Page 31 of An Unexpected Earl

She’d never been more serious about anything in her life. Her world was about to come crashing down around her—again. But this time, no one would be there to help her pick up the pieces.

Except possibly for Pearce.Ifhe’d truly been sincere in his offer to help her.

“Smile at him, flatter him, laugh at his comments, twist your hair around your finger—”

“Twistmy hair?” The calmness of that question belied her simmering anger.

“Just be nice to the man, will you?” Exasperated, Freddie ran a hand through his hair. Fitting. Because she wanted to yank it out of his head. “For God’s sake, half the wives in thetonpretend for their entire lives that they like the men they’re married to. The least you can do is pretend to like Sandhurst for the next fortnight.”

No. That wasn’t the least she could do. The least she could do was let Frederick go to the dogs.

But that meant letting herself—and the shop—go down with him. She could never do that.

“I will try,” she half-heartedly promised.

“Good. Because I hope to see him tonight at the Black Ball.”

She let out a surprised squeak. “Pardon?”

When Frederick had purchased tickets to White’s grand gala six weeks ago, she hadn’t known that Pearce was back in London, let alone would be attendance. As the sister to an MP, her presence was expected—mandatory, if Freddie had any say in the matter. But seeing Pearce again was the very last thing she wanted. She’d come too close to confiding in him yesterday. If she saw him again, if old memories stirred—

No, shehadto keep away from him. Avoiding him completely was the only way to ensure that he wouldn’t learn Freddie’s secrets. Or hers.

“The earl is attending?” Trepidation panged hollowly in her belly. “Are you certain?”

Her brother grunted in answer, clearly distracted by thoughts of cornering Pearce at tonight’s ball. But from everything she’d discovered about him since the masquerade, he wasn’t the type of man who let himself be trapped. Several thousand dead French soldiers proved that.

“I’ll pull him aside at some point and demand an answer,” Freddie mumbled to himself. “Perhaps in the game room when he’s distracted by cards and drink.” He waved his hand dismissively and once more began to pace. “You know how these evenings are for gentlemen.”

She sighed a bit mockingly. “No, not really.”

“Don’t, Amelia.” He leveled a quelling look at her. “Do not minimize the importance of this. Everything we have is at risk.”

“I am well aware of that.” For heaven’s sake, she was standing right in the middle of it. War widows who depended upon her charity to survive were most likely out in the shop at that very moment, whispering about the two of them and this latest argument they’d gotten into.

“Good.” He tugged at his cuffs, then at his waistcoat. That same nervous gesture that Papa had done whenever he wanted to remind himself that he was a wealthy businessman who had risen so far in the world that he nipped at the heels of the aristocracy. One of her brother’s inherited traits which she despised. “Then we’ve come to an understanding. You’ll do whatever you can to bring Sandhurst over to our side.”

No. She hadn’t agreed to anything of the kind.

He picked up the silk cloth she’d been examining. “You have a lovely shop, Amelia, you truly do.” He released the panel and let it fall to the table. Then he wiped his hands together, as if ladies’ things disgusted him. “But you won’t be able to save it if I’m ruined.”

Was that a threat? All the tiny muscles in her stomach twisted, and for a moment, she feared she might cast up her accounts. Wouldn’t it be a shame if she ruined his shiny new shoes?

“I mean it,” he warned as he moved toward the door. “Do not do anything to dissuade Sandhurst.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she mumbled as he left.

When he was out of sight, she hung her head in her hands and let her shoulders sag, gulping down mouthfuls of air to calm her roiling stomach. For this one moment only, she let the anguish sweep over her about the mess life had become, the loss of control, that despised feeling of helplessness that was once again descending…

But only a moment. She’d learned long ago that feeling sorry for herself solved nothing.

Gathering her strength with a deep inhalation, she ignored her trembling fingers as she reached for two of the silk panels and spread them out across the table.

That was it—lose herself in her work, just as she’d always done…when Pearce was forced away, when Papa died and she’d been left to suffer Frederick’s anger about the will, then again when Aaron left her. Plans for a better future had always sustained her. Just as they would now.

After this mess was over, once her charity and Bradenhill were both safe, she wouldneverlet herself be under another man’s control again.

“Which is better, hmm?” Talking to herself, she turned her attention back to deciding which of the silk pieces to keep in stock and which to rotate out of inventory. “The red roses with their green leaves or the pretty peonies?”