Page 78 of An Unexpected Earl

If he’d agreed, he had good reason. Yet he’d done so without her when they were supposed to be working together. She couldn’t help a prick of betrayal in her belly.

“It’s all gone exactly as planned.” Frederick took a long swallow of cognac, as happy as the cat who’d caught the mouse. “Now the blackmail threats will end, and my career will be saved.” He gestured at her with the glass. “Your future as the sister of an MP is secure, society matrons will continue to cross the threshold of your little shop, and you don’t have to pretend to like Sandhurst any longer.”

“No.” She gave him a smile, one Freddie completely misread. “I don’t have to pretend to like him.”

He finished the cognac and set the glass down. “I’m going out to a club meeting and taking Sandhurst with me. I’ll be certain to tell him how happy you are about the trust.”

“No need.” She fought to keep the irony from her voice. “I’d be happy to tell him myself how I feel about it, the first chance I have.”

“I’ll be gone all night, most likely not back before dawn.” He sauntered from the study. “Don’t wait up.”

Twenty-one

“Are you sure about this?”

“Not at all.” Pearce flicked his gaze at Merritt Rivers in the dressing mirror as his man McTavish fussed with his cravat. The old camp aide turned valet knew practically nothing about dressing a gentleman, but Pearce hadn’t hired him for his grooming skills. He’d hired him because McTavish had been a trusted and dependable soldier during the wars, only to find himself cast out upon the streets after returning home. The same story with practically all the other servants comprising his household. “That’s why I want you to follow us tonight.”

Merritt slid a slow look over Pearce. “Keeping you in sight won’t be difficult.”

Pearce frowned at his reflection in the drawing room mirror.Most likely not.White jacket, white breeches and stockings—white everything, except for his boots, whose black leather McTavish had shined to gleaming. But those were the instructions Howard had included in the note he’d sent over just after six o’clock. The meeting with the trustees had been arranged for that night. Be ready to be collected at half past eleven. Wear all white, including the white cap that the messenger had handed over when he’d delivered the note.

Dressed like this at midnight, he’d stand out like a beacon. Or a target. Not exactly a reassuring thought, considering Scepter’s penchant for murdering people.

“And our next step after tonight?” Merritt asked.

Pearce waved McTavish out of the room with his mumbled thanks. Not that he didn’t trust the man; he did, with his life. But knowing anything about Scepter, no matter how small, might put McTavish’s life at risk.

When the door closed, Pearce turned away from the mirror and lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips. “We use the trustees to get closer to Scepter.” He took a swallow, letting it warm down his throat. “I don’t have to learn why they’re being placed, just who’s been pressing for it. That should lead me to Scepter’s leadership.”

“Charles Varnham’s involved, if Miss Howard’s right. Perhaps we should do as she suggested and focus on him.”

Pearce shook his head. “I’m not certain. If Varnham wanted—”

A door slammed downstairs, followed by the sound of a muffled argument and pounding footsteps. Both men tensed. His gaze not leaving Pearce’s, Merritt silently slid his hand into his jacket sleeve for the knife he kept there.

“No, I will not wait in the drawing room—Pearce!” The female voice shouted through the house, followed by more pounding footsteps. “Pearce! Where the devil are you?”

“Miss Howard’s come calling.” Merritt grimly slid the knife out of his sleeve and held it handle-first toward Pearce. “You’re going to need this.”

Pearce grimaced.

“Miss, stop where you are,” McTavish’s gruff voice climbed the stairs. “That is an order!”

His grimace turned into a wince. Oh,thatwas not going to go over well!

“An order?” Her voice rose with all the imperial haughtiness of a dowager duchess on an iceberg. “Anorder? Howdareyou think that you…”

Merritt slipped the knife back beneath his sleeve and declared, deadpan, “It’s now every man for himself.”

His bedroom door burst open. Amelia paused in the doorway, the hood of her cloak falling down around her shoulders and still dotted with raindrops from the drizzle falling over London. She was out of breath from racing up the stairs, her eyes blazing like a Fury’s. And was simply magnificent for it.

“Apologies, sir,” McTavish panted out behind her. “She slipped past me on the stairs.”

“I’m sure she did.” Pearce fought back a smile at the old soldier’s wounded pride that the enemy had penetrated the lines. “It’s all right. Miss Howard is welcome here.”

She arched a brow. “You owe me an explanation.”

So…her brother had told her about the trust. She was bound to have found out sooner or later, but this wasn’t at all the way Pearce wanted to have this conversation. And certainly not with Merritt and McTavish listening in.