Amelia stood at her bedroom window and watched the midmorning sunlight play across the street below. She smiled to herself as she lifted the teacup to her lips. The long case clock in the entry hall had long ago struck ten. Normally by now she’d be dressed, at the shop, and up to her elbows in problems and merchandise. But not today. Today, lazily, she still wore her dressing gown, her hair hanging freely down her back, and not one remnant of breakfast remaining on the tray she’d asked Cook to send up for her. She’d been famished.
All because of Pearce.
She laughed, the happiness inside her bubbling over. How was it possible that a man could make her feel this feminine and alive, this special? It had been over twelve hours since they made love, yet her skin still tingled from his touch. And would again, now that there was no longer any reason to deny herself the joys of being with him. In every way.
Below on the street, a hackney drawn by an old horse pulled bone-shakingly slowly to a stop in front of the house. The door opened, and a man dragged himself stiffly out of the carriage and down to the ground, as if every move pained him, no matter how small.
Amelia rolled her eyes. Freddie. Of course.
He was still in the white finery that he’d donned last night—as he did every time he headed out to those peculiar club meetings of his that he refused to tell her anything about—but his appearance was far from fresh. The worse for wear, his soiled clothes were disheveled and stained, his neckcloth askew, and his beaver hat perched precariously on his head. His cheeks were dark with morning beard, too much drink, and God only knew what else he’d done last night.
“Oh, Freddie,” she muttered with a tired sigh, her shoulders slumping, “why won’t you ever grow up?”
She was indebted to him. A great deal. But there was no love lost between them. She’d always known that, even when they were children.
What a relief it would be when she was no longer beneath his roof and out from under his control, with a husband who truly loved her, a house of her own, and children. Lots of children. She might even allow Freddie to visit on holidays. She smiled wryly at the idea. If he behaved himself.
But first, she had to tell him about the annulment.
Oh, that was not going to be a pleasant experience! How would he accept the scandal that was bound to result, scandal that would undoubtedly affect his career? No matter that it would mean her freedom or that she was now working to save him from prison. Given Pearce’s new status as an earl, he might even be willing to—
Three men who had been lingering on the footpath began to walk toward Freddie. The men called out to him, and he stopped just before he reached the front step. Amelia could see from upstairs that her brother didn’t recognize the men…but they knew him.
His face twisted in instant anger, and he hurried on toward the house.
Without warning, two of the men flanked him, grabbed him by the arm, and held him still while the third man reached beneath his coat—
“No!” she screamed, dropping her cup and smashing it against the floor. She ran through the house, shouting out to Drummond to help. But the butler wasn’t in sight, and she couldn’t wait for him.
Yanking open the front door, she raced outside. She flung herself between Frederick and the men. “Leave him alone!”
“Move out of the way, ma’am,” the third man ordered. “We’re with Bow Street. This doesn’t concern you.”
Her gaze dropped to the man’s hands—not a gun as she’d feared but a pair of iron manacles. “You’re arresting him?” She turned quickly back and forth between the two men behind her, still holding onto Freddie even though he wasn’t struggling at all. She leveled her gaze on the more dangerous man in front. “On what charge?”
“Corruption.”
“Brought by whom?”
“Sir Charles Varnham. Now step aside.”
“But—but that’s—” Impossible now that Pearce had seemingly agreed to the trust and Frederick had done all that the blackmailer had wanted. As far as anyone knew, the trust would go through, the last men would be placed—
Her blood turned to ice. No, the trust wasn’t going through. She’d said as much herself at the Black Ball, right in front of Freddie’s cronies and anyone else who might have overhead. Including the blackmailer.
Oh, she’d been so stupid! Everything she’d feared was now set in motion. All because of her.
In desperation, she jabbed a finger at Frederick and then in the general direction of Westminster. “You cannot arrest him.” She needed a reason—any reason that would buy her time and make the men leave. Her mind spun, only to latch onto— “He’s a Member of Parliament! He has Parliamentary privilege against arrest while the House is in session.”
“That’s only for civil charges,” Frederick informed her quietly.
She whirled around to face him, then froze, struck by his expression. He was shocked by this, but also weak and defeated, with slumping shoulders and his hat knocked to the ground at his feet.
“We’re arresting him on charges of smuggling, among other things,” the man with the manacles explained.
But she barely heard him, her focus on her brother and her mind running rapidly through all that would now be destroyed. “No—you have to fight this.” For God’s sake, he wasn’t even arguing in his own defense!
The man behind her roughly shoved her aside.
As she stumbled to gain her balance, he clamped the manacles over Freddie’s wrists. The two men holding him hurried him to a carriage waiting down the street, opened the door, and shoved him inside. They followed after him and slammed shut the door.
The third man wordlessly doffed his hat to Amelia, then swung up onto the bench beside the driver. The whip cracked, and the team started forward at a fast clip, disappearing around the corner.
Gulping down great mouthfuls of air to keep back a scream, Amelia ran back inside the house. “Maggie!” She hurried to her room, ignoring the bewildered stare of Drummond, who had finally come to the front door to investigate the commotion. “Maggie, I need you!”
Amelia threw open the doors to her armoire and grabbed the first day dress she found.
“Miss, what on earth…?” Maggie halted in the open doorway and gaped.
“I have to dress—quickly.” She yanked open the drawer and reached for a shift, tossing both it and the dress over the back of a nearby chair. “Frederick’s been arrested.”
Her maid closed the door and whispered, “Sir Charles?”
Amelia nodded firmly with a bite to her lip. “Just now.”
“What are you going to do?” Maggie wrung her hands as she came forward.
“I’m going to speak to Sir Charles.” When she reached for a corset, Maggie stopped her and selected a different one, along with a pair of stockings. “Make him understand that no good can come from prosecuting Freddie, that he’ll only be hurting me and a group of innocent women.” She frowned as she removed her dressing gown. “And when that doesn’t work, I’ll throw myself at his feet and beg.”
“And when that doesn’t work?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. But I won’t give up.”
Within minutes, Maggie had dressed her and fixed her hair in a simple but presentable chignon. Amelia hopped across the room toward her writing desk on one foot at a time as she pulled on a pair of half boots while Maggie went to ask Drummond to fetch a hackney. Amelia quickly scribbled out a note for Pearce, then sealed it.
“Deliver this to Lord Sandhurst.” She handed Maggie the note as she snatched up her shawl and dashed for the door. “His town house is on St James’s Square. If he isn’t there, try the old armory north of the City. I’m certain that his man McTavish can give you directions.”
Maggie shot her a worried look and grabbed her arm. “You shouldn’t go alone, miss. Sir Charles might decide you’re a party to what Mr. Howard’s done and have you arrested, too.”
“Which is why you have to deliver that message to Pearce. He’ll meet me in Westminster and know what to do.”
With a quick hug ending all protests, Amelia rushed from the house. Only to halt on the front step.
A black hackney waited on the street, its old driver doffing his hat at her as she slowly came forward. For a moment, she thought Drummond had worked quickly to find her a carriage—unusually quickly for a butler who favored laziness.
But then she noticed that the carriage wasn’t empty. Two people sat inside in the shadows, just out of view of the window. Wasn’t that just her luck, for the carriage to be already taken? With Drummond nowhere to be seen, she gave a frustrated curse beneath her breath and hurried down the footpath toward the square, where she could more easily wave down a hackney.
“Miss Howard!”
She stopped, startled, as a man called out to her from the waiting carriage.
“A word with you, if you please.”
Slowly, she retraced her steps. The carriage door opened, and she could see inside.
“Mr. Varnham.” But her heart plunged to the ground. Arthur Varnham. The wrong Varnham. “If you’ll excuse me.” She gestured apologetically down the street. “I’m in a hurry—”
“Miss Howard”—he ignored her attempt to leave—“I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Humphries. Marigold, this is Miss Howard, the woman I told you about.”
Miss Humphries leaned forward from the opposite bench, her pretty and young face emerging into the slant of sunlight that fell into the compartment. The curls of her hair beneath her straw bonnet shone gold. She smiled warmly. “How do you do, Miss Howard?”
Not well. Not well at all. Anxiousness bubbled inside her until what she wanted to do was bolt down the street at a dead run. “A pleasure to meet you. But I really must go. It’s urgent.” She turned to leave, not caring if she were being rude. Her world was collapsing around her. “My apologies—”
“It’s your brother, isn’t it?” Varnham asked.
That stopped her. “Yes.” She looked at him warily over her shoulder. “How do you know?”
“Because I just left Varnham House.” Irritation rang in his voice. “Imagine my surprise to come home from a night out at the clubs to discover that my brother plans to arrest yours.” The shadows covered his face too thickly for her to read the emotions there, but raw frustration colored his voice. “I immediately came here to stop it.”
She turned slowly back toward the carriage. “Why do you care?”
“Because your brother belongs to my club, whose activities need to be kept private. You understand, of course.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “An arrest ruins all that.”
“You’re too late, I’m afraid,” she admitted as she glanced down the street in the direction where the men had taken Freddie, her voice choking. “The runners arrested him and took him away just a few minutes ago.”
Varnham leaned out of the carriage as if searching after them. Dark fury flashed over his face for a split second, so intense that Amelia was certain he would have cursed if the two women hadn’t been within earshot. Then the anger was gone, his expression easing into a troubled frown.
He leaned over to his cousin to speak quietly into her ear. The woman nodded.
“I agree. She must come with us to find your brother.” Miss Humphries smiled reassuringly at Amelia. “Westminster isn’t out of my way at all, and I’d be happy to accompany you.”
“Good.” Varnham turned his gaze onto Amelia. “Then you must come with us to speak to Charles. I insist. Perhaps you can convince him to rescind the charges.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, he teased, “Can’t have my brother putting all my chums into gaol. Won’t have anyone interesting left to drink with at this rate.” With a smile that didn’t put her at ease, he gestured at the empty seat next to Miss Humphries. “Please let us help you and your brother.”
Amelia hesitated. “I shouldn’t impose.” But she so dearly wanted to! Finding a hackney for hire at this time of day near the square would take forever, and Arthur Varnham would know exactly where to find Sir Charles. Perhaps he could even walk her past all the guards and into the offices of Parliament. If she went by herself, as a woman she wouldn’t be allowed through the first doorway.
Misreading her reluctance, he added in disappointment, “I understand if you’re not up to confronting Charles about this.”
She nearly laughed! What other choice did she have? “Wild horses couldn’t stop me,” she muttered to herself, the little mantra adding to her resolve. Then she remembered Pearce’s words. “Or ponies, donkeys, mules…and my jackass of a brother.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” She pulled in a deep, determined breath and stepped up into the carriage. “Thank you for your help, both of you.”
“Of course.” He smiled and closed the door.
As the carriage rolled away from the house, Amelia cast a surreptitious glance at the pair sitting with her. Miss Humphries was dressed respectably in a blue muslin day dress and pelisse, but her dress was old and frayed at the hem and sleeves. Fine for average wear, but not at all what Amelia would have expected from a gentleman’s cousin.
But then, Varnham’s appearance wasn’t exactly pristine either. From the state of his dress, he hadn’t lied; he must have just returned home from a night out. Beneath cheeks darkened with morning beard and eyes red from lack of sleep, he wore red from head to toe, including an odd red cap resting on the seat beside him. All red, all white…what on earth went on at those clubs? No wonder Varnham wanted to keep secret what the men did there.
As if reading her mind, he twisted a rueful smile in her direction and stuffed the red cap into his jacket pocket.
They rode on in silence, circling the square. But just as the carriage was about to turn toward the south, Varnham pounded on the ceiling. The carriage slowed and stopped. He opened the door. Miss Humphries quickly exited with a cat-like smile for Varnham and no acknowledgment whatsoever for Amelia.
He closed the door, and the carriage moved on.
“Wait!” Amelia twisted in her seat to stare through the window after Miss Humphries, but the woman walked away, turning off the square and disappearing quickly into the tangle of narrow streets. “Miss Humphries isn’t—”
“She lives nearby and is going home.” His explanation did nothing to ease her wariness. “She has no need to come with us.”
Yet Amelia had need of her. She couldn’t be seen riding alone in a carriage with a man who wasn’t her relative. “But she said she’d act as my companion.”
“She did.” His voice reverberated with mock empathy. “I’m afraid that was a lie.”
A chill twisted down her spine. “I can’t ride alone with you. I’m unmarried.”
“Oh, but you’re not, Mrs. Northam.”
A piercing jolt flashed through her, momentarily freezing her heart. When it jarred back to life, it wasn’t a pulse that pounded through her but fear.
She rasped out, “How do you know about my marriage?”
No one knew, except for Freddie and Pearce. And Pearce would never betray her. Which meant…Frederick. Dear God, what have you done?
The look Varnham gave her was one of patronizing pity. In that expression she knew—
“You,” she breathed out, unable to speak above a shocked whisper. A terrifying realization slithered through her. “It’s you who’s been blackmailing my brother.”
“Yes.” He clucked his tongue, as if scolding a child. “Truly, you had no idea?”
“I thought—I thought your brother…”
“Oh, Charles is certainly after your brother. He has an overdeveloped sense of righteousness and patriotism that won’t let him ignore the corruption your brother’s committed. Taking bribes, selling votes, extortion, smuggling…”
“Frederick’s done nothing that other MPs haven’t,” she answered breathlessly, blood pounding through her ears like a hammer. “Most likely including your own brother.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Charles is nothing if not painfully aboveboard in every way. Lord, what a dull brother! Not at all as interesting as yours.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “But you’re correct that he had nothing to do with the blackmail. My brother’s arrest of yours is simply an inconvenient coincidence, the charges most certainly to be rescinded.”
The way he said that was painfully polite, wholly pleasant and commonplace, as if they were two acquaintances sharing a quiet conversation about the weather— Dear heavens, he was mad! And all the more terrifying because of it.
Amelia swallowed hard to fight down the rising panic. “But if it wasn’t Frederick’s political corruption that you used against him, then…”
“Then what did I use? Something far worse and more lasting, I assure you.” He smiled arrogantly. “I used you.”
Her hand went to her stomach, as if she could physically press down the churning there. She knew— “My marriage,” she rasped out, her breath growing shallow. “You threatened to reveal my marriage.”
“Not your marriage.” He laughed at the idea. “Your money.”
She gave a strangled laugh. “If you know about my marriage, then you know that I have no money.”
“Oh, so much more than you realize,” he murmured.
The little hairs on her arms stood on end. “What do you mean?”
“Your marriage was all your brother’s doing, to get his hands on your money.”
“You’re mistaken.” After all, hadn’t Frederick told her hundreds of times what a fool she was for losing her fortune, blaming her for Aaron’s duplicity, castigating her for being so naive? “I eloped. My brother was in London and had nothing to do with it.”
“Unfortunately for you, I’m not mistaken.” He leaned back against the squabs and stretched his legs diagonally across the space between them. “He was furious, you know, that he received nothing more from your father than a pittance of an allowance and a bit of land that produced no income. It wasn’t enough to keep him in cards and drink let alone afford the lifestyle of a London gentleman. Not to mention the indignation of having to manage your inheritance as your guardian.” He chuckled at the irony. “A fortune at his fingertips, but not one ha’penny his.”
“I know all this.” She had no patience for his games. Or the alarm he rattled inside her.
“Ah, but you don’t know that he was taking your money even before your marriage, siphoning it off little by little so that you wouldn’t notice it had gone missing, blaming a decline in the accounts on falling revenues and bad investments.”
The blood seeped from her cheeks. Freddie had told her exactly that whenever she’d asked to see the account books.
“But a few hundred pounds here and there wasn’t nearly enough, and when you turned twenty-one, he would lose access to it completely if you asked to manage it yourself. Or if you married.” He casually crossed his legs at the ankles. “Apparently, there was some old childhood friend who’d caught your interest. But as long as Howard had you with him, you see, he could live the same lifestyle as you, use your money to fund his gambling, drinking, whoring—the life of a young gentleman on the town. So he couldn’t let you marry and take all that away from him.”
Pearce. Bitter anger seeped up from her bones. Now she knew why her letters had never reached him. Because Frederick had never allowed them to be sent.
“But he couldn’t delay the inevitable. Your majority was coming, and regardless, you were young, beautiful, and wealthy. Eventually you would have married.” He traced an idle finger across the bottom of the window. “So he found a charming man with no family or ties to Birmingham for you to fall in love with, whom he could pay to pretend to court and marry you. One who would then leave for America as soon as he’d scribbled his name into the church register.”
The earth dropped away beneath her, and she sank against the squabs. What he was telling her was preposterous. Absurd! But he knew about her marriage, details that no one else knew but her and Frederick. And that other document she’d found, the one tucked away with her marriage settlement—
Frederick had paid Aaron to pretend to love her.
She could barely breathe as the nauseating realization swept over her. All this time spent believing…all that pain and humiliation…
Oh God, she was going to be sick!
“You’re lying,” she whispered, gripping the seat beneath her so tightly that her fingertips turned white.
“I’m not. Howard planned it all out perfectly. He arranged for a special license that would allow you to marry inside England to ensure that your marriage would not be legal, then pretended to travel to London while actually shadowing you the entire time. After all, he couldn’t risk that you’d elope to Scotland, where you would have been rightfully married and truly given all your money to your new husband. Where would your brother be then, if the pretender decided to keep your fortune?”
All the pieces were clicking sickeningly into place, and with each one, something ripped deep inside her. Thank God she’d already turned numb, or she would have screamed. She was barely aware of when he reached inside his jacket and withdrew his handkerchief to hold it out to her, as if he were any other gentleman wanting to comfort her. As if he hadn’t just shattered her world.
“You believe that your husband hurried back to Birmingham after your wedding and absconded with all of your money, don’t you? But that never happened.”
“But it did,” she insisted, her voice raw. “I was there!”
“No, you weren’t, not for the money part of it. Howard had conveniently arrived from London at just the right moment to visit the bank manager on your behalf while you remained at home, distraught over being abandoned. Then he told you that your husband had taken everything when no such thing ever happened.”
When she didn’t accept the handkerchief, he shrugged and stuffed it back into his breast pocket.
“You trusted your brother, and in your humiliation, you didn’t want to visit the banker and be pitied. Or laughed at. So you believed the lie.” He pulled back the frayed and dirty curtain that partially covered the window. “But your fortune is still there, still sitting in the bank in Birmingham where your brother has had access to it all along as your guardian.” He sadly shook his head and dropped the curtain back into place. “But unfortunately, a large part of it is now gone. He used it to purchase his seat in Parliament.”
“Not true.” Her numb lips struggled to form the words. “Frederick acquired that seat through his cronies, in return for political favors. There was no money for that. Aaron Northam took everything from me.”
“Not everything. Not your land. Ever ask yourself why that was? If he only married you to get his hands on your money, surely he wouldn’t have left valuable property behind.”
“Because he didn’t have time to sell it. He needed to withdraw the money and leave before I realized what he’d planned.”
“But as your legally wedded husband, he would have had all the time in the world. That land—like everything else—would have become his the moment you wed. He could have sold it even from America. But the property remained yours because Howard couldn’t sell it without your consent. Not even as your guardian.” Varnham shook his head. “Ironic, don’t you think, that in the end your brother got his hands on the land, too, by wrapping it up in that trust? I simply told him that I wanted those men placed into governmental positions. The turnpike was all his idea.”
Her mind spun as fast as the world around her until a sickening nausea overcame her. Until she couldn’t sort through it all. She swallowed hard to force down the swelling anguish and betrayal. “But Frederick hired lawyers and accountants to try to get the money back—Bow Street investigators, sent them all the way to America… Why would he have done that if he wanted to steal my money?”
“Did he hire them?” Varnham gave her another pitying look, this one so grave that his lips tightened into a thin line. “How do you know?”
Stop looking at me like that! She certainly deserved to be pitied, but not for what he was claiming. Because it wasn’t true. None of it! It simply couldn’t be.
Because if it was, then the last seven years had been nothing but a horrible, humiliating lie.
“That’s what I used to blackmail your brother. Not any of those charges that Charles had him arrested for, but what he did to you. You alone have the power to destroy him, his spinster younger sister.” A chuckle rose on his lips. “Your brother’s more frightened of you than he is of any accusations of political corruption.” He smiled tightly as he slumped against the compartment wall in a casual posture that belied the monster beneath. “Now, don’t you feel like a fool for trying to save your brother, when you’re the last thing in the world he cares about?”
She pulled in a deep breath of fierce resolve to keep from spilling tears. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing them.
“You shouldn’t feel ashamed for believing his lies. After all, you’re certainly not the first woman who’s had her fortune swindled away by a male relative. It’s just that your brother did it with so much more flair.”
The smile of admiration that curled on his lips twisted her insides, and she swallowed, hard, to keep from casting up her accounts. He was a monster.
Apparently so was Frederick.
“Your brother has spine, I have to say,” he muttered to himself. “If his scheming wasn’t solely directed at his own gain, he might have been a valuable asset to acquire within our ranks.”
“You mean Scepter?” she challenged, fighting to keep the quavering from her voice. As if a veil of fog had been lifted, she saw how all the pieces fit together now…her marriage, the trust, Scepter.
His expression darkened to a chilling hardness. He returned her gaze for a long moment, then he began to drum his fingers against his thigh where he rested his hand. She could feel the tension radiating from him with every rotation of the carriage wheels beneath them.
“My brother has caused problems for me by having yours arrested,” he told her quietly. “That wasn’t at all part of my plan. I honestly did want to arrive in time to stop it.”
He tugged at his neckcloth, untying the disheveled knot that he’d put there himself before he arrived home. Or by the woman he’d been with…the woman whose presence had convinced her to step inside the carriage with him. Fresh fear licked at the base of her spine. Not his cousin. A lure.
She glanced out the window. The carriage was headed in the wrong direction for Westminster, traveling east instead.
“Howard’s useless to me now,” he muttered, almost to himself, letting the neckcloth dangle undone around his neck. “But there’s someone else of value whom I can use to put those last three men into place.”
She held her terrified breath. “Who?”
“Lord Sandhurst. I’m certain he can be convinced to push through the trust in the next few days before Parliament’s session ends.”
“He won’t.” Of that, she was certain. She doubted Frederick and everything he’d told her, doubted her father and all of Papa’s concern for her—but she would never doubt Pearce again.
“Oh, I think he will.” Varnham rubbed the tight muscles at his nape. When he pulled his hand away, he slipped off the unwanted neckcloth. “After all, I have a way to make certain of it.”
“What is that?”
“You.” He lunged for her.