Page 18 of An Unexpected Earl

As Amelia watched her ready herself for the afternoon, a thought struck her. A wild and utterly desperate idea. One that would test all the discretion and newfound trust oddly springing up between the two women.

“You must know a lot of society gentlemen,” she commented casually, despite the spiking of her pulse at what she planned to ask.

“I do.” Madame tapped the red color faintly onto her cheeks.

“Is there anything you can tell me about one who might—”

Madame’s gaze darted to Amelia’s in the mirror, silencing her in midsentence with a look so imposing it could have cut glass.

Amelia caught her breath.

Madame turned her attention back to her reflection and the color on her cheeks, then sighed out her capitulation. “It would depend, I suppose, on who you have in mind.” She set down the rouge pot. “And why.”

“An acquaintance of my brother.” Amelia sat forward on the edge of the settee to seize this unexpected chance to gather information about the man who held the power to bring down her world. And the only lead she had to find her brother’s blackmailer. “Sir Charles Varnham.”

“Hmm.” Madame applied the powder puff to her nose, then leaned toward the mirror to examine her work. “Arrogant, paunchy, judgmental, entitled…like any other English lord, I suppose.”

Amelia’s hopes plummeted. “Nothing out of the ordinary about him?” She set her teacup on the table before her trembling hands could spill it on the Turkish rug beneath her feet. “Nothing at all?”

“Not that I know of. But then, what were you hoping to hear—that he’s a wolf in Bond Street clothing? A devil in disguise?”

Exactlythat, actually. Because it meant the man might have a connection to the blackmailer. Or be the one doing the blackmailing himself.

“I’m afraid I can’t be much help to you. Sir Charles has never visited Le Château.” She carefully applied charcoal to her eyelids, giving them a smoky effect that made her look even more cat-like. “His younger brother, Arthur, however,” she mumbled, sitting back, “does business here several times a week. He’s easy to satisfy, from what I’ve been told. Prefers curvaceous blonds. And whips.”

Amelia blinked.Thatwasn’t at all the kind of information she was hoping for!

As if reading her mind, Madame smeared a bit of the red rouge across her bottom lip with her pinkie. “Tell me…why do you want to know about Sir Charles?”

“I think it’s important to know about the men Frederick works with.”

If Madame read that for the lie it was, she graciously said nothing. Instead, she rolled her lips together to spread the color and began to take down her hair.

“Don’t you have a ladies’ maid for that?” Amelia asked, glancing at the suite door that remained shut, expecting one to come scurrying in at any moment.

“I do. I run a fully staffed town house, just like any other in St James’s.” Madame smiled a bit patronizingly. “But I also have an appointment with my solicitor in an hour and so need to dress while we talk, and I’d rather keep our conversation private. Wouldn’t you?”

Absolutely.“Then at least let me help you.”

Amelia rose to her feet and came forward.

Surprise shot across Madame’s face, the first uncontrolled emotion Amelia had seen from the woman. But her shoulders eased down in acquiescence as Amelia approached from behind, took the pins from her hands, and unwound her hair.

As she picked up the brush and began to smooth out the woman’s locks, this new intimacy of helping with her hair sparked a boldness that made it seem perfectly fine to ask, “What do you know about blackmail?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” Madame didn’t even blink at that unexpected question. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

Amelia bit her bottom lip. “How does one make it work?”

Madame laughed, a throaty and amused sound. “You’ll never be able to blackmail anyone, Miss Howard.” She glanced at their reflection in the mirror as Amelia finished brushing her hair and set the tortoiseshell brush down on the dressing table to reach for a set of silver pins. “You have too much kindness in you, too much sympathy.”

Amelia grimaced, certain she’d never received such a complimenting insult before. “I didn’t mean—” Good Lord! She’d never have the courage to do something like that! “Not me, of course.”

“Of course not.” Disbelief colored Madame’s smile. “Which is good. Because in order to be successful at blackmail, you have to care not at all about the people involved. You have to be willing to hurt them. And severely. That’s the secret to it, you know. The trick that makes it work. The person you want to control must believe that you’ll do exactly as you threaten. If they suspect for one moment that you won’t carry through, you’ve lost.”

Which was why she and Frederick were at the blackmailer’s mercy. The man would do exactly as he’d threatened. They both knew it.

“Best to leave blackmail to the professionals,” Madame murmured, watching in the mirror as Amelia began to twist her long hair into a simple chignon.