter and refilled his drink. “If Scepter’s intention is to put men into positions of power, they’ve gotten this one all wrong.”

“Maybe not,” Clayton considered. “The Home Office and Bow Street have been investigating the deaths as murders. If Scepter has an informant inside the Home Office—and we have to assume they do—then they wouldn’t want to draw any more attention to themselves and what they’ve been doing. They’d find other ways to create openings. Perhaps even settling for something as innocuous as turnpike trustees.”

“And now we’re back to my original question.” The stopper clinked softly as he returned it to the crystal decanter. “What does Scepter want with these positions, especially if they’re willing to accept such low ones?”

Merritt grinned. “That’s why we have you. To find out exactly that.”

Christ.Pearce tossed back nearly half the whiskey, but it did nothing to wash the acid from his tongue.

Clayton asked, “Howard made you a formal offer?”

“He suggested that we meet to discuss the possibility.”

“Then I think you should, to see what you can discover.”

Scepter and turnpikes? Pearce bit back a laugh. They were chasing down the wrong path.

Instead of returning to his chair, he began to pace. His agitation didn’t bloom because this would prove to be a grand waste of time, just as all the other leads on Scepter had during the past few months. No, it was because of the Howards themselves. No matter that the old man was dead now, or that Amelia had clearly claimed the life in society she’d been destined for. The thought of becoming close with them again rattled him to his core, especially if Amelia planned to be involved with the trust.

Was that why she was at the masquerade tonight, to assist her brother in working to convince him to partner with them? Did Howard also want to make Varnham a trustee?

No. He’d seen the way she’d reacted when her brother approached him. She’d been startled, enough to flee into the path of that phaeton.

So why the devilhadshe been there?

“What do you have to lose?” Merritt collapsed into Pearce’s vacated chair. “If Howard’s working for Scepter, then we’ll use him to gain more information on the organization’s leaders. If he’s just an MP peddling his influence, then you’ll be the proud father of a new stretch of turnpike and all the benefits it brings.”