An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,112
both society and government. Those few intellectuals who were left were forced to chase the mob and never gained proper control, leaving the revolution to be guided by the likes of Robespierre and Danton—part of the mob themselves, wolves who eventually devoured their own pack and helped to put not just a despotic king into power over them but an emperor.”
“And Scepter thinks it has the men in place to control a revolution?” Businessmen, wealthy landowners, high-ranking political figures…the English aristocracy. The revolution Scepter planned would be top down and not at all organic. That was why Scepter wanted its men in government positions. But turnpike trustees to lead the overthrow of a monarchy? “How?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then you’ll swing for—”
“I can’t tell you,” he repeated, “because I don’t know. I was the one able to blackmail Howard, so I was given a list of men to pass along to him. I don’t know what Scepter wants from them.”
“Surely you know something about their plans.”
“Generals never give their battle plan to foot soldiers.” His mouth twisted wryly. “You were a former soldier. You know that better than I.”
Clayton bit back a curse. Damn him, Varnham was right. “Then tell me who gave you that list.”
“Would you ever be disloyal to your generals?” He shook his head. “Shot in battle by the enemy, shot after battle by your own men for retreating…either way, shot dead.”
The two men stared at each other in quiet understanding. Clayton knew then that he’d get no more information from Varnham. The interrogation was over.
* * *
Several hours later, long after dawn had broken across London and the city was on the move into another morning, Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary, arrived at his office.
He stopped in the doorway and stared, blinking in bewilderment. “What the devil…”
Arthur Varnham, younger brother to Sir Charles Varnham, sat tied to his desk chair, gagged and wearing a red monk’s robe. Around his neck hung a handwritten sign…
Bound for Botany Bay.
Twenty-seven
Amelia said nothing as Pearce led her inside the Armory, silently letting herself take it all in, this place that had become a second home to him and to his former brothers-in-arms. He’d described the building when he’d taken her home after leaving the tunnel, explained what the men of the Armory’s plans were, waited for her to bathe herself and dress, and insisted that she eat something although she had no appetite. And not leaving her side the entire time.
She knew what to expect now that they were here, yet she couldn’t stop a shudder when the outer iron door banged and screeched as it opened. Or the tremble of unease as they passed beneath the twin portcullis that guarded a second inner doorway. But Pearce was at her side, and with him, she could bear anything.
Even facing down her brother.
He glanced at her fingers as they tightened on his arm. “Are you all right?”
She gave a single determined nod. “I will be.”
He squeezed her hand and escorted her into the building.
The central octagonal room opened before them, its imposing size and shape taking her breath away. But so did the three men who were waiting inside, all of them on their feet and facing the door as she and Pearce entered—the Duke of Hampton, Merritt Rivers…and Frederick.
Straightening her spine, Amelia slipped her hand away from Pearce’s arm. He stopped at the edge of the room and let her walk on alone.
“Amelia!” Frederick started forward. He held out his arms to embrace her. “Thank God you’re all—”
She slapped him. Her hand cracked across his face so hard that the sting of the blow pulsed up her arm and the sound echoed off the stone walls.
He glared at her, rubbing at the red mark already forming on his left cheek. “What the hell—”
She slapped him again, this time with her left hand to the opposite cheek. Even harder than before. So hard that she staggered sideways from the exertion of the blow.
The duke and Merritt both stiffened. Merritt started forward a single step before stopping and shooting Pearce a look questioning whether he should intercede.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Pearce faintly shake his head, to let her confront her brother on her own.
“I know what you did,” she rasped out, the feeling of betrayal in her so intense and raw that she shook.
“Damnation, Amelia!” Frederick hissed. “Control yourself. You are in the presence of a duke.”
She didn’t care. She’d spent too much of her life cowering in front