An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,26
cut of the gown that matters—”
“But how a man wears it?”
He grinned. She’d read his mind, just as she’d used to do.
Sweet Lucifer, being with her felt like old times. The sensation emerged with a vengeance, forming a hollow ache deep inside him. He hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how much he’d missed her. The way a desert misses the rain.
“And speaking of cuts…” She tilted her head, studying him. “What did you do last night after you left the masquerade?”
He admitted truthfully, “The usual. Got drunk, stripped off my clothes, and ran around the city half-naked.”
“Just another evening in Mayfair, then?” she asked dryly.
“Terribly dull life.”
“Hmm. Well, this wasn’t there last night when I danced with you.”
She reached across the compartment to touch the bruise on his jaw.
He stilled immediately beneath her fingertips. Except for his heart, which leapt into his throat, and his cock, which flexed shamelessly in his breeches. “You noticed something as small as that?”
“We waltzed,” she reminded him, her fingertips brushing gently across his brow. “How could I not have noticed when you were that close? Or that your jaw has mysteriously turned black and blue overnight?” Her eyes softly searched his face for more evidence of what he’d been up to last night, yet he found the sensation oddly soothing, as tangible as her touch. “Or that you have a cut—just there—at the corner of your left eye?”
“I like to spar occasionally,” he admitted. “After I left the masquerade, I went to a match.”
“Still getting into fights,” she murmured and traced the features of his face to soothe his wounds. “Just as you used to in Birmingham with the men from the factories.”
Her touch stirred a forgotten familiarity whose ache seeped into his bones. He rasped out, suddenly hoarse, “You remember that, from so long ago?”
“I remember everything about you.” Then, as if realizing who they were and what she was doing, she dropped her hand away and pulled back against the squabs. “As they say…” Sadness laced her trembling voice. “Know thy enemy.”
Her words cut him. “I’m not your enemy, Amelia. I only want to protect you.”
Slowly, careful not to startle her, he leaned toward her. But damnation if she didn’t draw further back into the squabs, not at all convinced by his reassurances.
“I told you.” Wariness flared in her eyes. “I don’t need to be protected.”
“More than you realize,” he said solemnly.
Her lips parted in surprise.
Frederick Howard was playing with ruthless men. Amelia wasn’t part of it—he didn’t want to believe that of her. But he also needed to discover the truth. Yet how much could he tell her to ease her fear without exposing her to additional risk? “Your brother has been illegally using his influence to secure government appointments. He’s placed at least twelve men so far.”
“Isn’t that what all peers and MPs do? Peddle influence.” She casually threw his earlier words back at him. “It’s practically a requirement.”
“Except that most of the appointments he’s secured are simply titular, a few have limited power, and none are able to provide political favors in return,” he explained. The carriage was circling Berkeley Square now, with Hill Street only a few minutes away. He was running out of time and had no more answers than when he’d jumped inside. “Not the kind a young MP on the rise could draw on to improve his political leverage or his bank funds. So why is he doing it?”
“I don’t know.”
A lie. He could read it in every inch of her. What the devil was she hiding from him? “Is Varnham involved? Is that why you wanted to speak to him?”
“No.” This time, the lie was accompanied by a telltale fidget.
“Your brother is involved with dangerous men, Amelia,” Pearce said bluntly. The time for sparring was over. “Ones willing to commit murder to get what they want.”
Her face paled. Good. Maybe she’d understand now how serious he was. How much danger she was in.
“Were you at the masquerade because of them?”
“No! I went there because—” She choked off, her confession unfinished.
In that unguarded moment, he saw beneath the facade she’d erected, and it wasn’t anger or annoyance he glimpsed in her now. It was fear.
The realization washed over him like ice water. That’s what he’d seen when he first stepped into the carriage, what had flashed over her face last night when she’d fled. Her earlier anger had been nothing but a shield to keep him away.