Page 39 of An Unexpected Earl

“Apparently, he does. The second reading is expected in two days.”

“Two days?” Surprise rang through Pearce, followed immediately by dread. Amelia had no idea what her brother had done, or how quickly he was moving to push it through. “A bill usually waits two weeks between readings.”

“There’s not expected to be any debate, so no reason to hold it up. It’s only a turnpike trust, after all. We’ve passed over two dozen of the things just this last month,” Marcus muttered. “He’s made clear to the other members that he’s eager to have it approved and given royal assent before the session ends.”

Pearce’s chest constricted with a sickening jolt as he remembered the look of betrayal he’d glimpsed on Amelia’s face earlier when she spoke about losing Bradenhill. Hearing this news would devastate her.

“He’s announced the names of the five trustees,” Clayton informed him. “You and himself, of course, along with Sir George Pittens, Mr. James Markham, and Sir Robert Graves.”

Pearce scanned the list. “Are we certain they have ties to Scepter?”

“Not yet,” Clayton answered. “But we can’t take any chances and have to assume they do.”

“Do we know anything about their connection to Scepter’s leadership?” Frustration filled his voice. Not all of it because of Scepter. “I thought the Home Office was supposed to be good at espionage.”

So far, Clayton’s men at the Home Office and the Bow Street investigators who teamed with them had turned up next to nothing specific about Scepter and its plans, and what reports they had discovered contradicted each other. It was as if Scepter knew it was being tracked and was purposefully leading a campaign of misinformation and confusion.

“Damnably hard to track down Scepter when we’re busy cleaning up Prinny’s latest mess,” Clayton grumbled defensively, kicking out his long legs. But the casual pose belied the aggravation seething inside him that the Home Office was increasingly playing nursemaid to the Regent these days. “And none of our usual channels have been able to provide anything concrete about who might be leading the group or their motives.” His expression turned grim. “Right now, your connection to them through Howard is the best chance we’ve got.”

“So you’ll keep after Howard about the turnpike,” Marcus said. An order. Not a request.

“Yes, General,” Pearce answered, as if they were still in the field with Marcus still their commanding officer. To the men who’d served with him, he always would be.

“And Miss Howard?” Clayton interjected. “Do you think there’s any worth in pursuing her?”

Pearce grimaced. Wasn’tthata damnably ironic question?

“I think,” he drawled, “that I won’t let her out of my sight.”

Eleven

“Do you see Sandhurst anywhere?” Freddie craned his neck as he led Amelia inside Devonshire House. They handed over his coat and her wrap to the footman waiting at the door, along with their tickets.

“No.” But then, she wasn’t exactly looking. She only wanted to leave.

She would put in her obligatory appearance in the ballroom on Freddie’s arm, then she would feign a terrible malady of some kind or other, helped along if necessary by a vial of a noxious concoction that Maggie had slipped into her hand when she’d finished dressing her. Guaranteed to cause sickness, her maid had assured her.

Although as nervous as she was at the prospect of seeing Pearce again after their earlier encounter, she didn’t need any help on that score. She was more than uneasy enough to cast up her accounts all by herself.

“He’s been avoiding me,” Freddie complained as he led her through the circuit of reception rooms, not to see what entertainments were lined up for tonight but to hunt for Pearce. “I searched for him all afternoon, but he was nowhere to be found.” He smiled and nodded at an acquaintance in the crowd. “We’re running out of time.”

She knew that more than he did.

“You’d better help me with him, Amelia.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

He slanted her an assessing look, as if uncertain if she were being sincere.

Around them, the party was already in full swing, proving itself to be the last great event of the season. In only a few days, Parliament would end, and thetonwould flee for their country estates, for fresh air and hunting. But tonight they were still in the city, and the cream of society who had been well connected enough to gain tickets were all gathered here, all of them dressed in pure black as required on the invitation.

The Black Ball. An ironic pun on White’s selection ritual in which existing members tossed a ball into a bowl in order to vote on new members—a white ball for acceptance, a black one for rejection. It took only a single black ball to deny someone membership. Amelia contemplated the men in the crush around her. How many of them had been rejected by a black ball yet paid dearly to attend tonight, as if never having received that insult?

But not Pearce. Certainly, he had his choice of clubs. As a new earl and a war hero, he’d been welcomed into society with open arms, even if being in their embrace wasn’t at all what he’d wanted.

He was here, she could feel it—dressed in black like everyone else, meandering through the house that had been decorated throughout in white. The rooms had been tented in white sailcloth, complete with white silk curtains and sashes draped from windows and white sheets on the floor, and giant bouquets of white roses, daisies, and baby’s breath in white porcelain vases were scattered throughout. The terrace doors in every room were opened wide to let the guests drift between the house and the gardens, where white silk sashes hanging from the trees danced on the evening breeze like ghosts. All the servants wore white uniforms as they moved through the party, right down to the men who stood in the drive and directed the long row of carriages winding up to the front door. Among all the white, the guests contrasted starkly in their solid black silks and satins, their pearls and diamonds sparkling beneath the chandeliers.

The whole place looked as if a group of funeral mourners had stumbled into a snowstorm, then decided to linger for drinks and dancing.