An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,32
purred. “How thoughtful of you to visit.” Her cat-like eyes traveled slowly to Merritt, who didn’t bother getting off the bed at her arrival. “And you’ve brought a friend.” Her red lips curled. “How delicious.”
Merritt grinned and lifted the glass to her in a toast.
At the pair’s antics, Pearce bit back a harsh breath. “We’re here on business, actually.”
She shrugged, and the robe slipped down to reveal a bare shoulder. “Everything in my world is business.”
She stepped into the room and closed the door with a throaty little laugh.
“I haven’t seen you in far too long,” she commented as she slipped past Pearce, running her fingers down his bicep.
In truth, she hadn’t seen him at all inside her brothel. Not since he’d first returned to London after the wars ended, when he’d been forced into the life of a peer. He’d been just restless and foolish enough during those dark days to buy his way into pleasure, and Madame had been happy to oblige by introducing him to a young widow named Patrice who was discreet in all things and desperate for funds.
But for all her beauty and knowledge about how to satisfy a man, Patrice hadn’t been able to tamp down his rising restlessness. Only those boxing matches in the East End had been able to do that.
“And who are you, pet?” She extended her hand toward Merritt, who climbed to his feet and greeted her by bowing over her hand. She trailed her gaze over him, shamelessly lingering at his breeches. “I daresay that Brandon needs to bring his friends by more often.”
“Merritt Rivers.” He smiled at her warmly and folded his long fingers around hers. “Barrister with the Honourable Society of Lincoln’s Inn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame.”
“A barrister?” Her expression hardened, and she slowly pulled her hand free in disgust, as if she’d put it into filth. Her eyes not leaving Merritt, she called out to Pearce over her shoulder. “You’ve brought a snake into my henhouse, Brandon. How discourteous of you.”
With an annoyed tug, she yanked her robe shut and tied it, covering both the sheer gown and the temptations beneath. She took the glass from Merritt’s hand.
“Customers only,” she explained, all the warmth she’d shown him earlier now gone.
Merritt tsked his tongue. “Don’t be like that. Just because I have the power under the Disorderly Houses Act to have you arrested and put on trial, your brothel closed and property confiscated, and you transported if found guilty—why shouldn’t we be friends?”
With a dark laugh, she tossed back the remaining whiskey in the glass. “What do you want? I should warn you that if you’re looking for bribes, my business isn’t as lucrative these days as one might think.” She muttered as she refilled the glass, then kept it for herself, “Damned religious reformers think they have the right to tell the rest of us how to live.”
“Keeps me in a living,” Merritt drawled ingenuously as he leaned back against the wall with a shrug.
“Yes,” she purred icily, “I’m certain it does.”
Merritt had the audacity to grin.
“I need information,” Pearce interjected, bringing the conversation to the business that had brought them here. “A member of Parliament is selling his influence. I need to know if he’s doing it willingly or being blackmailed.”
“How interesting,” she purred, delighted at the scandalous nature of their conversation. “That’s the second time today that someone’s asked me about blackmail. Must be a veritable plague of it gripping Westminster.”
Pearce didn’t believe in coincidences. “Who?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say. Discretion is my business.”
“Odd,” Merritt interjected, looking up at the ceiling. His half-veiled threat emerged as innocent musing. “I thought prostitution was.”
She slid a murderously narrowed glance at him but didn’t deign to reply. She turned toward Pearce and answered, “Miss Amelia Howard.”
His blood turned cold. “What did Miss Howard want to know about blackmail?”
“Apparently, how to do it. But the poor thing is in over her head. You really need to give her lessons, Brandon.” She gestured her glass at Merritt as an example. “After all, you’re very good at extortion.”
He smiled tightly at that backhanded compliment. “I’m here about her brother.” Amelia would never blackmail anyone. She was too good a person. “Frederick Howard.”
“Ah, so someone beat her to it.” She traced a fingertip around the rim of the glass. “What a shame. The Honorable Mr. Howard is one of my best customers.”
That didn’t surprise him. “What would someone use to extort him?”