An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,44

frustration…at her, at himself, at the entire situation—Christ!

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to see me again. If you would just…leave me alone.” She swiped her hand at her eyes but refused to look at him, her watery gaze glued to the doorway where she wanted him to go. “There’s nothing left between us now.”

That was a damned lie. Based on the way she’d kissed him, there was a bonfire left between them.

And he certainly had no plans to leave her alone. Whether she liked it or not, he planned on dogging her every step, if for no other reason than to keep her safe. If Scepter knew she was attempting to stop the turnpike, they’d kill her to stop her interference.

“Please go now.” Turning her back to him, she busied her hands with the other silk panel, as if their conversation about murder and blackmail hadn’t just happened. As if they hadn’t just kissed. But she couldn’t hide her shaking. “I think we’ve said all that needs to be said.”

Not by a long shot. But pressing her right now wouldn’t garner any more answers. Or forgiveness. She was too upset. Knowing Amelia, she would only dig in deeper.

“All right,” he agreed quietly. “I’ll go. But we’re not finished.”

“Actually, we—”

“Not with this conversation.” Heated promise laced through his voice. “And certainly not with that kiss.”

She wheeled around, surprise lighting her face. And more—a raw yearning he recognized in the depths of her eyes. Because he was certain he wore the same longing for her in his.

He stepped forward and dared a slap by taking one last touch of her cheek. She trembled beneath his fingertips.

“Before we’re done, Amelia,” he warned, bringing his lips to her temple in a lingering caress, “you’ll share all your secrets with me.”

Not giving her the chance to say something that both of them might regret—and before he could no longer resist the urge to grab her into his arms and hold her there until all her pain vanished—he turned on his heel and strode from the shop. Every step he took away from her twisted a knife into his gut, but he couldn’t stay. Years of warfare had taught him that sometimes the best method of advance was simply waiting for the enemy to retreat on its own.

When she did, he would be waiting for her.

He jogged across the street to his carriage. “Home,” he ordered his coachman, then yanked open the door—

Only for a curse to explode from him.

Marcus Braddock, former general with the Coldstream Guards and now Duke of Hampton, waited inside, along with Clayton Elliott. A perfect ambush at the completely wrong time.

“You’re fired,” he called up to the driver, only for that empty threat to be answered by a grin from the former sergeant. Pearce settled onto the seat across from his two friends and scowled. “What do you want?”

“Told you he wouldn’t be happy to see us.” Clayton slid a sideways glance at the general and drawled sardonically, “A man doesn’t like to be interrupted in his shopping.”

Pearce rolled his eyes. He was in no mood for this.

“Something tells me that it wasn’t mercantile goods he was interested in.” The general leaned across the compartment, plucked the paper poppy out of Pearce’s buttonhole, and held it out to him.

Pearce snatched it out of his hand. “Merritt was too busy for you two to bother, so you decided to annoy me?”

“Merritt isn’t tracking Miss Howard,” Clayton reminded him.

“Neither am I, apparently,” Pearce grumbled. Or at least not successfully. She’d given him answers, but not nearly enough of them, leaving him with even more questions than when he’d arrived. And not all of them about Scepter. “Madame Noir was right. Amelia’s involved with her brother’s blackmail.”

“She confirmed that?” Clayton pressed.

He gave a short nod. “Howard’s being blackmailed into using his influence to place men into government positions. Which means he’s not willingly working with Scepter.” Which meant that the amount of information the men of the Armory would be able to gain through Howard about its leaders would be limited. At best.

“And his sister?”

“She’s never heard of Scepter, and I believe her.” Pearce remembered Amelia’s reaction when he’d mentioned them—she didn’t know who they were. That hadn’t been a lie. He’d always been able to tell when she was lying, even as a child, and the blank look on her face proved that she had nothing to do with them. Yet. But if she kept attempting to thwart her brother,