I don’t expect you to understand the complexities of money, given how easily you lost yours.”
Expecting that jab, she’d steeled herself so she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing any visible reaction. But that didn’t stop the slice to her heart.
“So you plan to put a road across Bradenhill.” She watched as he took another sip of brandy. Oh, what she wouldn’t have given for a strong drink herself right then! “And build posting inns, taverns, warehouses…” Brothels, gin palaces, gambling hells…
Another flick of his wrist, another unwanted letter sent flying. “And so much more.” He smiled triumphantly. “It will be a fresh start.”
No, a fresh hell. “Unfortunately, there seems to be a problem with your plans. Bradenhill belongs to me,” she said quietly, playing her trump card. The one that had always stopped him in the past from going beyond merely contemplating the idea. He couldn’t put through a turnpike without her permission.
“But your charity doesn’t.”
Her gaze flew up to his. She understood his words exactly as he meant them—a threat.
“You only have that shop in the first place because of me, remember.”
Panic gripped her until she couldn’t breathe. “The Bouquet Boutique supports itself. It pays its bills and—”
“Only because I took out the lease for you, because I agreed to sign onto your bank accounts—accounts that I control, that I can close down.”
Her blood turned cold. Because I am a woman…and banks wouldn’t let unmarried women open their own accounts or sign leases. They had to have the cosignature of a man. She’d had no choice three years ago but to ask for Frederick’s help to start the shop. She’d always believed he’d done it because he knew how important it was to her and how much she needed the purpose it gave her. At the very least, how much it kept her busy and out of his way.
But he’d never before held it over her head like this.
She whispered, unable to prevent the fear from creeping into her bones, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“To save us? In an instant.” He slapped the letters down, his hands flat on the desk, and leaned toward her. “If I don’t put these last three men into some kind of appointments—any kind of appointments—my career is over. I’ll be publicly exposed, most likely arrested—I’ll be thrown into prison. Is that what you want?”
“No! Of course I—”
“If that happens, then your charity shop will close, and you’ll find yourself out on the street with all those war widows who work there.” His eyes flared as brightly as the coals in the fireplace behind him, reminding her of the devil himself. “So you need to make a choice, Amelia.” A devil who was attempting to take her soul. “Either support me in this trust, or lose everything, including your charity.” His red eyes fixed on hers, and what she glimpsed in their dark depths frightened her. “Which will it be?”
Damn him for putting his mess upon her shoulders! Afraid her voice would break beneath the churning fear and anger inside her, she said quietly, “Forcing me to place Bradenhill into the trust won’t do you any good. You know that.” She folded her hands behind her so he wouldn’t see them shaking. And so she wouldn’t be tempted to scratch his eyes out. “You might have both our properties then, but that small stretch won’t make for a turnpike.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He straightened to his full height. “Joining your share of Father’s property to both mine and to the property abutting it puts us over halfway across the county. Parliament will see the wisdom of constructing a turnpike across the rest and gladly enact a trust.” He smiled and clawed at his cravat to pull loose the knot at his throat. “And tonight, I spoke to the neighboring landowner. He’s willing to listen to my plans. Seemed very interested, in fact.”
She tensed with dread. That was why Freddie had been at the masquerade. Not because of the blackmail. Not because he’d caught wind of her plans to speak to Varnham.
“You knew him once.” He sank into the chair behind his desk, most likely too far into his cups to remain on his feet. “A man I think you should get to know again, and well enough to convince him that a trust is a brilliant idea.”
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs. Because she knew, even before he spoke the name—
“Brandon Pearce.” He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Your