Page 4 of An Unexpected Earl

“Brandon Pearce, current Earl of Sandhurst and former brigadier in His Majesty’s army, Coldstream Guards.” He lowered his mouth to her ear as he spun her through a tight circle and started back across the dance floor. “But most people call me Pearce.”

“Pearce.” The soft sound of his name curled heatedly along his spine. And around another more sensitive place.

His memory couldn’t place her, but his body somehow knew what he didn’t. He’d been intimate with her. He would have wagered in the book at White’s on it. But when? Where?

Beneath his concentrated stare, she nervously cleared her throat and looked away over his shoulder. “Do you often go around rescuing women?”

“Constantly,” he drawled dryly. “Do you often need to be rescued?”

“Never.”

He arched a disbelieving brow.

“I would have handled Lord Derby just fine on my own.”

His brow inched higher.

“I’m handlingyoujust fine, aren’t I?” Her green eyes gleamed mischievously, sparking a yearning desire in his gut. “And you’re a brigadier.”

He grinned at her cheekiness. They weren’t dancing. They were dueling. And he was enjoying it immensely. She was the kind of woman who could easily keep a man on his toes, or leave him lying in the dust without a second thought if he couldn’t keep pace.

“I’m not like the other men here tonight.” He hid the gentle warning of that behind a tease of arrogance.

She smiled, just as he’d hoped. “So I’ve gathered.”

He changed direction in their waltz. And in their conversation. “And you’re not like the other women.”

She tensed in his arms, her smile tightening. But this time she didn’t miss a single beat and continued to match his steps, her eyes never leaving his.

“So why are you here tonight, Lady Scarlet, when you so obviously don’t belong?”

“Why are you?” she countered, sending back the next shot in their volley. But the husky tone of her answer told him that he’d rattled her.

“So I could rescue you.” He had no intention of answering that honestly. “Why are you here?”

“Apparently, to be rescued.”

He smiled grimly. Their waltz was coming to an end, and so was his opportunity to learn the truth about her. “You’re not a light-skirt looking to make rent, and you’re not a courtesan searching for a protector.” His eyes searched what little of her face he could see beneath the mask, looking for answers. “You’re also not some jaded society widow looking for an evening’s entertainment.”

“I might be.” The trembling in her voice undercut whatever assurance she’d aimed for. “You don’t know.”

“But I do.”

To make his point, he stepped forward and brought the front of his body in full contact with hers.

She stiffened immediately with a surprised gasp, her hand at his shoulder flattening against the kerseymere of his jacket as if catching herself before she pushed him away. Or before she cracked him over the skull as she’d done to Derby. No courtesan or light-skirt would have done that. Just more proof of how far out of her element she was.

His point made, he shifted away to a respectable distance. Regrettably. The part of him that remembered her desperately wanted to rekindle old acquaintances.

“So why are you here?” He frowned as the last notes of the waltz floated away. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, I can help.” When she hesitated to reply, he added, “And I won’t even ask your real name.”

She paused a moment before muttering, “Youdorescue women, don’t you?”

“A man needs a hobby,” he replied, deadpan.

When her shoulders eased down and she bit her bottom lip, he knew he’d won her over, if grudgingly. “If you truly want to help…” As the orchestra fell silent, she stopped dancing and searched for any sign that she could trust him. Either convinced of his trustworthiness—or simply desperate—she said, “I’m looking for Sir Charles Varnham.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Why?”