Pearce waited for her to begin, not moving a muscle. He wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t leaving this room until she told him what he wanted to know. Starting with Varnham.
“Well?” he pressed.
Amelia crossed her arms. “No.”
“No what?”
“No, I’m not telling you anything.”
Damnably stubborn woman. “You know, you were a lot more cooperative when I was removing your clothes.”
Even in the dim light of the fire he could see her face flush. The sight was pure temptation.
Knowing she was practically naked beneath that blanket didn’t help. He squirmed uncomfortably on the chair and tried again. “Why are you so interested in Varnham?”
“Why did you follow me out of the ball tonight?” she countered.
“Because rescuing you has grown into a habit. What did you want with the man?”
“Only to talk to him. Why did you follow me?”
“Because I’ve grown fond of your neck.”
She frowned with faint bewilderment, her hand going to her throat and the old locket that hung there. “My neck?”
“I knew it was only a matter of time until you put it at risk. Again.”
She angrily dropped her hand away. “Very funny.”
“If those men had caught us tonight, no one would be laughing.” Men he was certain were connected to Scepter. Men who’d wanted to kill her. He pinned her with a hard gaze. “Tell me, Amelia. What did you want with Varnham?”
“Well, an unmarried miss should never pass up a potential husband,” she quipped. “Sometimes a woman has to take matters into her own hands.”
Unease tightened in his gut. She might have been teasing about wedding Varnham, but something about the way she said it contained a deeper truth that prickled an icy warning at his nape. “It won’t work.”
“What won’t?”
“Attempting to distract me with jealous thoughts of you with Varnham.”
“Well, thank goodness for—”
“Because he’ll never court you. You’re not his type.”
She twisted a damp curl around her finger. “Blond?”
“Intelligent.” When her eyes flared, he added, “That sharp mind of yours can run circles around Varnham. He’d never let himself be shown up by a woman. Even one as beautiful and alluring as you.”
Her lips parted slightly at the compliment, and for a moment, she was speechless. Good. The last thing he wanted to discuss was potential husbands for her.
“Is that why you keep embracing me?” she challenged softly once she found her voice. “Because you find me beautiful and alluring? Or are you attempting to distract me into giving you answers?”
No. That was the last thing. “Not at all.”
“Yet you keep doing it.”
A smug grin curled his lips. “Because you seem to like it.”
She sniffed with mock offense. “It was the excitement of nearly being caught in Devonshire’s closet, that’s all.”
“And in your shop? No one was there to catch us then.”
“Temporary madness.” Then she folded her arms over her chest, once again assuming that obstinate pose in which she’d begun this argument.
Damnation. He was getting nowhere by sparring with her like this, and time was running out. Flanking the enemy and hoping for a break in the line wasn’t working. It was time for a direct assault.
He accused bluntly, “Varnham is connected to the trust, isn’t he?”
She tensed, her breath catching so hard in startled surprise that he could hear it. But she managed to rasp out, “I don’t know what you mean.”
No, he wouldn’t let her dissemble so easily and pressed, “What did you hope to gain from him? Help in delaying the trust if I turned out to be on your brother’s side?”
“If I don’t answer,” she tossed back, once again picking a fight, “will you kiss me again in another attempt to seduce secrets from me?”
“If I kiss you, Amelia,” he promised, “it won’t be to uncover those kinds of secrets.”
She stilled instantly, except for her cheeks which flushed bright red even in the dim firelight.
As if needing to keep herself busy, she picked up her dress from the floor and shook it out. She made a show of frowning over the ruined satin, but he knew it was really to keep from having to make eye contact with him. “What do you care about any of this?”
“I’ve always cared about you.”
She turned toward the fireplace, ostensibly to drape the wet dress over the back of a chair to dry. But more than likely to put an even greater distance between them. Even with the blazing fire, the room had suddenly grown cold.
“I’ve never given you any reason to doubt that.” His voice was low and controlled, but he fought the urge to clench his fists in frustration. “Even when I left Birmingham for the army, I did it to protect you. And I’ll keep protecting you as long as necessary.” He pushed himself out of the chair and slowly approached her. “But it would also help a great deal if you trusted me.”
She held tightly to the blanket to keep it in place between them. A desperate shield, nearly as effective in stopping him in his tracks as the look of betrayal shining in her eyes. “How can I trust you when I don’t know your real motives? Or why you’re so interested in what my brother has done?”
A logical question. Yet something about the way she said it implied so much more that he couldn’t fathom. A defensiveness. The need to protect herself. An old wound. It killed him to see her in pain.
“You know that I have never done anything except act in your best interests,” he assured her quietly, “even when we were children.”
“But we’re strangers now.” Raw emotion filled her voice. “I don’t know you anymore.”
“You do know me. You always have.” Better than anyone else in the world.
“But the turnpike—and the blackmail…” Her eyes glistened. “You said at the shop that Freddie was involved with a criminal group, with dangerous men.” She swallowed. “How do you know that? Are you involved with them?”
“I’m set on stopping them.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I see.” Disappointment rang like a bell in that short response, and she turned her back to him, facing the fireplace.
Pearce raked his fingers through his hair. The last thing he wanted to do was place her in more danger by telling her about Scepter. Or betray the men of the Armory. But if he didn’t tell her, if she didn’t understand why he was doing this—
He’d lose her again. This time for forever.
He dragged in a deep breath. “The group is called Scepter. They’re involved with smuggling, prostitution, bribery, blackmail—not just the criminal underworld, as you would expect, but penetrating all levels of society, including right up to the highest ranks of the aristocracy. And now into the government.” The bitterness bit like acid on his tongue. “Thanks to your brother.”
Slowly, she faced him. Her eyes still glistened in the firelight, but at least she was willing to listen. Thank God. “What do you mean?”
“The men your brother has placed into government appointments all have ties to Scepter. Men who now have positions all over Whitehall and the Court of St James’s.” He paused to punctuate the gravity of what he was confiding in her. “Men who are willing to commit murder and destroy lives to protect Scepter, to maintain its secrecy and power.” He slowly approached her. “Your brother’s only a pawn, but perhaps I can use him just as Scepter is. If he can help me make contacts in their organization, then I might be able to stop them.”
“But a handful of government positions, mostly low-level ones…” she whispered, barely louder than a breath. “Why would a criminal organization want those?”
“We don’t know.”
“We?”
“The men of the Armory.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her about them either. But if she thought he was doing this alone, she’d most likely do something rash to try to stop him and expose everything they’d been working so hard to achieve. “We’re a group of former soldiers who work out of the old armory just to the north of the City. Scepter came after one of our own and his family, and now we’ve pledged to stop them.” He fixed his eyes on hers. “We won’t let them harm the ones we love.”
He couldn’t tell her anything more. Not yet. But he could offer assurances, however limited.
“Believe me, Amelia.” He gently touched her cheek, and she trembled at his caress. “I would never do anything to harm you. Put your trust in me, and give me the chance to prove it.”
The hard stubbornness to keep him at arm’s length eased from her with the sagging of her shoulders and a faint pressing of her cheek into his palm.
Yet it was a gesture of exasperation, not surrender. She still held little trust in him. Her uncertainties ran too deep to vanish so easily.
A knock came at the door, and one of the barmaids called out, “Yer hot splash an’ good, as ordered.”
When Pearce moved the chair aside and opened the door, the girl beamed a smile at him, which turned apologetic when she glanced past him and saw Amelia wrapped in the blanket.
Pearce bit down a grimace. What she thought had been happening here was the furthest thing from the truth. Regrettably.
The maid carried a bucket of hot water in one hand and two tankards of ale in the other, and on her arm, she balanced a plate of food. Mumbling an apology, she hurried across the small room to place the bucket by the washstand and the food and ale on the desk. Then she pulled a bottle of whiskey out of one apron pocket and a glass from the other. Those she placed on the fireplace shelf.
Pearce tossed her a coin, and she closed the door as she left.
“Hot splash and good,” Amelia repeated the cant, bewilderment edging her voice. “You ordered hot water and food for us?”
Her surprise grated, that it wouldn’t occur to him to think of comforts like this for her. Hadn’t she learned yet? He put her first in his thoughts. Always.
“That river was filthy and freezing.” He snatched up his shirt from the floor. “I thought you’d appreciate hot water to wash with and some whiskey to warm you.”
“I do. I’m just…surprised, that’s all.”
He draped his shirt over the chair in front of the fire next to her dress and grudgingly bit out, “That I would think of that?”
“Well, yes. You’re an army officer. Or used to be. For a very long time. I wouldn’t think that you’d be conditioned to think of small luxuries like hot water when you’re fleeing attack.” She bent down to dip her fingers into the bucket to test the temperature. Thank God she didn’t see the ruefulness on his face for assuming that she thought the worst of him. “Especially for a woman.”
“You’d be surprised what I think about when I’m under attack,” he mumbled beneath his breath, turning away from the fire. “And you’re not an average woman.”
Her fingers froze in midsplash. Ignoring that compliment, she gestured toward the plate on the desk. “And the food?”
Breaking the tension between them, he popped one of the grapes into his mouth. “For me.”
“Of course.” Her lips twisted knowingly.
He nodded toward the washstand. “Go ahead. Wash up before the water grows cold.”
“So you can just stand there and eat all the food?”
He shot her a flirtatious grin. “And watch you.”
“Of course,” she repeated dryly.
He picked up a piece of cheese and gestured at the bucket with it. “Don’t let me stop you from taking off your shift and stockings, from rubbing soapy, warm water all over your bare flesh in the firelight.” He was teasing her to lighten the tension between them, but damnation, if his words didn’t make his cock ache for exactly that. “And by all means, take your time.”
“How very thoughtful of you.”
He trailed a lascivious gaze over her, his disappointment real that she was covered almost completely by that tent of a blanket. “I have only your best interests at heart.”
“I don’t think it’s in your heart where your interests currently lie,” she muttered, reaching down to lift the bucket and pour the steaming water into the basin.
He grinned and popped the cheese into his mouth.
She set down the bucket and circled a finger in the air. “Turn around.”
He feigned wounding. “And take all the fun out of bathing?”
“Turn around, Brigadier,” she ordered.
“I knew this was only a matter of time.” Doing as she asked, he turned his back to her and grumbled, “In the end, all women pull rank.”
A wet sponge smacked him in the middle of the back.
“That’s a violation of the rules of warfare, I’ll have you know.” With a grin, he snatched up the sponge and threw it back at her over his head without turning around. “It’s ungentlemanly to attack the enemy when he isn’t looking.”
She laughed. The sound came as soft and warm as the firelight, filling him with a melancholy longing to have back what her father stole from him.
But then, why shouldn’t he have it? Gordon Howard was dead. The old bastard couldn’t come between them any longer. More—all the man’s insults that Pearce wasn’t good enough for her were no longer true. He was an earl now, for God’s sake. That title could at last be good for something. Like turning back time.
If given the chance, though, would she take it?
“You said before that we aren’t enemies,” she reminded him, just as softly as her laugh. “I’m hoping that’s true.”
“It is,” he said quietly, distracted by the thoughts spinning through his mind, the old memories and wounds. So much had happened… How could they ever find their way back?
“Freddie has done some awful things,” she began tentatively, testing the newfound trust between them. “Illegal things. And apparently not just selling his influence in Parliament.”
Realization of what she meant tingled through him.
“I don’t know how it was discovered or who passed along the information, but he’s being blackmailed over it.”
The soft rustle of fabric accompanied her quiet explanation as she dropped the blanket to the floor and removed her shift and stockings. His pulse spiked at the thought that she was standing completely naked only a few feet away.
“The blackmailer threatened to go to Sir Charles with evidence of what Freddie’s done if he didn’t place the men into government positions as ordered.”
The water splashed gently in the basin, and Pearce envisioned Amelia reaching her arms into the air over her head, rubbing the sponge over her bare skin, droplets of water trickling down her body… Sweet Lucifer.
He cleared his suddenly tight throat, yet his voice still emerged as a raw rasp. “That’s why you were looking for him at the masquerade.” That was it—keep her talking, and keep his mind off how desirable she was. “What were you hoping to gain from him?”
“A chance to convince him of Freddie’s innocence, without anyone knowing.”
More soft splashes of water, more rustling movements behind him… He shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t only his throat that had grown tight. “Good. Because I’d hate to think you were planning something foolish.” Madame Noir’s words rushed back to him. “Like getting involved with the blackmailer yourself.”
The water stilled.
Damnation. Madame hadn’t lied. But he wished to hell she had.
“Only as a last resort,” she admitted. “If everything else failed and Freddie was exposed.”
At least she was being honest with him. Even if the thought of her becoming any more involved terrified the daylights out of him.
“But it didn’t work. I still don’t know Sir Charles’s connection to the blackmailer.” A thoughtful pause in the splashing. “There must be one, though. The man’s in charge of the Committee of Privileges and can bring censure if laws and standards are broken, yet he would never entertain a charge against a fellow MP unless he implicitly trusted whoever made it. He wouldn’t risk being made a fool of.”
“It could be anyone in Parliament,” he countered.
“Or any of Freddie’s cronies,” she added, defeat sounding in her voice. “The list is too long to consider.”
The soft splashing continued then, followed by more rustling of fabric. He imagined how she must have looked, rubbing the towel over her body while she dried herself, and damn his gentleman’s honor that he couldn’t sneak even a single glance over his shoulder.
“Fortunately, Freddie only has three men left to place. But if he doesn’t, he’ll be exposed. He’ll lose his seat in Parliament, perhaps even be sentenced to prison. I can’t let that happen.”
“He’s fortunate to have your kindness.” What Pearce wanted to do was pummel the bastard for putting her life in danger.
“It isn’t kindness,” she admitted with chagrin. “If his life is destroyed, so is mine. So are the lives of the women working at the Boutique.”
More kind than she was willing to admit, based upon her answer. He knew no other society miss who would be willing to go to such lengths to help a handful of war widows.
“I owe Frederick everything.” She came up behind him, close enough that her nearness sparked awareness of her across his back. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let him destroy all I’ve worked so hard to create.”
Slowly, he turned to face her.
She was once again in her shift, with the blanket now secured around her like a toga. Yet she was still bare enough to stir his desire. Which wasn’t helped by the way she lifted her damp hair from her neck and shoulders, revealing the creamy smoothness of her skin as she twisted her tresses to put up her hair.
The sight of her mesmerized him. He’d watched countless women fuss with their hair. Some after they’d just left his bed, in fact. But never had the sight struck him with such visceral force as it did now, with such a fierce reminder that private, innocent moments like this still connected them. And always would.
Holding the hair pins between her lips, she twisted her damp hair into a chignon and attempted to pin it into place. She turned her lithe body this way and that, and he smiled at her antics, as if turning herself could magically make her hair do the same. But the uncooperative locks kept slipping free.
He took the pins from her, then gently turned her around. “Let me.”
Her lips parted in surprise, but she obliged and didn’t fight him when he carefully took her hair in his hands and loosely twisted it. Even though it was damp, her locks still slipped over his fingers like silk, and he resisted the urge to say to hell with the pins and shove his hands deep into its softness, to let the golden tresses fill his palms.
“You don’t have to do that.” A grudging acquiescence edged her voice that she needed his help. They’d broken down walls tonight, but they were still a long way from the trust they’d once shared. A trust he very much wanted back.
“I don’t mind.” No, he was grateful for any excuse to touch her, even this innocently. “Now that my stint in the army’s over, I’ve been considering a second career,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Something decidedly more dangerous.”
“Home office agent?”
“Lady’s maid,” he said deadpan.
A mischievous smile pulled at her lips. “Well, you are surprisingly good at pinning up a woman’s hair.”
He lowered his mouth to her ear and drawled rakishly, “I’m even better at taking it down.” Then he punctuated that exaggerated flirtation with a stolen kiss to her nape. Any excuse to touch her.
She laughed, killing whatever seduction he might have started. He would have considered that laugh as a prick to his male pride, if not for enjoying the lilting sound of it so much.
He secured the last pin, and she began to move away. “Thank you—”
He took her shoulders and stopped her. This time when he lowered his mouth to her ear, he was deadly serious. “Thank you for trusting me about your brother.”
She hesitated, then gave a jerky nod. Not at all the vote of confidence he’d wanted, but he would take it. And take hope in it.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to step away from her and instead nuzzled his cheek against her exposed nape. She trembled.
“All those years, I never forgot about you,” he admitted. “But I’d moved on, accepting the new life I’d been given, just as I’d hoped you had.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I hated your father for what he did to us, but I also knew that he wasn’t wrong. You deserved a better man for a husband than me.”
“Don’t say that,” she scolded, but the chastisement was barely more than a breath. “It isn’t true.”
“It is—it was. The life I could have given you then would never have been enough.”
He slid his hand over her shoulder, to trace delicate patterns with his fingers against the side of her neck. This time it wasn’t just a tremble that he elicited from her but a quickening of her breath, a racing of her pulse beneath his fingertips. She was affected by him as much as he was by her. Her body couldn’t lie.
“You deserved riches, a grand house, jewels and furs, a fine carriage…the respect of society. I couldn’t have given you any of that.”
Not then.
The words lingered around them, as palpably as if he’d spoken them aloud. She stood frozen beneath his hands as he slowly began to caress them up and down her arms in slow, reassuring strokes.
“But your father can’t harm us any longer.” He dared to place a single kiss against her ear, in hopes of stirring the same longing inside her that now pulsed through him. “And I’m no longer a man you would be ashamed to be with.”
“I was never ashamed,” she whispered between quick and shallow breaths. “You were a good and kind man. The rest never mattered to me.”
“It mattered to me.” But no longer. Now, everything had changed. “There’s no reason for us to stay apart. No reason that we can’t rekindle our friendship.”
“Only friendship?” The tremble in her voice undercut the challenge in her question.
“Of the very best kind.” This time when he kissed her ear, he sucked gently at her earlobe in a seductive and obvious gesture that showed exactly what he hoped would happen between them.
Her answering shiver proved how much she longed to be in his arms, but except for closing her eyes, she made no move of capitulation. The past and the present warred inside her, so fiercely that he could see it in the strained expression gripping her face, could feel it in the stiff way she stood frozen against him.
If only she would let herself go, let herself have what they both wanted… He took her chin in his fingers and gently turned her around to face him so he could kiss her full on the mouth, so he could tease apart her lips and claim the decadent sweetness waiting inside.
She murmured his name in soft permission, and the tension melted away.
He tugged the blanket loose and dropped it to the floor, leaving nothing between them but her thin shift. He slipped his arms around her and drew her tightly against him to plunder her kiss in sweeping licks and thrusting plunges that made his body ache to have her beneath him, to hear soft sounds of pleasure and release falling from her lips.
She sagged bonelessly against him, her arms snaking up around his neck to keep herself from falling away.
As she clung to him, with her breasts flattened against his front, each panting breath she took rubbed her hard nipples against him and left him groaning with an aching need to possess her, with an unbearable desire for her to surrender herself completely to him. Tonight and always.
He placed his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the desk. Her hand struck the plate of food, tossing it onto the floor with a clatter. The tankards of ale tumbled away next, the bucket of remaining water kicked and spilling across the floor—
None of it mattered, because he’d grabbed her shift, lifting it up around her waist and baring her to his eyes.
“Dear God,” he rasped out as he slid his hands up her inner thighs and gently parted her legs, revealing her completely to his eyes. Her feminine lips glistened in the firelight with proof of her desire. “So beautiful…”
“I’m not,” she protested softly, closing her eyes in embarrassment. “Not…there.”
“You have no idea how beautiful I find you, Amelia. Here.” He caressed her, mesmerized as her soft folds quivered with anticipation. “And everywhere.” Slowly, he circled her with his fingertip. “Every inch of you, from your toes to your soul. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
“You’re just saying that.” But her hands at his shoulders shamelessly kneaded his muscles. She wanted the pleasure he could give her, so much that she shook with it.
“I mean it.” With every quickening beat of his heart.
“Then…” She exhaled a deep sigh of surrender and whispered in challenge, “Prove it.”
He lowered himself to his knees and brought his mouth against her.